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 CHRONICLES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE CANONGATE, 
 ^wotrtf Retries* 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "WAVERLEY," &c. 
 
 SIC ITITR AD ASTRA. 
 
 Motto of the Canongate Arms. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED FOR CADELL AND CO., EDINBURGH ; 
 AND SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, LONDON. 
 
 1828.
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO,
 
 CHRONICLES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE CANONGATE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHRONICLES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE CANONGATE 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Tlie ashes here of murder'd Kings 
 
 Beneath my footsteps sleep ; 
 And yonder lies the scene of death, 
 
 Where Mary Jeirn'd to weep. 
 
 Captain Marjoribaxks, 
 
 Every quarter of Edinburgh has its own pe- 
 culiar boast, so that the city together combines 
 within its precincts, (if you take the word of 
 the inhabitants on the subject,) as much varie- 
 ty as beauty, as much of historical interest as 
 of natural sublimity. Our claims in behalf of 
 the Canongate are not the slightest or least in-
 
 1 
 
 teresting. The Castle may excel us in extent 
 of prospect and natural sublimity of site ; the 
 Calton had always the superiority of its unri- 
 valled panorama, and has of late added to them 
 that of its towers, bridges, and triumphal arches. 
 The High Street, we acknowledge, had the dis- 
 tinguished honour of being defended by fortifica- 
 tions, of which we can show no vestiges. We will 
 not descend to notice the claims of mere up- 
 start districts, called Old New Town and New 
 New Town, not to mention the favourite Mo- 
 ray Place, which is the newest New Town of all. 
 We will not match ourselves except with our 
 equals, and with our equals in age only, for in 
 dignity we admit of none. We boast being the 
 Court end of the town, possessing the Palace 
 and the sepulchral remains of ancient Monarchs, 
 and that we have the power to excite, in a de- 
 gree unknown to the less honoured quarters of 
 the city, the dark and solemn recollections of 
 the ancient grandeur, which occupied the pre- 
 cincts of our venerable Abbey from the time of 
 St David, till her deserted halls were once more
 
 made glad, and her long silent echoes awaken- 
 ed, by the visit of our present gracious Sove- 
 reign. 
 
 My long habitation in the neighbourhood, 
 and the quiet respectability of my habits, have 
 given me a sort of intimacy with good Mrs 
 , the housekeeper in that most interest- 
 ing part of the old building, called Queen 
 Mary's Apartments. But a circumstance which 
 lately happened has conferred upon me greater 
 privileges ; so that, indeed, I might, I believe, 
 venture on the exploit of Chatelet, who was 
 executed for being found secreted at midnight 
 in the very bedchamber of Scotland's Mistress. 
 
 It chanced, that the good lady I have men- 
 tioned, was, in the discharge of her function, 
 showing the apartments to a cockney from Lon- 
 don ; — not one of your quiet, dull, common-place 
 visitors, who gape, yawn, and listen with an ac- 
 quiescent umph, to the information doled out by 
 the provincial cicerone. No such thing — this was 
 the brisk, alert agent of a great house in the city, 
 who missed no opportunity of doing business, 
 as he termed it, that is, of putting off the goods
 
 6 
 
 of his emp oyers, and improving his own ac- 
 count of commission. He had fidgeted through 
 the suite of apartments, without finding the least 
 opportunity to touch upon that which he con- 
 sidered as the principal end of his existence. 
 Even the story of Rizzio's assassination pre- 
 sented no ideas to this emissary of commerce, 
 until the housekeeper appealed, in support of 
 her narrative, to the dusky stains of blood upon 
 the floor. 
 
 " These are the stains," she said; " nothing 
 will remove them from the place — there they 
 have been for two hundred and fifty years — 
 and there they will remain while the floor is 
 left standing — neither water nor anything else 
 will ever remove them from that spot." 
 
 Now, our cockney, amongst other articles, 
 sold Scouring Drops, as they are called, and 
 a stain of two hundred and fifty years standing 
 was interesting to him, not because it had been 
 caused by the blood of a Queen's favourite, 
 slain in her apartment, but because it offered 
 so admirable an opportunity to prove the effi- 
 cacy of his unequalled Detergent Elixir, Down
 
 on his knees went our friend, but neither in 
 horror nor devotion. 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty years, ma'am, and 
 nothing take it away ? Why, if it had been five 
 hundred, I have something in my pocket will 
 fetch it out in five minutes. D'ye see this 
 elixir, ma'am ? I will show you the stain vanish 
 in a moment." 
 
 Accordingly, whetting one end of his hand- 
 kerchief with the all-deterging specific, he be- 
 gan to rub away on the planks, without heed- 
 ing the remonstrances of Mrs . She, good 
 
 soul, stood at first in astonishment, like the 
 Abbess of St Bridget's, when a profane visit- 
 ant drank up the vial of brandy which had long 
 passed muster among the relics of the clois- 
 ter for the tears of the blessed saint. The ve- 
 nerable guardian of St Bridget probably ex- 
 pected the interference of her patroness — She 
 of Holy Rood might, perhaps, hope that David 
 Rizzio's spectre would arise to prevent the 
 
 profanation. But Mrs stood not long in 
 
 the silence of horror. She uplifted her voice, 
 and screamed as loudly as Queen Mary herself,
 
 when the dreadful deed was in the act of perpe- 
 tration — 
 
 " Harrow now out ! and walawa !" she cried. 
 
 I happened to be taking my morning walk in 
 the adjoining gallery, pondering in my mind 
 why the Kings of Scotland, who hung around 
 me, should be each and every one painted with 
 a nose like the knocker of a door, when lo ! the 
 walls once more re-echoed with such shrieks, as 
 formerly were as often heard in the Scottish 
 palaces as were sounds of revelry and music. 
 Somewhat surprised at such an alarm in a place 
 so solitary, I hastened to the spot, and found 
 the well-meaning traveller scrubbing the floor 
 
 like a housemaid, while Mrs , dragging 
 
 him by the skirts of the coat, in vain endea- 
 voured to divert him from his sacrilegious pur- 
 pose. It cost me some trouble to explain to the 
 zealous purifier of silk-stockings, embroidered 
 waistcoats, broad-cloth, and deal planks, that 
 there were such things in the world as stains 
 which ought to remain indelible, on account 
 of the associations with which thev are con-
 
 9 
 
 nected. Our good friend viewed everything oi 
 the kind only as the means of displaying the 
 virtue of his vaunted commodity. He com- 
 prehended, however, that he would not be per- 
 mitted to proceed to exemplify its powers on the 
 present occasion, so took his leave, mutter- 
 ing that he had always heard the Scots were a 
 nasty people, but had no idea they carried it so 
 far as to choose to have the floors of their palaces 
 blood-boltered, like Banquo's ghost, when to 
 remove them would have cost but a hundred 
 drops of the Infallible Detergent Elixir, prepa- 
 red and sold by Messrs Scrub and Rub, in five 
 shilling and ten shilling bottles, each bottle be- 
 ing marked with the initials of the inventor, to 
 counterfeit which would be to incur the pains 
 of forgery. 
 
 Freed from the odious presence of this lover 
 
 of cleanliness, my good friend Mrs was 
 
 profuse in her expressions of thanks; and 
 yet her gratitude, instead of exhausting itself 
 in these declarations, according to the way of 
 the world, continues as lively at this moment 
 as if she had never thanked me at all. It is
 
 10 
 
 owing to her recollection of this piece of good 
 service, that I have the permission of wander- 
 ing, like the ghost of some departed gentleman- 
 usher, through these deserted halls, sometimes, 
 as the old Irish ditty expresses it, 
 
 Thinking on things that are long enough ago ; 
 
 and sometimes wishing I could, with the good 
 luck of most editors of romantic narrative, 
 light upon some hidden crypt or massive an- 
 tique cabinet, which should yield to my re- 
 searches an almost illegible manuscript, con- 
 taining the authentic particulars of some of the 
 strange deeds of those wild days of the unhap- 
 py Mary. 
 
 My dear Mrs Baliol used to sympathize with 
 me when I regretted that all the Godsends of 
 this nature had ceased to occur, and that an au- 
 thor might chatter his teeth to pieces by the 
 seaside, without a wave ever wafting to him a 
 casket containing such a history as that of Au- 
 tomathes ; that he might break his shins in 
 stumbling through a hundred vaults, without 
 finding anything but rats and mice, and become
 
 the tenant of a dozen sets of shabby tenements, 
 without seeing any manuscript but the weeklv 
 bill for board and lodging. A dairy-maid of 
 these degenerate days might as well wash and 
 deck her dairy in hopes of finding the fairy tes- 
 ter in her shoe. 
 
 " It is a sad, and too true a tale, cousin," 
 said Mrs Baliol. " I am sure we all have occa- 
 sion to regret the want of these ready supple- 
 ments to a failing invention. But you, most of 
 all, have right to complain that the fairies have 
 not favoured your researches — you who have 
 shown the world that the Age of Chivalry still 
 exists — you, the Knight of Croftangry, who 
 braved the fury of the * London 'prentice bold,' 
 in behalf of the fair Dame , and the memo- 
 rial of Rizzio's slaughter. Is it not a pity, cou- 
 sin, considering the feat of chivalry was other- 
 wise so much according to rule — is it not, I 
 say, a great pity that the lady had not been a 
 little younger, and the legend a little older ?" 
 
 " Why, as to the age at which a fair dame 
 loses the benefits of chivalry, and is no longer 
 entitled (o crave boon of brave knijrht, that I
 
 u 
 
 leave to the statutes of the Order of Errantry ; 
 but for the blood of Rizzio, I take up the gaunt- 
 let, and maintain against all and sundry, that I 
 hold the stains to be of no modern date, but 
 to have been actually the consequence and the 
 record of that terrible assassination." 
 
 " As I cannot accept the challenge to the 
 field, fair cousin, I am contented to require 
 proof." 
 
 " The unaltered tradition of the Palace, and 
 the correspondence of the existing state of things 
 with that tradition." 
 
 " Explain, if you please." 
 
 " I will. — The universal tradition bears, that 
 when Rizzio was dragged out of the chamber of 
 the Queen, the heat and fury of the assassins, 
 who struggled which should deal him most 
 wounds, dispatched him at the door of the ante- 
 room. There, therefore, the greater quantity 
 of the blood was spilled, and there the marks of 
 it are still shown. It is reported further by his- 
 torians, that Mary continued her entreaties for 
 his life, mingling her prayers with screams and 
 exclamations, until she knew that he was assu-
 
 13 
 
 redly slain; on which she wiped her eyes and 
 said, * I will now study revenge.' " 
 
 " All this is granted. — But the blood ? would 
 it not wash out, or waste out, think you, in so 
 many years ?" 
 
 " I am coming to that presently. The con- 
 stant tradition of the Palace says, that Mary 
 discharged any measures to be taken to remove 
 the marks of slaughter, which she had resolved 
 should remain as a memorial to quicken and 
 confirm her purposed vengeance. But it is add- 
 ed, that, satisfied with the knowledge that it 
 existed, and not desirous to have the ghast- 
 ly evidence always under her eye, she caused 
 a traverse, as it is called, (that is, a tempo- 
 rary screen of boards,) to be drawn along the 
 under part of the anteroom, a few feet from 
 the door, so as to separate the place stained 
 with the blood from the rest of the apartment, 
 and involve it in considerable obscurity. Now 
 this temporary partition still exists, and by 
 running across and interrupting the plan of 
 the roof and cornices, plainly intimates that it 
 has been intended to serve some temporary
 
 14 
 
 purpose, since it disfigures the proportions of 
 the room, interferes with the ornaments of the 
 ceiling, and could only have been put there for 
 some such purpose, as hiding an object too dis- 
 agreeable to be looked upon. As to the objec- 
 tion that the blood-stains would have disappear- 
 ed in course of time, I apprehend that if mea- 
 sures to efface them were not taken immediate- 
 ly after the affair happened — if the blood, in 
 other words, were allowed to sink into the 
 wood, the stain would become almost indelible. 
 Now, not to mention that our Scottish palaces 
 were not particularly well washed in those days, 
 and that there were no Patent Drops to assist 
 the labours of the mop, I think it very probable 
 that these dark relics might subsist for a long 
 course of time, even if Mary had not desired or di- 
 rected that they should be preserved, but screen- 
 ed by the traverse from public sight, I know 
 several instances of similar blood-stains remain- 
 ing for a great many years, and I doubt whe- 
 ther, after a certain time, anything can remove 
 them, save the carpenter's plane. If any Sene- 
 Bchal, by way of increasing the interest of the
 
 15 
 
 apartments, had, by means of paint, or any other 
 mode of imitation, endeavoured to palm upon 
 posterity supposititious stigmata, I conceive that 
 the impostor would have chosen the Queers ca- 
 binet and the bedroom for the scene of his trick, 
 placing his bloody tracery where it could be dis- 
 tinctly seen by visitors, instead of hiding it be- 
 hind the traverse in this manner. The existence 
 of the said traverse, or temporary partition, is 
 also extremely difficult to be accounted for, if the 
 common and ordinary tradition be rejected. In 
 short, all the rest of this striking locality is so 
 true to the historical fact, that I think it may 
 well bear out the additional circumstance of the 
 blood on the floor." 
 
 11 I profess to you," answered Mrs Baliol, 
 " that I am very willing to be converted to 
 your faith. We talk of a credulous vulgar, 
 Avithout always recollecting that there is a vul- 
 gar incredulity, which, in historical matters, as 
 well as in those of religion, finds it easier to 
 doubt than to examine, and endeavours to as- 
 sume the credit of an esprit fort, by denying 
 o
 
 16 
 
 whatever happens to be a little beyond the very 
 limited comprehension of the sceptic. — And so, 
 that point being settled, and you possessing, as 
 we understand, the Open Sesamum into these 
 secret apartments, how, if we may ask, do you 
 intend to avail yourself of your privilege ? — 
 Do you propose to pass the night in the royal 
 bedchamber ?" 
 
 " For what purpose, my dear lady ? — if to 
 improve the rheumatism, this east wind may 
 serve the purpose." 
 
 " Improve the rheumatism — Heaven forbid ! 
 that would be worse than adding colours to the 
 violet. No, I mean to recommend a night on 
 the couch of the Rose of Scotland, merely to 
 improve the imagination. Who knows what 
 dreams might be produced by a night spent in 
 a mansion of so many memories ! For aught I 
 know, the iron door of the postern stair might 
 open at the dead hour of midnight, and, as at the 
 time of the conspiracy, forth might sally the 
 phantom assassins, with stealthy step and ghast- 
 ly look, to renew the semblance of the deed. 
 There comes the fierce fanatic Ruthven — party
 
 17 
 
 hatred enabling him to bear the armour which 
 would otherwise weigh down a form extenua- 
 ted by wasting disease. See how his writhen 
 features show under the hollow helmet, like 
 those of a corpse tenanted by a demon, whose 
 vindictive purpose looks out at the flashing eyes, 
 while the visage has the stillness of death. — 
 Yonder appears the tall form of the boy Darn- 
 ley, as goodly in person as vacillating in resolu- 
 tion ; yonder he advances with hesitating step, 
 and yet more hesitating purpose, his childish 
 fear having already overcome his childish pas- 
 sion. He is in the plight of a mischievous boy 
 who has fired a mine, and who now, expecting 
 the explosion in remorse and terror, would give 
 his life to quench the train which his own hand 
 lighted. — Yonder — yonder — But I forget the 
 rest of the worthy cut-throats. Help me, if 
 you can." 
 
 " Summon up," said I, " the Postulate, 
 George Douglas, the most active of the gang. 
 Let him arise at your call — the claimant of 
 wealth which he does not possess — the partaker 
 of the illustrious blood of Douglas, but which 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 
 
 in his veins is sullied with illegitimacy. Paint 
 him the ruthless, the daring, the ambitious — so 
 nigh greatness, yet debarred from it — so near 
 to wealth, yet excluded from possessing it — a 
 political Tantalus, ready to do or dare anything 
 to terminate his necessities and assert his im- 
 perfect claims." 
 
 " Admirable, my dear Croftangry ! But what 
 is a Postulate ?" 
 
 " Pooh, my dear madam, you disturb the 
 current of my ideas — The Postulate was, in 
 Scottish phrase, the candidate for some benefice 
 which he had not yet attained — George Dou- 
 glas, who stabbed Rizzio, was the Postulate for 
 the temporal possessions of the rich Abbey of 
 Arbroath.'' 
 
 " I stand informed — Come, proceed; who 
 comes next?" 
 
 " Who comes next ? Yon tall, thin-made, sa- 
 vage-looking man, with the petronel in his hand, 
 must be Andrew Ker of Faldonside, a bro- 
 ther's son, I believe, of the celebrated Sir Da- 
 vid Ker of Cessford ; his look and bearing those 
 of a Border freebooter; his disposition so savage.
 
 19 
 
 that, during the fray in the cabinet, he present- 
 ed his loaded piece at the bosom of the young 
 and beautiful Queen, that Queen also being 
 within a few weeks of becoming: a mother." 
 
 " Bravo, beau cousin ! — Well, having raised 
 your bevy of phantoms, I hope you do not in- 
 tend to send them back to their cold beds to 
 warm them ? You will put them to some action, 
 and since you do threaten the Canongate with 
 your desperate quill, you surely mean to novel- 
 ize, or to dramatize if you will, this most sin- 
 gular of all tragedies ?" 
 
 " Worse — that is less interesting periods of 
 history have been, indeed, shown up, for fur- 
 nishing amusement to the peaceable ages which 
 have succeeded; but, dear lady, the events are 
 too well known in Mary's days, to be used as 
 vehicles of romantic fiction. What can a better 
 writer than myself add to the elegant and for- 
 cible narrative of Robertson ? So adieu to my 
 vision — I awake, like John Bunyan, and behold 
 it is a dream. — Well, enough that I awake 
 without a sciatica, which would have probably 
 rewarded my slumbers had I profaned Queen
 
 20 
 
 Mary's bed, by using it as a mechanical resource 
 to awaken a torpid imagination." 
 
 " This will never do, cousin," answered Mrs 
 Baliol ; " you must get over all these scruples, if 
 you would thrive in the character of a romantic 
 historian, which you have determined to embrace. 
 What is the classic Robertson to you ? The 
 light which he carried was that of a lamp to il- 
 luminate the dark events of antiquity ; yours is 
 a magic lantern to raise up wonders which never 
 existed. No reader of sense wonders at your 
 historical inaccuracies, any more than he does 
 to see Punch in the show-box seated on the 
 same throne with King Solomon in his glory, 
 or to hear him hallowing out to the patriarch, 
 amid the deluge, * Mighty hazy weather, Mas^ 
 ter Noah.' " 
 
 " Do not mistake me, my dear madam," said 
 I ; " I am quite conscious of my own immuni- 
 ties as a tale-teller. But even the mendacious 
 Mr Fagg assures us, that though he never scru- 
 ples to tell a lie at his master's command, yet it 
 hurts his conscience to be found out. Now, 
 this is the reason why I avoid in prudence all
 
 21 
 
 well-known paths of history, where every one 
 can read the finger-posts carefully set up to ad- 
 vise them of the right turning ; and the very 
 boys and girls, who learn the history of Britain 
 by way of question and answer, hoot at a poor 
 author if he abandons the highway." 
 
 m Do not be discouraged, however, Cousin 
 Chrystal. There are plenty of wildernesses in 
 Scottish history, through which, unless I am 
 greatly misinformed, no certain paths have 
 been laid down from actual survey, but which 
 are only described by imperfect tradition, which 
 fills up with wonders and with legends the pe- 
 riods in which no real events are recognized to 
 have taken place. Even thus, as Mat Prior 
 says — 
 
 * Geographers on pathless downs, 
 Place elephants for want of towns.* " 
 
 " If such be your advice, my dear lady," said 
 I, " the course of my story shall take its rise 
 upon this occasion at a remote period of his- 
 tory, and in a province removed from my natu- 
 ral sphere of the Canongate."
 
 22 
 
 It was under the influence of those feelings 
 that I undertook the following Historical Ro- 
 mance, which, often suspended and flung aside, 
 is now arrived at a size too important to be 
 altogether thrown away, although there may be 
 little prudence in sending it to the press. 
 
 I have not placed in the mouth of the cha- 
 racters the Lowland Scotch dialect now spoken, 
 because unquestionably the Scottish of that day 
 resembled very closely the Anglo-Saxon, with 
 a sprinkling of French or Norman to enrich it. 
 Those who wish to investigate the subject, may 
 consult the Chronicles of Winton, and the His- 
 tory of Bruce, by Archdeacon Barbour. But 
 supposing my own skill in the ancient Scottish 
 were sufficient to invest the dialogue with its 
 peculiarities, a translation must have been ne- 
 cessary for the benefit of the general reader. 
 The Scottish dialect may be therefore consider- 
 ed as laid aside, unless where the use of pecu- 
 liar words may add emphasis or vivacity to the 
 composition,
 
 23 
 
 atnt Falenttne's Bay ; 
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Behold the Tiber," the vain Roman cried, 
 Viewing the ample Tay from Beglie's side ; 
 But where's the Scot that would the vaunt repay. 
 And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay ? 
 
 Among all the provinces in Scotland, if an 
 intelligent stranger were asked to describe the 
 most varied and the most beautiful, it is pro- 
 bable he would name the county of Perth. A 
 native also of any other district, though his par- 
 tialities might lead him to prefer his native 
 county in the first instance, would certainly 
 class that of Perth in the second, and thus give 
 its inhabitants a fair right to plead that — pre-
 
 24 
 
 judice apart — Perthshire forms the fairest por- 
 tion of Caledonia. It is long since Lady Mary 
 Wortley Montague, with that excellent taste 
 which characterises her writings, expressed her 
 opinion that the most interesting portion of 
 every country, and that which exhibits the va- 
 ried beauties of natural scenery in greatest per- 
 fection, is that where the mountains sink down 
 upon the champaign, or more level land. The 
 most picturesque, if not the highest hills, are to 
 be found there. The rivers find their way out 
 of the mountainous region by the wildest leaps, 
 and through the most romantic passes. Above, 
 the vegetation of a happier climate and soil, is 
 mingled with the magnificent characteristics of 
 mountain-scenery, and woods, groves, and thick- 
 ets in profusion, clothe the base of the hills, 
 ascend up the ravines, and mingle with the pre- 
 cipices. It is in such favoured regions that the 
 traveller finds what the poet Gray, or some one 
 else, has termed, Beauty lying in the lap of 
 Terror. 
 
 From the same advantage of situation, this
 
 25 
 
 favoured province presents a variety of the most 
 pleasing character. Its lakes, woods, and moun- 
 tains, may vie in beauty with any that the High- 
 land tour exhibits ; while Perthshire contains, 
 amidst this romantic scenery, and in some places 
 in connexion with it, many fertile and habitable 
 tracts, which may vie with the richness of mer- 
 ry England herself. The country has also been 
 the scene of many remarkable exploits and events, 
 some of historical importance, others interest- 
 ing to the poet and romancer, though recorded 
 in popular tradition alone. It was in these vales 
 that the Saxons of the plain, and the Gael of the 
 mountains, had many a desperate and bloody 
 encounter, in which it was frequently impos- 
 sible to decide the palm of victory between the 
 mailed chivalry of the Low Country, and the 
 plaided clans whom they opposed. 
 
 Perth, so eminent for the beauty of its situa- 
 tion, is a place of great antiquity ; and old tra- 
 dition assigns to the town the importance of a 
 Roman foundation. That victorious nation, it 
 is said, pretended to recognize the Tiber in the
 
 26 
 
 much more magnificent and navigable Tay, and 
 to acknowledge the large level space, well known 
 by the name of the North Inch, as having a near 
 resemblance to their Campus Martius. The city 
 was often the residence of our monarchs, who, 
 although they had no palace at Perth, found 
 the Cistercian Convent amply sufficient for the 
 reception of their court. It was here that James 
 the First, one of the wisest and best of the 
 Scottish kings, fell a victim to the jealousy of 
 the vengeful aristocracy. Here also occurred 
 the mysterious conspiracy of Gowrie, the scene 
 of which has only of late been effaced, by the 
 destruction of the ancient palace in which the 
 tragedy was acted. The Antiquarian Society of 
 Perth, with just zeal for the objects of their 
 pursuit, have published an accurate plan of this 
 memorable mansion, with some remarks upon 
 its connexion with the narrative of the plot, 
 which display equal acuteness and candour. 
 
 One of the most beautiful points of view 
 which Britain, or perhaps the world, can afford, 
 is, or rather we may say was, the prospect from
 
 27 
 
 a spot called the Wicks of Beglie, being a spe- 
 cies of niche at which the traveller arrived, af- 
 ter a long stage from Kinross, through a waste 
 and uninteresting country, and from which, as 
 forming a pass over the summit of a ridgy emi- 
 nence which he had gradually surmounted, he 
 beheld, stretching beneath him, the valley of the 
 Tay, traversed by its ample and lordly stream ; 
 the town of Perth, with its two large meadows, 
 or Inches, its steeples, and its towers ; the hills of 
 Moncrieff and Kinnoul faintly rising into pictu- 
 resque rocks, partly clothed with woods ; the rich 
 margin of the river, studded with elegant man- 
 sions ; and the distant view of the huge Gram- 
 pian mountains, the northern screen of this ex- 
 quisite landscape. The alteration of the road, 
 greatly, it must be owned, to the improvement 
 of general intercourse, avoids this magnificent 
 point of view, and the landscape is introduced 
 more gradually and partially to the eye, though 
 the approach must be still considered as extreme- 
 ly beautiful. There is still, we believe, a foot-path 
 left open, by which the station at the Wicks of
 
 28 
 
 Beglie may be approached ; and the traveller, 
 by quitting his horse or equipage, and walking 
 a few hundred yards, may still compare the 
 real landscape with the sketch which we have 
 attempted to give. But it is not in our power 
 to communicate, or in his to receive, the exqui- 
 site charm which surprise gives to pleasure, 
 when so splendid a view arises when least ex- 
 pected or hoped for, and which Chrystal Croft- 
 angry experienced when he beheld, for the first 
 time, the matchless scene. 
 
 Childish wonder, indeed, was an ingredient 
 in my delight, for I was not above fifteen years 
 old ; and as this had been the first excursion 
 which I was permitted to make on a pony of my 
 own, I also experienced the glow of indepen- 
 dence, mingled with that degree of anxiety 
 which the most conceited boy feels when he is 
 first abandoned to his own undirected counsels. 
 I recollect pulling up the reins without meaning 
 to do so, and gazing on the scene before me as 
 if I had been afraid it would shift like those in a 
 theatre before I could distinctly observe its dif-
 
 29 
 
 ferent parts, or convince myself that what I saw 
 was real. Since that hour, and the period is 
 now more than fifty years past, the recollection 
 of that inimitable landscape has possessed the 
 strongest influence over my mind, and retained 
 its place as a memorable thing, when much that 
 was influential on my own fortunes has fled 
 from my recollection. It is therefore natural, 
 that, whilst deliberating on what might be 
 brought forward for the amusement of the pub- 
 lic, I should pitch upon some narrative connect- 
 ed with the splendid scenery which made so 
 much impression on my youthful imagination, 
 and which may perhaps have that effect in setting 
 off the imperfections of the composition, which 
 ladies suppose a fine set of china to possess in 
 heightening the flavour of indifferent tea. 
 
 The period at which I propose to commence, 
 is, however, considerably earlier than either of 
 the remarkable historical transactions to which 
 I have already alluded, as the events which I 
 am about to recount occurred during the last 
 years of the fourteenth century, when the Scot*
 
 30 
 
 tish sceptre was swayed by the gentle, but feeble 
 hand of John, who reigned under the title of 
 Robert the Third.
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Perth, boasting, as we have already men- 
 tioned, so large a portion of the beauties of ina- 
 nimate nature, has at no time been without its 
 own share of those charms which are at once 
 more interesting and more transient. To be call- 
 ed the Fair Maid of Perth, would at any period 
 have been a high distinction, and have inferred 
 no mean superiority in beauty, where there 
 were many to claim that much-envied attribute. 
 But, in the feudal times, to which we now call 
 the reader's attention, female beauty was a qua- 
 lity of much higher importance than it has been 
 since the ideas of chivalry have been in a great 
 measure extinguished. The love of the ancient 
 cavaliers was a licensed species of idolatry, 
 which the love of Heaven alone was theoretical- 
 ly supposed to approach in intensity, and which 
 in practice it seldom equalled. God and the La-
 
 32 
 
 dies were familiarly appealed to in the same 
 breath ; and devotion to the fair sex was as pe- 
 remptorily enjoined upon the aspirant to the 
 honour of chivalry, as that which was due to 
 Heaven. At such a period in society, the power 
 of beauty was almost unlimited. It could level 
 the highest rank with that which was immea- 
 surably inferior. 
 
 It was but in the reign preceding that of 
 Robert III., that beauty alone had elevated a 
 person of inferior rank and indifferent morals to 
 share the Scottish throne; and many women, less 
 artful or less fortunate, had risen to greatness 
 from a state of concubinage, for which the man- 
 ners of the times made allowance and apology. 
 Such views might have dazzled a girl of higher 
 birth than Catharine, or Katie Glover, who was 
 universally acknowledged to be the most beauti- 
 ful young woman of the city or its vicinity, and 
 whose renown, as the Fair Maid of Perth, had 
 drawn on her much notice from the young gal- 
 lants of the Royal Court, when it chanced to be 
 residing in or near Perth ; insomuch, that more 
 than one nobleman of the highest rank, and most 
 
 13
 
 3:3 
 
 distinguished for deeds of chivalry, were more 
 attentive to exhibit feats of horsemanship as 
 they passed the door of old Simon Glover, in 
 what was called Couvrefew, or Curfew Street, 
 than to distinguish themselves in the tourna- 
 ments, where the noblest dames of Scotland 
 were spectators of their address. 
 
 But the Glover's daughter — for, as was com- 
 mon with citizens and artizans of that early 
 period, her father, Simon, derived his sirname 
 from the trade which he practised, — showed 
 no inclination to listen to any gallantry which 
 came from those of a station highly exalted 
 above that which she herself occupied ; and 
 though probably in no degree insensible to her 
 personal charms, seemed desirous to confine her 
 conquests to those who were within her own 
 sphere of life. Indeed, her beauty being of 
 that kind which we connect more with the 
 mind than with the person, was, notwithstand- 
 ing her natural kindness and gentleness of dis- 
 position, rather allied to reserve than to gaie- 
 ty, even when in company with her equals ; 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 34 
 
 and the earnestness with which she attended 
 upon the exercises of devotion, induced many 
 to think that Catharine Glover nourished the 
 private wish to retire from the world, and bury 
 herself in the recesses of the cloister. But to 
 such a sacrifice, should it be meditated, it was 
 not to be expected her father, reputed a wealthy 
 man, and having this only child, would yield a 
 willing consent. 
 
 In her resolution of avoiding the addresses of 
 the gallant courtiers, the reigning Beauty of 
 Perth was confirmed by the sentiments of her 
 parent. " Let them go," he said ; " let them go, 
 Catharine, those gallants, with their capering 
 horses, their jingling spurs, their plumed bon- 
 nets, and their trim moustaches ; they are not of 
 our class, nor will we aim at pairing with them. 
 To-morrow is Saint Valentine's Day, when 
 every bird chooses her mate ; but you will not 
 see the linnet pair with the sparrow-hawk, nor 
 the robin red-breast with the kite. My father 
 was an honest burgher of Perth, and could use 
 his needle as well as I can. Did there come
 
 35 
 
 war to the gates of our fair burgh, down went 
 needles, thread, and shamoy leather, and out 
 came the good head-piece and target from the 
 dark nook, and the long lance from above the 
 chimney. Show me a day that either he or I 
 were absent when the Provost made his mus- 
 ters ? Thus we have led our lives, my girl, 
 working to win our bread, and fighting to de- 
 fend it. I will have no son-in-law that thinks 
 himself better than me ; and for these lords and 
 knights, I trust thou wilt always remember 
 thou art too low to be their lawful love, and too 
 high to be their unlawful loon. And now lay 
 by thy work, lass, for it is holytide eve, and it 
 becomes us to go to the evening service, and 
 pray that Heaven may send thee a good Valen- 
 tine to-morrow." 
 
 So the Fair Maid of Perth laid aside the 
 splendid hawking glove which she was embroi- 
 dering for the Lady Drummond, and putting on 
 her holiday kirtle, prepared to attend her father 
 to the Blackfriars Monastery, which was adja- 
 cent to Couvrefew Street in which they lived.
 
 36 
 
 On their passage, Simon Glover, an ancient and 
 esteemed burgess of Perth, somewhat stricken 
 in years and increased in substance, received 
 from young and old the homage due to his vel- 
 vet jerkin and his gold chain, while the beauty 
 of Catharine, though concealed beneath her 
 screen — which resembled the mantilla still worn 
 in Flanders — called both obeisances and dof- 
 fings of the bonnet from young and old. 
 
 As the pair moved on arm in arm, they were 
 followed by a tall handsome young man, dressed 
 in a yeoman's habit of the plainest kind, but 
 which showed to advantage his fine limbs, as 
 the handsome countenance that looked out from 
 a quantity of curled tresses, surmounted by a 
 small scarlet bonnet, became that species of head- 
 dress. He had no other weapon than a staff in 
 his hand, it not being thought fit that persons 
 of his degree, (for he was an apprentice to the 
 old Glover,) should appear on the street armed 
 with sword or dagger, a privilege which the jack- 
 men, or military retainers of the nobility, es- 
 teemed exclusively their own. He attended his 
 master at holytide, partly in the character of a
 
 37 
 
 domestic, or protector, should there be cause for 
 his interference ; but it was not difficult to dis- 
 cern, by the earnest attention which he paid to 
 Catharine Glover, that it was to her, rather than 
 to her father, that he desired to dedicate his 
 good offices. Generally speaking, there was no 
 opportunity for his zeal displaying itself; for a 
 common feeling of respect induced passengers 
 to give way to the father and daughter. 
 
 But when the steel caps, barrets, and plumes, 
 of squires, archers, and men-at-arms, began to be 
 seen among the throng, the wearers of these war- 
 like distinctions were more rude in their demea- 
 nour than the quiet citizens. More than once, 
 when from chance, or psrhaps from an assump- 
 tion of superior importance, such an individual 
 took the wall of Simon in passing, the Glover's 
 youthful attendant bristled up with a look of de- 
 fiance, and the air of one who sought to distin- 
 guish his zeal in his mistress's service by its ar- 
 dour. As frequently did Conachar, for such was 
 the lad's name, receive a check from his master, 
 who gave him to understand that he did not 
 wish his interference before he required it.
 
 38 
 
 " Foolish boy," he said, " hast thou not lived 
 long enough in my shop to know that a blow 
 will breed a brawl — that a dirk will cut the skin 
 as fast as a needle pierces leather — that I love 
 peace, though I never feared war, and care not 
 which side of the causeway my daughter and I 
 walk upon, so we may keep our road in peace 
 and quietness ?" — Conachar excused himself as 
 zealous for his master's honour, yet was scarce 
 able to pacify the old citizen. — " What have we 
 to do with honour ?" said Simon Glover. " If 
 thou wouldst remain in my service, thou must 
 think of honesty, and leave honour to the swag- 
 gering fools who wear spurs at their heels and 
 iron on their shoulders. If you wish to wear 
 and use such garniture, you are welcome, but it 
 shall not be in my house or in my company." 
 Conachar seemed rather to kindle at this re- 
 buke than to submit to it. But a sign from Ca- 
 tharine, if that slight raising of her little finger 
 was indeed a sign, had more effect than the 
 angry reproof of his master ; and the youth 
 laid aside the military air which seemed natural
 
 39 
 
 to him, and relapsed into the humble follower 
 of a quiet burgher. 
 
 Meantime the little party were overtaken by 
 a tall young man wrapped in a cloak, which ob- 
 scured or muffled a part of his face, a practice 
 often used by the gallants of the time, when 
 they did not wish to be known, or were abroad 
 in quest of adventures. He seemed, in short, 
 one who might say to the world around him, 
 u I desire, for the present, not to be known, 
 or addressed in my own character ; but, as I 
 am answerable to myself alone for my actions, I 
 wear my incognito but for form's sake, and care 
 little whether you see through it or not." He 
 came on the right side of Catharine, who had 
 hold of her father's arm, and slackened his pace 
 as if joining their party. 
 
 " Good even to you, goodman." 
 
 " The same to your worship, and thanks. — 
 May I pray you to pass on ? — our pace is too slow 
 for that of your lordship — our company too 
 mean for that of your father's son." 
 
 " My father's son can best judge of that, old 
 man. I have business to talk of with you and
 
 10 
 
 with my fair St Catharine here, the loveliest 
 and most obdurate saint in the calendar." 
 
 " With deep reverence, my lord," said the 
 old man, " I would remind you that this is 
 good St Valentine's Eve, which is no time for 
 business, and that I can have your worshipful 
 commands by your serving man as early as it 
 pleases you to send them." 
 
 " There is no time like the present," said the 
 persevering youth, whose rank seemed to be of 
 a kind which set him above ceremony. " I wish 
 to know whether the buff doublet be finish- 
 ed which I commissioned some time since ; — 
 and from you, pretty Catharine, (here he sank 
 his voice to a whisper,) I desire to be informed 
 whether your fair fingers have been employed 
 upon it, agreeably to your promise ? But I need 
 not ask you, for my poor heart has felt the pang 
 of each puncture that pierced the garment which 
 was to cover it. Traitress, how wilt thou an- 
 swer for thus tormenting the heart that loves 
 thee so dearly !" 
 
 " Let me entreat you, my lord, to forego this 
 wild talk — it becomes not you to speak thus,
 
 41 
 
 or me to listen. We are of poor rank, but bo- 
 nest manners ; and tbe presence of the father 
 ought to protect the child from such expres- 
 sions, even from your lordship." 
 
 This she spoke so low, that neither her father 
 nor Conachar could understand what she said. 
 
 " Well, tyrant," answered the persevering 
 gallant, " I will plague you no longer now, 
 providing you will let me see you from your 
 window to-morrow, when the sun first peeps 
 over the eastern hill, and give me right to be 
 your Valentine for the year." 
 
 " Not so, my lord ; my father has but now 
 told me that hawks, far less eagles, pair not 
 with the humble linnet. Seek some court lady, 
 to whom your favours will be honour ; to me — 
 your highness must permit me to speak the plain 
 truth — they can be nothing but disgrace." 
 
 As they spoke thus, the party arrived at the 
 gate of the church. " Your lordship will, I 
 trust, permit us here to take leave of you," 
 said her father. " I am well aware how little 
 you will alter your pleasure for the pain and 
 uneasiness you may give to such as us ; but
 
 42 
 
 from the throng of attendants at the gate, your 
 lordship may see that there are others in the 
 church, to whom even your gracious lordship 
 must pay respect." 
 
 " Yes — respect ; and who pays any respect 
 to me ?" said the haughty young lord. " A 
 miserable artizan and his daughter, too much 
 honoured by my slightest notice, have the inso- 
 lence to tell me that my notice dishonours them. 
 Well, my princess of doe-skin and blue silk, I 
 will teach you to rue this." 
 
 As he murmured thus, the Glover and his 
 daughter entered the Dominican Church, and 
 their attendant, Conachar, in attempting to fol- 
 low them closely, jostled, perhaps not unwill- 
 ingly, the young nobleman. The gallant, start- 
 ing from his unpleasing reverie, and perhaps 
 considering this as an intentional insult, seized 
 on the young man by the breast, struck him, 
 and threw 1dm from him. His irritated op- 
 ponent recovered himself with difficulty, and 
 grasped towards his own side, as if seeking a 
 sword or dagger in the place where it was 
 usually worn ; but finding none, he made a
 
 43 
 
 gesture of disappointed rage, and entered the 
 church. During the few seconds he remained, 
 the young nobleman stood with his arms folded 
 on his breast, with a haughty smile, as if de- 
 fying him to do his worst. When Conachar 
 had entered the church, his opponent, adjust- 
 ing his cloak yet closer about his face, made a 
 private signal by holding up one of his gloves. 
 He was instantly joined by two men, who, dis- 
 guised like himself, had waited his motions at 
 a little distance. They spoke together earnest- 
 ly, after which the young nobleman retired in 
 one direction, his friends or followers going off 
 in another. 
 
 Simon Glover, before he entered the church, 
 cast a look towards the group, but had taken 
 his place among the congregation before they 
 separated themselves. He knelt down with the 
 air of a man who has something burthensome on 
 his mind ; but when the service was ended, he 
 seemed free from anxiety, as one who had re- 
 ferred himself and his troubles to the disposal 
 of Heaven. The ceremony of High Mass was 
 performed with considerable solemnity, a num-
 
 44 
 
 ber of noblemen and ladies of rank being pre- 
 sent. Preparations had indeed been made for 
 the reception of the good old King himself, but 
 some of those infirmities to which he was subject 
 had prevented Robert III. from attending the 
 service, as was his wont. When the congrega- 
 tion were dismissed, the Glover and his beauti- 
 ful daughter lingered for some time, for the 
 purpose of making their several shrifts in the 
 confessionals, where the priests had taken their 
 places for discharging that part of their duty. 
 Thus it happened that the night had fallen dark, 
 and the way was solitary, when they returned 
 along the now deserted streets to their own dwell- 
 ing. Most persons had betaken themselves to 
 home and to bed. They who still lingered in the 
 street were night-walkers or revellers, the idle 
 and swaggering retainers of the haughty nobles, 
 who were much wont to insult the peaceful pas- 
 sengers, relying on the impunity which their 
 masters' court favour was too apt to secure 
 them. 
 
 It was, perhaps, in apprehension of mischief 
 from some character of this kind, that Conachar,
 
 45 
 
 stepping up to the Glover, said, " Master, walk 
 faster — we are dogg'd." 
 
 " Dogg'd, sayest thou ? By whom and by 
 how, man ?" 
 
 " By one man muffled in his cloak, who fol- 
 lows us like our shadow." 
 
 " Then will I never mend my pace along the 
 Couvrefew Street, for the best one man that ever 
 trode it." 
 
 81 But he has arms," said Conachar. 
 
 " And so have we, and hands and legs and 
 feet. Why sure, Conachar, you are not afraid 
 of one man ?" 
 
 88 Afraid !" answered Conachar, indignant at 
 the insinuation ; " you shall soon know if I am 
 afraid." 
 
 88 Now you are as far on the other side of the 
 mark, thou foolish boy — thy temper has no 
 middle course ; there is no occasion to make a 
 brawl, though we do not run. Walk thou before 
 with Catharine, and I will take thy place. We 
 cannot be exposed to danger so near home as 
 we are." 
 
 The Glover fell behind accordingly, and cer-
 
 46 
 
 tainly observed a person keep so close to them, 
 as, the time and place considered, justified some 
 suspicion. When they crossed the street, he 
 also crossed it, and when they advanced or 
 slackened their pace, the stranger's was in pro- 
 portion accelerated or diminished. The matter 
 would have been of very little consequence had 
 Simon Glover been alone ; but the beauty of his 
 daughter might render her the object of some 
 profligate scheme, in a country where the laws 
 afforded such slight protection to those who had 
 not the means to defend themselves. Cona- 
 char and his fair charge having arrived on the 
 threshold of their own apartment, which was 
 opened to them by an old female servant, the 
 burgher's uneasiness was ended. Determined, 
 however, to ascertain, if possible, whether there 
 had been any cause for it, he called out to the 
 man whose motions had occasioned the alarm, 
 and who stood still, though he seemed to keep 
 out of reach of the light. " Come, step for- 
 ward, my friend, and do not play at bo-peep ; 
 knowest thou not, that they who walk like 
 phantoms in the dark, are apt to encounter the 
 3
 
 47 
 
 conjuration of a quarter-staff? Step forward, I 
 say, and show us thy shapes, man." 
 
 " Why, so I can, Master Glover," said one of 
 the deepest voices that ever answered question. 
 " I can show myshapes well enough, only I wish 
 they could hear the light something better." 
 
 " Body of me," exclaimed Simon, " I should 
 know that voice ! — And is it thou, in thy bodily 
 person, Harry Gow ? — nay, beshrew me if thou 
 passest this door with dry lips. What, man, 
 curfew has not rung yet, and if it had, it were 
 no reason why it should part father and son. 
 Come in, man ; Dorothy shall get us something 
 to eat, and we will jingle a can ere thou leave 
 us. Come in, I say ; my daughter Kate will 
 be right glad to see thee." 
 
 By this time he had pulled the person, whom 
 he welcomed so cordially, into a sort of kit- 
 chen, which served also upon ordinary occa- 
 sions the office of parlour. Its ornaments were 
 trenchers of pewter, mixed with a silver cup 
 or two, which, in the highest degree of cleanli- 
 ness, ornamented a range of shelves like those 
 of a beauffet, popularly called the Bink. A
 
 48 
 
 good fire, with the assistance of a blazing lamp, 
 spread light and cheerfulness through the apart- 
 ment, and a savoury smell of some victuals 
 which Dorothy was preparing, did not at all 
 offend the unrefined noses of those whose appe- 
 tite they were destined to satisfy. 
 
 Their unknown attendant now stood in full 
 light among them, and though his appearance 
 was neither dignified nor handsome, his face and 
 figure were not only deserving of attention, but 
 seemed in some manner to command it. He was 
 rather below the middle stature, but the breadth 
 of his shoulders, length and brawniness of his 
 arms, and the muscular appearance of the whole 
 man, argued a most unusual share of strength, 
 and a frame kept in vigour by constant exercise. 
 His legs were somewhat bent, but not in a manner 
 which could be said to approach to deformity ; 
 on the contrary, which seemed to correspond 
 to the strength of his frame, though it injured 
 in some degree its symmetry. His dress was of 
 buff-hide ; and he wore in a belt around his 
 waist a heavy broad-sword, and a dirk or poni- 
 ard, as if to defend his purse, which (burgher- 
 12
 
 49 
 
 fashion) was attached to the same cincture. 
 The head was well proportioned, round, close 
 cropped, and curled thickly with black hair. 
 There was daring and resolution in the dark 
 eye, but the other features seemed to express 
 a bashful timidity, mingled with good humour, 
 and obvious satisfaction at meeting with his old 
 friends. Abstracted from the bashful expres- 
 sion, which was that of the moment, the fore- 
 head of Henry Gow, or Smith, (for he was in- 
 differently so called, as both words equally in- 
 dicated his profession,) was high and noble, 
 but the lower part of the face was less happily 
 formed. The mouth was large, and well-fur- 
 nished with a set of firm and beautiful teeth, the 
 appearance of which corresponded with the air 
 of personal health and muscular strength, which 
 the whole frame indicated. A short thick beard, 
 and moustaches which had lately been arranged 
 with some care, completed the picture. His 
 age could not exceed eight-and-twenty. 
 
 The family appeared all well pleased with 
 the unexpected appearance of an old friend. 
 Simon Glover shook his hand again and again, 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 50 
 
 Dorothy made her compliments, and Catharine 
 herself offered freely her hand, which Henry 
 held in his massive grasp as if he designed to 
 carry it to his lips, but, after a moment's hesi- 
 tation, desisted, from fear lest the freedom might 
 be ill taken. Not that there was any resistance 
 on the part of the little hand which lay passive 
 in his grasp; but there was a smile mingled 
 with the blush on her cheek, which seemed to 
 increase the confusion of the gallant. Her fa- 
 ther, on his part, called out frankly? as he saw 
 his friend's hesitation, — 
 
 " Her lips, man, her lips ! and that's a proffer 
 I would not make to every one who crosses my 
 threshold. But, by good St Valentine, (whose 
 holiday will dawn to-morrow,) I am so glad to 
 see thee in the bonny city of Pertli again, that 
 it would be hard to tell the thing I could refuse 
 thee." 
 
 The Smith, — for, as has been said, such was 
 the craft of this sturdy artizan, — was encouraged 
 modestly to salute the Fair Maid, who yielded 
 the courtesy with a smile of affection that might 
 have become a sister, saying, at the same time*
 
 51 
 
 " Let me hope that I welcome hack to Perth a 
 repentant and amended man." 
 
 He held her hand as if about to answer, then 
 suddenly, as one who lost courage at the mo- 
 ment, relinquished his grasp : and drawing 
 back as if afraid of what he had done, his dark 
 countenance glowing with bashfulness, mixed 
 with delight, he sate down by the fire on the 
 opposite side from that which Catharine occu- 
 pied. 
 
 " Come, Dorothy, speed thee with the food, 
 old woman ; — and Conachar — where is Cona- 
 char ?" 
 
 " He is gone to bed, sir, with a headach," 
 said Catharine, in a hesitating voice. 
 
 " Go, call him, Dorothy," said the old Glo- 
 ver ; " I will not be used thus by him ; his 
 Highland blood, forsooth, is too gentle to lay a 
 trencher or spread a napkin, and he expects to 
 enter our ancient and honourable craft without 
 duly waiting and tending upon his master and 
 teacher in all matters of lawful obedience. Go, 
 call him, I say ; I will not be thus neglected." 
 
 Dorothy was presently heard screaming up 
 stairs, or more probably up a ladder, to the 

 
 52 
 
 cock-loft, to which the recusant apprentice had 
 made an untimely retreat ; a muttered answer 
 was returned, and soon after Conachar appear- 
 ed in the eating apartment. There was a gloom 
 of deep sullenness on his haughty, though hand- 
 some features, and as he proceeded to spread 
 the board, and arrange the trenchers, with salt, 
 spices, and other condiments — to discharge, in 
 short, the duties of a modern domestic, which 
 the custom of the time imposed upon all ap- 
 prentices — he was obviously disgusted and in- 
 dignant with the mean office imposed upon him. 
 The Fair Maid of Perth looked with some an- 
 xiety at him, as if apprehensive that his evident 
 sullenness might increase her father's displea- 
 sure ; but it was not till her eyes had sought 
 out his for a second time, that Conachar con- 
 descended to veil his dissatisfaction, and throw 
 a greater appearance of willingness and sub- 
 mission into the services which he was perform- 
 ing. 
 
 And here we must acquaint our reader, that 
 though the private interchange of looks betwixt 
 Catharine Glover and the young mountaineer 
 indicated some interest on the part of the for-
 
 53 
 
 mer in the conduct of the latter, it would have 
 puzzled the strictest observer to discover whe- 
 ther that feeling exceeded in degree what might 
 have been felt by a young person towards a 
 friend and inmate of the same age, with whom 
 she had lived on habits of intimacy. 
 
 " Thou hast had a long journey, son Henry," 
 said Glover, who had always used that affec- 
 tionate style of speech, though noways akin to 
 the young artizan ; "ay, and hast seen many 
 a river besides Tay, and many a fair bigging 
 besides St Johnston." 
 
 " But none that I like half so well, and none 
 that are half so much worth my liking," an- 
 swered the Smith ; " I promise you, father, 
 that when I crossed the Wicks of Beglie, and saw 
 the bonny city lie stretched fairly before me like 
 a Fairy Queen in romance, whom the Knight 
 finds asleep among a wilderness of flowers, I felt 
 even as a bird, when it folds its wearied wings 
 to stoop down on its own nest." 
 
 " Aha ! so thou canst play the Maker* yet?" 
 said the Glover. " What, shall we have our 
 ballets, and our roundels again ? our lusty ca- 
 
 * Old Scottish tor Poet.
 
 54 
 
 rols for Christmas, and our mirthful springs to 
 trip it round the May-pole ?" 
 
 " Such toys there may be forthcoming, fa- 
 ther," said Henry Smith, " though the blast of 
 the bellows and the clatter of the anvil make 
 but coarse company to lays of minstrelsy ; but 
 I can afford them no better, since I must mend 
 my fortune, though I mar my verses." 
 
 " Right again — my own son just," answered 
 the Glover; " and I trust thou has made a saving 
 voyage of it ?" 
 
 " Nay, I made a thriving one, father — I sold 
 the steel habergeon that you wot of for four 
 hundred marks, to the English Warden of the 
 East Marches, Sir Magnus Redman. He scarce 
 scrupled a penny after I gave him leave to try 
 a sword-dint upon it. The beggarly Highland 
 thief who bespoke it boggled at half the sum, 
 though it had cost me a year's labour." 
 
 " What dost thou start at, Conachar ?" said 
 Simon, addressing himself, by way of paren- 
 thesis, to the mountain disciple ; " wilt thou 
 never learn to mind thy own business, without 
 listening to what is passing round thee ? What
 
 55 
 
 is it to thee that an Englishman thinks that 
 cheap which a Scottishman may hold dear ?" 
 
 Conachar turned round to speak, but, after a 
 moment's consideration, looked down, and en- 
 deavoured to recover his composure, which had 
 been deranged by the contemptuous manner in 
 which the Smith had spoken of his Highland 
 customers. Henry went on without paying any 
 attention to him, 
 
 " I sold at high prices seme swords and whing- 
 ers when I was at Edinburgh. They expect war 
 there ; and if it please God to send it, my mer- 
 chandize will be worth its price. St Dunstan 
 make us thankful, for he was of our craft. In 
 short, this fellow (laying his hand on his purse) 
 who, thou knowest, father, was somewhat lank 
 and low in condition when I set out four months 
 since, is now as round and full as a six-weeks' 
 porker." 
 
 " And that Gther leathern-sheathed iron-hilt- 
 ed fellow who hangs beside him," said the Glo- 
 ver, " has he been idle all this while ? — Come, 
 jolly Smith, confess the truth — how many brawls 
 hast thou had since crossing the Tay ?" 
 
 " Nay, now you do me wrong, father, to
 
 56 
 
 ask me such a question, (glaucing a look at Ca- 
 tharine,) in such a presence," answered the ar- 
 mourer ; " I make swords, indeed, but I leave 
 it to other people to use them. No, no — seldom 
 have I a naked sword in my fist, save when I 
 am turning them on the anvil or grindstone : 
 and they slandered me to your daughter Catha- 
 rine, that led her to suspect the quietest burgess 
 in Perth of being a brawler. I wish the best of 
 them would dare say such a word at the Hill of 
 Kinnoul, and never a man on the green but he 
 and I." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said the Glover, laughing, " we 
 should then have a fine sample of your patient 
 sufferance — Out upon you, Henry, that you will 
 speak so like a knave to one who knows thee so 
 well ! You look at Kate, too, as if she did not 
 know that a man in this country must make his 
 hand keep his head, unless he will sleep in slen- 
 der security. Come, come ; beshrew me if thou 
 hast not spoiled as many suits of armour as thou 
 hast made." 
 
 " Why, he would be a bad armourer, father 
 Simon, that could not with his own blow make 
 proof of his own workmanship. If I did not
 
 57 
 
 sometimes cleave a helmet, or strike a sword's 
 point through a harness, I should not know what 
 strength of fabric to give them ; and might jin- 
 gle together such pasteboard work as yonder 
 Edinburgh smiths think not shame to put out 
 of their hands." 
 
 " Aha — now would I lay a gold crown thou 
 hast had a quarrel with some Edinburgh Burn- 
 the-wind upon that very ground ?" 
 
 " A quarrel ! — no, father," replied the Perth 
 armourer, " but a measuring of swords with 
 such a one upon St Leonard's Crags, for the ho- 
 nour of my bonny city, I confess. Surely you 
 do not think I would quarrel with a brother 
 craftsman ?" 
 
 " Ah, to a surety, no. But how did your bro- 
 ther craftsman come off?" 
 
 " Why, as one with a sheet of paper on his 
 bosom might come off from the stroke of a lance 
 — or rather, indeed, he came not off at all ; for, 
 when I left him, he was lying in the Hermit's 
 Lodge daily expecting death, for which Father 
 Gervis said he was in heavenly preparation." 
 
 " Well — any more measuring of weapons ?" 
 said the Glover.
 
 58 
 
 8< Why, truly, I fought an Englishman at Ber- 
 wick besides, on the old question of the Supre- 
 macy, as they call it — I am sure you would not 
 have me slack at that debate ? — and I had the 
 luck to hurt him on the left knee/' 
 
 " Well done for St Andrew ! — to it again. — 
 Whom next had you to deal with ?" said Simon, 
 laughing at the exploits of his pacific friend. 
 
 " I fought a Scotsman in the Torwood," an- 
 swered Henry Smith, " upon a doubt which was 
 the better swordsman, which, you are aware, 
 could not be known or decided without a trial. 
 The poor fellow lost two fingers." 
 
 " Pretty well for the most peaceful lad in 
 Perth, who never touches a sword but in the 
 way of his profession. — Well, anything more to 
 tell us ?" 
 
 " Little — for the drubbing of a Highlandman 
 is a thing not worth mentioning." 
 
 " For what didst thou drub him, O man of 
 peace ?" inquired the Glover* 
 
 " For nothing that I can remember," replied 
 the Smith, " except his presenting himself on 
 the south side of Stirling Bridge."
 
 59 
 
 " Well, here is to thee, and thou art wel- 
 come to me after all these exploits. — Conaehar, 
 bestir thee. Let the cans clink, lad, and thou 
 shalt have a cup of the nut-brown for thyself, 
 my boy." 
 
 Conaehar poured out the gGod liquor for his 
 master and for Catharine, with due observance. 
 But that done, he set the flagon on the table, and 
 sate down. 
 
 " How now, sirrah ! — be these your manners ? 
 Fill to my guest, the worshipful Master Henry 
 Smith." 
 
 " Master Smith may fill for himself, if he 
 wishes for liquor," answered the youthful Celt. 
 " The eon of my father has demeaned himself 
 enough already for one evening." 
 
 " That's well erowed for a cockeril," said 
 Henry ; " but thou art so far right, my lad, 
 that the man deserves to die of thirst who will 
 not drink without a cup-bearer." 
 
 But his entertainer took not the contumacy 
 of the young apprentice with so much patience. 
 — " Now, by my honest word, and by the best 
 glove I ever made," said Simon, " thou shalt
 
 60 
 
 help him with liquor from that cup and flagon, 
 if thee and I are to abide under one roof." 
 
 Conachar arose sullenly upon hearing this 
 threat, and, approaching the Smith, who had 
 j ust taken the tankard in his hand, and was rai- 
 sing it to his head, he contrived to stumble 
 against him and jostle him so awkwardly, that 
 the foaming ale gushed over his face, person, and 
 dress. Good-natured as the Smith, in spite of 
 his warlike propensities, really was in the ut- 
 most degree, his patience failed under such a 
 provocation. He seized the young man's throat, 
 being the part which came readiest to his grasp, 
 as Conachar arose from the pretended stumble, 
 and pressing it severely as he cast the lad from 
 him, exclaimed, " Had this been in another 
 place, young gallows-bird, I had stowed the lugs 
 out of thy head, as I have done to some of thy 
 clan before thee." 
 
 Conachar recovered his feet with the activity 
 of a tiger, and exclaiming, " Never shall you 
 live to make that boast again !" drew a short 
 sharp knife from his bosom, and springing on 
 Henry Smith, attempted to plunge it into his 
 bodv over the collar-bone, which must have
 
 61 
 
 been a mortal wound. But the object of this 
 violence was so ready to defend himself by stri- 
 king up the assailant's hand, that the blow only 
 glanced on the bone, and scarce drew blood. 
 To wrench the dagger from the boy's hand, and 
 to secure him with a grasp like that of his own 
 iron vice, was, for the powerful Smith, the 
 work of a single moment. Conachar felt him- 
 self at once in the absolute power of the for- 
 midable antagonist whom he had provoked ; he 
 became deadly pale, as he had been the moment 
 before glowing red, and stood mute with shame 
 and fear, until, relieving him from his power- 
 ful hold, the Smith quietly said, " It is well for 
 thee that thou canst not make me angry — thou 
 art but a boy, and I, a grown man, ought not 
 to have provoked thee. But let this be a warn- 
 ing." 
 
 Conachar stood an instant as if about to re- 
 ply, and then left the room, ere Simon had col- 
 lected himself enough to speak. Dorothy was 
 running hither and thither for salves and heal- 
 ing herbs. Catharine had swooned at the sight 
 of the trickling blood.
 
 62 
 
 ' e Let me depart, father Simon," said Hen- 
 ry Smith, mournfully ; " I might have guessed 
 I should have my old luck, and spread strife and 
 bloodshed where I would wish most to bring 
 peace and happiness. Care not for me — look 
 to poor Catharine ; the fright of such an affray 
 hath killed her, and all through my fault." 
 
 " Thy fault, my son ! — It was the fault of 
 yon Highland cateran, whom it is my curse to 
 be cumbered with ; but he shall go back to his 
 glens to-morrow, or taste the tolbooth of the 
 burgh. An assault upon the life of his master's 
 guest in his master's house ! — It breaks all bonds 
 between us. But let me see to thy wound." 
 
 " Catharine !" repeated the armourer, " look 
 to Catharine." 
 
 " Dorothy will see to her," said Simon ; " sur- 
 prise and fear kill not — skenes and dirks do. 
 And she is not more the daughter of my blood 
 than thou, my dear Henry, art the son of my 
 affections. Let me see the wound. The skene- 
 occle is an ugly weapon in a Highland hand." 
 
 " I mind it no more than the scratch of a 
 
 wild-cat," said the armourer : " and now that 
 
 lc
 
 C3 
 
 the colour is coming to Catharine's cheek again, 
 you shall see me a sound man in a moment." 
 He turned to a corner in which hung a small 
 mirror, and hastily took from his purse some 
 dry lint, to apply to the slight wound he had re- 
 ceived. As he unloosed the leathern jacket 
 from his neck and shoulders, the manly and 
 muscular form which they displayed, was not 
 more remarkable than the fairness of his skin, 
 where it had not, as in hands and face, been ex- 
 posed to the effects of rough weather, and of his 
 laborious trade. He hastily applied some lint 
 to stop the bleeding, and a little water having 
 removed all other marks of the fray, he button- 
 ed his doublet anew, and turned again to the 
 table where Catharine, still pale and trembling, 
 was, however, recovered from her fainting fit. 
 
 " Would you but grant me your forgiveness 
 for having offended you in the very first hour 
 of my return ? The lad was foolish to provoke 
 me, and yet I was more foolish to be provoked 
 by such as he. Your father blames me not, Ca- 
 tharine, and cannot you forgive me ?" 
 
 " I have no power to forgive," answered Ca-
 
 64 
 
 tharine, " what I have no title to resent. It 
 my father chooses to have his house made the 
 scene of night brawls, I must witness them — I 
 cannot help myself. Perhaps it was wrong in 
 me to faint and interrupt, it may be, the farther 
 progress of a fair fray. My apology is, that I 
 cannot bear the sight of blood.' 1 
 
 " And is this the manner,'' said her father, 
 " in which you receive my friend after his long 
 absence ? My friend, did I say ? nay, my son. 
 He escapes being murdered by a fellow whom I 
 will to-morrow clear this house of, and you 
 treat him as if he had done wrong in dashing 
 from him the snake which was about to sting 
 him !" 
 
 " It is not my part, father," returned the 
 Maid of Perth, " to decide who had the right 
 or wrong in the present brawl ; nor did I see 
 what happened distinctly enough, to say which 
 was assailant, or which defender. But sure our 
 friend, Master Henry, will not deny that he 
 lives in a perfect atmosphere of strife, blood, 
 and quarrels. He hears of no swordsman but 
 he envies his reputation, and must needs put 
 9
 
 6.5 
 
 his valour to the proof. He sees no brawl but 
 he must strike into the midst of it. Has he 
 friends, he fights with them for love and ho- 
 nour — has he enemies, he fights with them for 
 hatred and revenge. And those men who are 
 neither his friends nor foes, he fights with them 
 because they are on this or that side of a river. 
 His days are days of battle, and doubtless he 
 acts them over again in his dreams." 
 
 " Daughter," said Simon, " your tongue 
 wags too freely. Quarrels and fights are men's 
 business, not women's, and it is not maidenly to 
 think or speak of them." 
 
 " But if they are so rudely enacted in our pre- 
 sence," said Catharine, " it is a little hard to 
 expect us to think or speak of anything else. I 
 will grant you, my father, that this valiant bur- 
 gess of Perth is one of the best-hearted men that 
 draws breath within its walls — that he would 
 walk a hundred yards out of the way rather 
 than step upon a worm — that he would be as 
 loath, in wantonness, to kill a spider, as if he were 
 a kinsman to King Robert, of happy memory 
 — that in the last quarrel before his departure 
 he fought with four butchers, to prevent their 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 
 
 killing a poor mastiff that had misbehaved in 
 the bull-ring, and narrowly escaped the fate of 
 ihe cur that he was protecting. I will grant you 
 also, that the poor never pass the house of the 
 wealthy armourer but they are relieved with 
 food and alms. But what avails all this, when 
 his sword makes as many starving orphans and 
 mourning widows as his purse relieves ?" 
 
 " Nay, but Catharine, hear me but a word 
 before going on with a string of reproaches 
 against my friend, that sound something like 
 sense, while they are, in truth, inconsistent 
 with all we hear and see around us. What," 
 continued the Glover, " do our King and our 
 court, our knights and ladies, our abbots, monks, 
 and priests themselves, so earnestly crowd to 
 see ? Is it not to behold the display of chivalry, 
 to witness the gallant actions of brave knights 
 in the tilt and tourney-ground, to look upon 
 deeds of honour and glory achieved by arms and 
 bloodshed ? What is it these proud knights do, 
 that differs from what our good Henry Gow 
 works out in his sphere? Who ever heard of 
 his abusing his skill and strength to do evil or 
 forward oppression, and who knows not how
 
 often it has been employed in the good cause of 
 the burgh ? And shouldst not thou, of all wo- 
 men, deem thyself honoured and glorious, that 
 so true a heart and so strong an arm has termed 
 himself thy bachelor ? In what do the proudest 
 dames take their loftiest pride, save in the chi- 
 valry of their knight ; and has the boldest in 
 Scotland done more gallant deeds than my brave 
 son Henry, though but of low degree ? Is he 
 not known to Highland and Lowland as the 
 best armourer that ever made sword, and the 
 truest soldier that ever drew one ?" 
 
 " My dearest father," answered Catharine, 
 " your words contradict themselves, if you will 
 permit your child to say so. Let us thank God 
 and the good saints, that we are in a peaceful 
 rank of life, below the notice of those whose 
 high birth, and yet higher pride, lead them to 
 glory in their bloody works of cruelty, which 
 the proud and lordly term deeds of chivalry. 
 Your wisdom will allow that it would be ab- 
 surd in us to prank ourselves in their dainty 
 plumes and splendid garments — why, then, 
 should we imitate their full-blown vices? Why 
 should we assume their hard-hearted pride and
 
 68 
 
 relentless cruelty, to which murder is not only 
 a sport, but a subject of vainglorious triumph ? 
 Let those whose rank claims as its right such 
 bloody homage, take pride and pleasure in it ; — 
 we, who have no share in the sacrifice, may the 
 better pity the sufferings of the victim. Let us 
 thank our lowliness, since it secures us from 
 temptation. — But forgive me, father, if I have 
 stepped over the limits of my duty, in contra- 
 dicting the views which you entertain, with so 
 many others, on these subjects." 
 
 " Nay, thou hast ever too much talk for me, 
 girl," said her father, somewhat angrily. " I am 
 but a poor workman, whose best knowledge is 
 to distinguish the left-hand glove from the right. 
 But if thou wouldst have my forgiveness, say 
 something of comfort to my poor Henry. There 
 he sits, confounded and dismayed with all the 
 preachment thou hast heaped together ; and he, 
 to whom a trumpet sound was like the invitation 
 to a feast, is struck down at the sound of a child's 
 whistle." 
 
 The armourer, indeed, while he heard the lips 
 that were dearest to him paint his character in 
 such unfavourable colours, had laid his head
 
 69 
 
 down on the table, upon his folded arms, in an 
 attitude of the deepest dejection, or almost de- 
 spair. " I would to Heaven, my dearest father," 
 answered Catharine, " that it were in my power 
 to speak comfort to Henry, without betraying 
 the sacred cause of the truths I have just told 
 you. And I may, — nay, I must have such a 
 commission," she continued, with something 
 that the earnestness with which she spoke, and 
 the extreme beauty of her features, caused for 
 the moment to resemble inspiration. " The 
 truth of Heaven," she said, in a solemn tone, 
 " was never committed to a tongue, however 
 feeble, but it gave a right to that tongue to 
 announce mercy, while it declared judgment. — 
 Arise, Henry — rise up, noble-minded, good, and 
 generous, though widely mistaken man — Thy 
 faults are those of this cruel and remorseless age 
 — thy virtues all thine own." 
 
 While she thus spoke, she laid her hand upon 
 the Smith's arm, and extricating it from under 
 his head by a force which, however gentle, he 
 could not resist, she compelled him to raise to^ 
 wards her his manly face, and the eyes into
 
 70 
 
 which her expostulations, mingled with other 
 feelings, had summoned tears. " Weep not," she 
 said, " or rather weep on — but weep as those 
 who have hope. Abjure the sins of pride and 
 anger, which most easily beset thee — fling from 
 thee the accursed weapons, to the fatal and mur- 
 derous use of which thou art so easily tempted." 
 " You speak to me in vain, Catharine," re- 
 turned the armourer ; " I may, indeed, turn 
 monk and retire from the world, but while I 
 live in it I must practise my trade ; and while I 
 form armour and weapons for others, I cannot 
 myself withstand the temptation of using them. 
 You would not reproach me as you do, if you 
 knew how inseparably the means by which I 
 gain my bread are connected with that warlike 
 spirit which you impute to me as a fault, 
 though it is the consequence of inevitable ne- 
 cessity. While I strengthen the shield or cors- 
 let to withstand wounds, must I not have con- 
 stantly in remembrance the manner and strength 
 with which they may be dealt ; and when I forge 
 the sword, and temper it for war, is it practicable 
 for me to avoid the recollection of its use ?"
 
 71 
 
 " Then throw from you, my dear Henry," 
 said the enthusiastic girl, clasping with both 
 her slender hands the nervous strength and 
 weight of one of the muscular armourer's, which 
 they raised with difficulty, permitted by its owner, 
 yet without receiving assistance from his voli- 
 tion — " cast from you, I say, the art which is 
 a snare to you. Abjure the fabrication of wea- 
 pons which can only be useful to abridge human 
 life, already too short for repentance, or to en- 
 courage with a feeling of safety those whom fear 
 might otherwise prevent from risking themselves 
 in peril. The art of forming arms, whether of- 
 fensive or defensive, is alike sinful in one to 
 whose violent and ever vehement disposition 
 the very working upon them proves a sin and 
 a snare. Resign utterly the manufacture of 
 weapons of every description, and deserve the 
 forgiveness of Heaven, by renouncing all that 
 can lead to the sin which most easily besets 
 you." 
 
 " And what," murmured the armourer, " am 
 I to do for my livelihood, when I have given
 
 72 
 
 over the art of forging arms, for which Henry 
 of Perth is known from the Tay to the 
 Thames?" 
 
 " Your art itself," said Catharine, " has in- 
 nocent and laudable resources. If you renounce 
 the forging of swords and bucklers, there re- 
 mains to you the task of forming the harmless 
 spade, and the honourable as well as useful 
 ploughshare, — of those implements which con- 
 tribute to the support of life, or to its comforts. 
 Thou canst frame locks and bars to defend the 
 property of the weak against the stouthrief and 
 oppression of the strong, Men will still resort 
 to thee, and repay thy honest industry " 
 
 But here Catharine was interrupted. Her 
 father had heard her declaim against war and 
 tournaments with a feeling, that though her 
 doctrines were new to him, they might not, 
 nevertheless, be entirely erroneous. He felt, 
 indeed, a wish that his proposed son-in-law 
 should not commit himself voluntarily to the 
 hazards which the daring character and great 
 personal strength of Henry the Smith had hi-
 
 73 
 
 therto led him to incur too readily ; and so far 
 he would rather have desired that Catharine's 
 arguments should have produced some effect 
 upon the mind of her lover, whom he knew to 
 be as ductile, when influenced by his affections, 
 as he was fierce and intractable when assailed 
 by hostile remonstrances or threats. But her 
 arguments interfered with his views, when he 
 heard her enlarge upon the necessity of his design- 
 ed son-in-law resigning a trade which brought 
 in more ready income than any at that time prac- 
 tised in Scotland, and more profit to Henry of 
 Perth, in particular, than to any armourer in 
 the nation. He had some indistinct idea, that it 
 would not be amiss to convert, if possible, 
 Henry the Smith from his too frequent use of 
 arms, even though he felt some pride in being 
 connected with one who wielded with such su- 
 perior excellence those weapons, which in that 
 warlike age it was the boast of all men to manage 
 with spirit. But when he heard his daughter 
 recommend, as the readiest road to this pacific 
 state of mind, that her lover should renounce 
 the gainful trade in which he was held unrival-
 
 led, and which, from the constant private dif- 
 ferences and public wars of the time, was sure 
 to afford him a large income, he could withhold 
 his wrath no longer. The daughter had scarce 
 recommended to her lover the fabrication of 
 the implements of husbandry, than, feeling the 
 certainty of being right, of which in the earlier 
 part of their debate he had been somewhat 
 doubtful, the father broke in with — 
 
 " Locks and bars, plough-graith and harrow- 
 teeth ! — and why not grates and fire-prongs, and 
 Culross girdles, and an ass to carry the mer- 
 chandize through the country — and thou for 
 another ass to lead it by the halter ? Why, 
 Catharine, girl, has sense altogether forsaken 
 thee, or dost thou think that in these hard 
 and iron days, men will give ready silver for 
 anything save that which can defend their 
 own life, or enable them to take that of their 
 enemy ? We want swords to protect ourselves 
 every moment now, thou silly wench, and not 
 ploughs to dress the ground for the grain we 
 may never see rise. As for the matter of our 
 daily bread, those who are strong seize it, and
 
 75 
 
 live ; those who are weak yield it, and die of hun- 
 ger. Happy is the man who, like my worthy son, 
 has means of obtaining his living otherwise 
 than by the point of the sword which he makes. 
 Preach peace to him as much as thou wilt — I 
 will never be he will say thee nay j but as for 
 bidding the first armourer in Scotland forego 
 the forging of swords, curtal-axes, and harness, 
 it is enough to drive patience itself mad — Out 
 from my sight ! — and next morning I prithee re- 
 member, that shouldst thou have the luck to see 
 Henry the Smith, which is more than thy usage 
 of him has deserved, you see a man who has not 
 his match in Scotland at the use of broadsword 
 and battle-axe, and who can work for five hun- 
 dred merks a-year without breaking a holiday." 
 The daughter, on hearing her father speak 
 thus peremptorily, made a low obeisance, and, 
 without further good-night, withdrew to the 
 chamber which was her usual sleeping apart- 
 ment.
 
 7(> 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The armourer's heart swelled big with va- 
 rious and contending sensations, so that it seem- 
 ed as if it would burst the leathern doublet un- 
 der which it was shrouded. He arose — turned 
 away his head, and extended his hand towards 
 the Glover, while he averted his face, as if de- 
 sirous that his emotion should not be read upon 
 his countenance. 
 
 " Nay, hang me if I bid you farewell, man," 
 said Simon, striking the flat of his hand against 
 that which the armourer expanded towards him. 
 " I will shake no hands with you for an hour 
 to come at least. Tarry but a moment, man, 
 and I will explain all this ; and surely a few 
 drops of blood from a scratch, and a few silly 
 words from a foolish wench's lips, are not to 
 part father and son, when they have been so
 
 77 
 
 Jong without meeting? Stay, then, man, if ever 
 you would wish for a father's blessing and St 
 Valentine's, whose blessed eve this chances to 
 be." 
 
 The Glover was soon heard loudly sum- 
 moning Dorothy, and, after some clanking of 
 keys and trampling up and down stairs, Doro- 
 thy appeared bearing three large rummer cups 
 of green glass, which were then esteemed a great 
 and precious curiosity, and the Glover followed 
 with a huge bottle, equal at least to three quarts 
 of these degenerate days. — " Here is a cup of 
 wine, Henry, older by half than I am myself; 
 my father had it in a gift from stout old Crabbe 
 the Flemish engineer, who defended Perth so 
 stoutly in the minority of David the Second. 
 We Glovers could always do something in war, 
 though our connexion with it was less than yours 
 who work in steel and iron. And my father had 
 pleased old Crabbe — some other day I will tell 
 you how, and also how long these bottles were 
 concealed under ground, to save them from the 
 reiving Southron. So I will empty a cup to the 
 soul's health of mv honoured father — Mav his
 
 sins be forgiven him ! Dorothy, thou shalt drink 
 this pledge, and then be gone to thy rock-loft. 
 I know thine ears are itching, girl, but I have 
 that to say which no one must hear save Henry 
 Smith, the son of mine adoption."' 
 
 Dorothy did not venture to remonstrate, but 
 taking off her glass, or rather her goblet, with 
 good courage, retired to her sleeping apartment, 
 according to her master's commands. The two 
 friends were left alone. 
 
 " It grieves me, friend Henry," said Simon, 
 filling at the same time his own glass and his 
 guest's, " it grieves me, from my soul, that my 
 daughter retains this silly humour; but also,me- 
 thinks, thou mightst mend it. Why wouldst 
 thou come hither clattering with thy sword and 
 dagger, when the girl is so silly that she cannot 
 bear the sight of these ? Dost thou not remem- 
 ber that thou hadst a sort of quarrel with her 
 even before thy last departure from Perth, be- 
 cause thou wouldst not go like other honest quiet 
 burghers, but must be ever armed, like one of 
 the rascally jackmen that wait on the nobility? 
 Sure it is time enough for decent burgesses to
 
 79 
 
 arm, at the tolling of the common bell, which 
 calls us out bodin in effeir of war."* 
 
 " Why, my good father, that was not my 
 fault ; but I had no sooner quitted my nag than 
 I run hither to tell you of my return, thinking, 
 if it were your will to permit me, that I would 
 get your advice about being Mistress Catharine's 
 Valentine for the year ; and then I heard from 
 Mrs Dorothy that you were gone to hear mass at 
 the Black Friars. So, I thought I would follow 
 thither, partly to hear the same mass with you, 
 and partly — Our Lady and St Valentine forgive 
 me — to look upon one who thinks little enough 
 of me — And, as you entered the church, me- 
 thought I saw two or three dangerous-looking 
 men holding counsel together, and gazing at 
 you and at her, and in especial Sir John Ra- 
 morny, whom I knew well enough, for all his 
 disguise, and the velvet patch over his eye, and 
 
 " That is, not in dread of war, but in the guise which cjf'eirs, 
 or belongs, to war ; in arms, namely, offensive and defensive. M Bo- 
 din in feir of war," a frequent term in old Scottish history and 
 muniments, means arrayed in warlike guise.
 
 80 
 
 his cloak so like a serving man's; — somethought, 
 father Simon, that as you were old, and yonder 
 slip of a Highlander something too young to do 
 battle, I would even walk quietly after you, not 
 doubting, with the tools I had about me, to bring 
 any one to reason that might disturb you in 
 your way home. You know that yourself dis- 
 covered me, and drew me into the house, whe- 
 ther I would or no ; otherwise, I promise you, 
 I would not have seen your daughter till I had 
 donn'd the new jerkin which was made at Ber- 
 wick after the latest cut ; nor would I have ap- 
 peared before her with these weapons, which she 
 dislikes so much. Although, to say truth, so 
 many are at deadly feud with me for one un- 
 happy chance or another, that it is as needful 
 for me as for any man in Scotland to go by 
 night with weapons about me." 
 
 " The silly wench never thinks of that," said 
 Simon Glover ; " she never has sense to con- 
 sider, that in our dear native land of Scotland 
 every man deems it his privilege and duty to 
 avenge his own wrong. But, Harry, my boy? 
 thou art to blame for taking her talk so much
 
 81 
 
 to heart. I have seen thee bold enough with 
 other wenches — wherefore so still and tongue- 
 tied with her ?" 
 
 " Because she is something different from 
 other maidens, father Glover — because she is 
 not only more beautiful, but wiser, higher, ho- 
 lier, and seems to me as if she were made of bet- 
 ter clay than we that approach her. I can hold 
 my head high enough with the rest of the lasses 
 round the Maypole ; but somehow, when I ap- 
 proach Catharine, I feel myself an earthly, 
 coarse, ferocious creature, scarce worthy to look 
 on her, much less to contradict the precepts 
 which she expounds to me." 
 
 il You are an imprudent merchant, Harry 
 Smith,'' replied Simon ; " and rate too high 
 the goods you wish to purchase. Catharine is 
 a good girl, and my daughter ; but if you make 
 her a conceited ape by your bashfulness and your 
 flattery, neither you nor I will see our wishes 
 accomplished." 
 
 4i I often fear it, my good father," said the 
 Smith ; " for I feel how little I am deserving of 
 Catharine." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 82 
 
 "Feel a thread's end!" said the Glover; 
 " feel for me, friend Smith, for Catharine and 
 me. Think how the poor thing is beset from 
 morning to night, and by what sort of persons, 
 even though windows be down and doors shut. 
 We were accosted to-day by one too powerful 
 to be named, — ay, and he showed his displea- 
 sure openly, because I would not permit him 
 to gallant my daughter in the church itself, 
 when the priest was saying mass. There are 
 others scarce less reasonable. I sometimes wish 
 that Catharine were some degrees less fair, that 
 she might not catch that dangerous sort of ad- 
 miration, or somewhat less holy ; that she might 
 sit down like an honest woman, contented with 
 stout Henry Smith, who could protect his wife 
 against every sprig of chivalry in the Court of 
 Scotland." 
 
 " And if I did not," said Henry, thrusting out 
 a hand and arm which might have belonged to 
 a giant for bone and muscle, " I would I may 
 never bring hammer upon anvil again. Ay, 
 an it were come but that length, my fair Catha- 
 rine should see that there is no harm in a man
 
 83 
 
 having the trick of defence. But I believe she 
 thinks the whole world is one great Minster- 
 church, and that all who live in it should be- 
 have as if they were at an eternal mass." 
 
 " Nay, in truth," said the father, " she has 
 strange influence over those who approach her — 
 the Highland lad, Conachar, with whom I have 
 been troubled for these two or three years, al- 
 though you may see he has the natural spirit of 
 his people, obeys the least sign which Catha- 
 rine makes him, and, indeed, will hardly be 
 ruled by any one else in the house. She takes 
 much pains with him to bring him from his rude 
 Highland habits." 
 
 Here Harry Smith became uneasy in his chair, 
 lifted the flaggon, set it down, and at length ex- 
 claimed, " The devil take the young Highland 
 whelp and his whole kindred ! What has Ca- 
 tharine to do to instruct such a fellow as he ? 
 He will be just like the wolf-cub that I was fool 
 enough to train to the offices of a dog, and every 
 one thought him reclaimed, till, in an ill hour, 
 I went to walk on the hill of Moncrieff, when 
 he broke loose on the Laird's flock, and made
 
 84 
 
 a havock that I might well have rued, had the 
 Laird not wanted harness at the time. And I 
 marvel that you, being a sensible man, father 
 Glover, will keep this Highland young fellow 
 — a likely one, I promise you — so nigh to Catha- 
 rine, as if there were no other than your daugh- 
 ter to serve him for a schoolmistress." 
 
 " Fie, my son, fie, — now, you are jealous," 
 said Simon, " of a poor young fellow, who, to 
 tell you the truth, resides here, because he may 
 not so well live on the other side of the hill." 
 
 "Ay, ay, Father Simon," retorted the Smith, 
 who had all the narrow-minded feelings of the 
 burghers of his time, " an it were not for fear 
 of offence, I would say that you have even too 
 much packing and peeling with yonder loons 
 out of burgh." 
 
 " I must get my deer-hides, kid-skins, and 
 so forth, somewhere, my good Harry, — and 
 Highlandmen give good bargains." 
 
 " They can afford them," replied Henry, 
 
 drily ; " for they sell nothing but stolen gear." 
 
 " Well, well, — be that as it may, it is not my 
 
 business where they get the bestial, so I get
 
 85 
 
 the hides. But as I was saying, there are cer- 
 tain considerations why I am willing to oblige 
 the father of this young man, by keeping him 
 here. And he is but half a Highlander neither, 
 and wants a thought of the dour spirit of a 
 Glune-amie ; — after all, I have seldom seen him 
 so fierce as he showed himself but now." 
 
 " You could not, unless he had killed his 
 man," replied the Smith, in the same dry tone. 
 
 " Nevertheless, if you wish it, Harry, I'll set 
 all other respects aside, and send the landlouper 
 to seek other quarters to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Nay, father," said the Smith, " you cannot 
 suppose that Harry Gow cares the value of a 
 smithy-dander * for such a cub as yonder cat-a- 
 mountain ? I care little, I promise you, though all 
 his clan were coming down the Shoe- gate with 
 slogan crying, and pipes playing ; I would find 
 fifty blades and bucklers would send them back 
 faster than they came. But, to speak truth, 
 though it is a fool's speech too — I care not to 
 see the fellow so much with Catharine. Re- 
 
 ■ Cinder,
 
 86 
 
 member, lather Glover, your trade keeps your 
 eyes and hands close employed, and must have 
 your heedful care, even if this lazy lurdane 
 wrought at it, which you know yourself he sel- 
 dom does." 
 
 " And that is true," said Simon ; " he cuts 
 all his gloves out for the right hand, and never 
 could finish a pair in his life." 
 
 " No doubt, his notions of skin-cutting are 
 rather different," said Henry. " But with your 
 leave, father, I would only say, that work he, 
 or be he idle, he has no bleared eyes, — no hands 
 seared with the hot iron, and welked by the 
 use of the fore-hammer, — no hair rusted in the 
 smoke, and singed in the furnace, like the hide 
 of a badger, rather than what is fit to be covered 
 with a Christian bonnet. Now, let Catharine 
 be as good a wench as ever lived, and I will up- 
 hold her to be the best in Perth, yet she must 
 see and know that these things make a differ- 
 ence betwixt man and man, and that the differ- 
 ence is not in my favour." 
 
 " Here is to thee, with all my heart, son 
 Harry," said the old man, filling a brimmer to
 
 87 
 
 hi* companion, and another to himself; u I see,, 
 that good smith as thou art, thou ken'st not 
 the mettle that women are made of. Thou must 
 be bold, Henry ; and bear thyself not as if thou 
 wert going to the gallow-lee, but like a gay young 
 fellow, who knows his own worth, and will not 
 be slighted by the best grandchild Eve ever 
 had. Catharine is a woman like her mother, 
 and thou thinkest foolishly to suppose they are 
 all set on what pleases the eye. Their ear must 
 be pleased too, man ; they must know that he 
 whom they favour is bold and buxom, and 
 might have the love of twenty, though he is 
 sueing for theirs. Believe an old man, women 
 walk more by what others think than by what 
 they think themselves ; and when she asks for 
 the boldest man in Perth, whom shall she hear 
 named but Harry Burn-the-wind ? — The best 
 armourer that ever fashioned weapon on anvil ? 
 why Harry Smith again — The tightest dancer 
 at the May-pole ? — why, the lusty smith — The 
 gayest troller of ballads ? — why, who but Harry 
 Gow ? — The best wrestler, sword-and-buckler 
 player — the king of the weapon-shawing — the
 
 88 
 
 breaker of mud horses — the tamer of wild High- 
 landmen ? — ever more it is thee — thee — no one 
 but thee. — And shall Catharine prefer yonder 
 slip of a Highland boy to thee ? — Pshaw ! she 
 might as well make a steel gauntlet out of kid's 
 leather. I tell thee, Conachar is nothing to 
 her, but so far as she would fain prevent the 
 devil having his due of him, as of other High- 
 landmen — God bless her, poor thing, she would 
 bring all mankind to better thoughts if she 
 could." 
 
 M In which she will fail to a certainty," — said 
 the Smith, who, as the reader may have no- 
 ticed, had no good will to the Highland race. 
 " I will wager on Old Nick, of whom I should 
 know something, he being indeed a worker in 
 the same element with myself, against Catha- 
 rine on that debate — the devil will have the 
 tartan ; that is sure enough." 
 
 " Ay, but Catharine," replied the Glover, 
 " hath a second thou knowest little of — Fa- 
 ther Clement has taken the young reiver in 
 hand, and he fears a hundred devils as little 
 as I do a flock of geese."
 
 89 
 
 « Father Clement !" said the Smith : " you 
 are always making some new saint in this god- 
 ly city of Saint Johnstoun. Pray, who, for a 
 devil's drubber, may he be ? — one of your her- 
 mits that is trained for the work like a wrestler 
 for the ring, and brings himself to trim by fast- 
 ing and penance — is he not ?" 
 
 " No, that is the marvel of it," said Simon ; 
 " Father Clement eats, drinks, and lives much 
 like other folks— all the rules of the church, 
 nevertheless, strictly observed." 
 
 " Oh, I comprehend ! — a buxom priest that 
 thinks more of good living than of good life- 
 tipples a can on Fastern's Eve, to enable him to 
 face Lent — has a pleasant in principio — and 
 confesses all the prettiest women about town ?" 
 
 " You are on the bow-hand still, Smith. I 
 tell you, my daughter and I could nose out either 
 a fasting hypocrite or a full one. But Father 
 Clement is neither the one nor the other." 
 
 " But what is he then, in Heaven's name ?" 
 
 " One who is either greatly better than half 
 his brethren of Saint Johnstoun put together, 
 or so much worse than the worst of them, that
 
 90 
 
 it is sin and shame that he is suffered to abide 
 in the country." 
 
 " Methinks it were easy to tell whether he 
 be the one or the other," said the Smith. 
 
 " Content you, my friend," said Simon, 
 " with knowing, that if you judge Father Cle- 
 ment by what you see him do and hear him say, 
 you will think of him as the best and kindest 
 man in the world, with a comfort for every 
 man's grief, a counsel for every man's difficulty, 
 the rich man's surest guide, and the poor man's 
 best friend. But if you listen to what the Do- 
 minicans say of him, he is — Benedicite ! (here 
 the Glover crossed himself on brow and bosom ) — 
 a foul heretic, who ought by means of earthly 
 flames to be sent to those which burn eternal- 
 ly." 
 
 The Smith also crossed himself, and exclaim- 
 ed — " Saint Mary ! father Simon, and do you, 
 who are so good and prudent that you have 
 been called the Wise Glover of Perth, let your 
 daughter attend the ministry of one who — the 
 Saints preserve us ! — may be in league with the 
 foul Fiend himself? Why, was it not a priest
 
 91 
 
 who raised the devil in the Meal Vermel, when 
 Hodge Jackson's house was blown down in the 
 great wind ? — did not the devil appear in the 
 midst of the Tay, dressed in a priest's scapular, 
 gambolling like a pellach amongst the waves, 
 the morning when our stately bridge was swept 
 away ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell whether he did or no," said 
 the Glover ; " I only know I saw him not. As 
 to Catharine, she cannot be said to use Father 
 Clement's ministry, seeing her confessor is old 
 Father Francis the Dominican, from whom she 
 had her shrift to-day. But women will some- 
 times be wilful, and sure enough she consults 
 with Father Clement more than I could wish ; 
 and yet when I have spoken with him myself, 
 I have thought him so good and holy a man, 
 that I could have trusted my own salvation with 
 him. There are bad reports of him among the 
 Dominicans, that is certain. But what have we 
 laymen to do with such things, my son ? Let us 
 pay Mother Church her dues, give our alms, 
 confess and do our penances duly, and the 
 saints will bear us out."
 
 92 
 
 " Ay, truly ; and they will have considera- 
 tion, " said the Smith, " for any rash and un- 
 happy blow that a man may deal in a fight, 
 when his party was on defence, and standing 
 up to him ; and that's the only creed a man 
 can live upon in Scotland, let your daughter 
 think what she pleases. Marry, a man must 
 know his fence, or have a short lease of his life, 
 in any place where blows are going so rife. Five 
 nobles to our altar have cleared me for the best 
 man I ever had misfortune with." 
 
 " Let us finish our flask, then," said the old 
 Glover ; " for I reckon the Dominican tower is 
 tolling midnight. And hark thee, son Henry ; be 
 at the lattice win do won our eastgableby the very 
 peep of dawn, and make me aware thou art come 
 by whistling the Smith's call gently. I will con- 
 trive that Catharine shall look out at the win- 
 dow, and thus thou wilt have all the privileges 
 of being a gallant Valentine through the rest of 
 the year ; which if thou canst not use to thine 
 own advantage, I shall be led to think, that for 
 all thou be'st covered with the lion's hide, Na- 
 ture has left on thee the long ears of the ass,"
 
 93 
 
 " Amen, father," said the armourer ; " a 
 hearty good night to you ; and God's blessing 
 on your roof-tree, and those whom it covers. 
 You shall hear the Smith's call sound by cock- 
 crowing; I warrant I put Sir Chanticleer to 
 shame." 
 
 So saying, he took his leave ; and, though 
 completely undaunted, moved through the de- 
 serted streets like one upon his guard, to his 
 own dwelling, which was situated in the Mill 
 Wynd, at the western end of Perth.
 
 94 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The sturdy armourer was not, it may be 
 believed, slack in keeping tbe appointment as- 
 signed by his intended father-in-law. He went 
 through the process of his toilette with more 
 than ordinary care, throwing, as far as he could, 
 those points which had a military air into the 
 shade. He was far too noted a person to ven- 
 ture to go entirely unarmed in a town where 
 he had indeed many friends, but also, from the 
 character of many of his former exploits, seve- 
 ral deadly enemies, at whose hands, should they 
 take him at advantage, he knew he had little 
 mercy to expect. He, therefore, wore under 
 his jerkin a secret, or coat of chain-mail, made 
 so light and flexible that it interfered as little 
 with his movements as a modern under-waist- 
 coat, yet of such proof as he might safely de-
 
 95 
 
 pend upon, every ring of it having been wrought 
 and joined by his own hands. Above this he 
 wore, like others of his age and degree, the 
 Flemish hose and doublet, which, in honour of 
 the holy tide, were of the best superfine English 
 broad cloth, light blue in colour, slashed out 
 with black satin, and passamented (laced, that 
 is) with embroidery of black silk. His walking 
 boots were of cordovan leather; his cloak of 
 good Scottish grey, which served to conceal a 
 whinger, or couteau de chasse, that hung at his 
 belt, and was his only offensive weapon, for he 
 carried in his hand but a rod of holly. His 
 black velvet bonnet was lined with steel, quilt- 
 ed between the metal and his head, and thus 
 constituted a means of defence which might 
 safely be trusted to. 
 
 Upon the whole, Henry had the appear- 
 ance, to which he was well entitled, of a burgh- 
 er of wealth and consideration, assuming, in 
 his dress, as much consequence as he could 
 display, without stepping beyond his own rank, 
 and encroaching on that of the gentry. Neither 
 did his frank and manly deportment, though
 
 
 indicating a total indifference to danger, bear the 
 least resemblance to that of the bravoes or swash- 
 bucklers of the dav. amongst whom Henrv was 
 sometimes unjustly ranked by those who impu- 
 ted the frays, in which he was so often engaged, 
 to a quarrelsome and violent temper, resting 
 upon a consciousness of his personal strength 
 and knowledge of his weapon. On the contra- 
 ry, every feature bore the easy and good-hu- 
 moured expression of one who neither thought 
 of inflicting mischief, nor dreaded it from others. 
 Baying attired himself in his best, the honest 
 armourer next placed nearest to his heart 
 which throbbed at its touch J a little gift 
 which he had long provided for Catharine 
 Glover, and which his quality of Valentine 
 would presently give him the title to present, 
 and her to receive, without regard to maidenly 
 scruples. It was a small ruby cut into the 
 form of a heart, transfixed with a golden ar- 
 row, and was inclosed in a small purse made 
 of links of the finest work in steel, as if it had 
 been designed for a hauberk to a king. Round 
 The verge of the puree were these words —
 
 Cleave hearts 
 
 This device had cost the armourer some 
 thought, and he was much satisfied with his com- 
 position, because it seemed to imply that his 
 skill could defend all hearts saving his own. 
 He wrapped himself in his cloak, and hastened 
 through the still silent streets, determined to 
 appear at the window appointed a little before 
 dawn. 
 
 With this purpose he passed up the High 
 Street, and turned down the opening where 
 Saint John's Church now stands, in order to 
 proceed to Curfew Street ; when it occurred to 
 him, from the appearance of the sky. that he 
 was at least an hour too early for his purpose, 
 and that it would be better not to appear at the 
 place of rendezvous till near the time assigned. 
 Other gallants were not unlikely to be on the 
 watch as well as himself, about the house o{ the 
 Fair Maid of Perth ; and he knew his own foible 
 
 eat than- 
 
 . . I . G
 
 9S 
 
 a souffle arising betwixt tliem. " I have the ad- 
 vantage," he thought, " by my Father Simon's 
 friendship ; and why should I stain my fingers 
 with the blood of the poor creatures that are not 
 worthy my notice, since they are so much less 
 fortunate than myself? No — no — I will be wise 
 for once, and keep at a distance from all temp- 
 tation to a broil. They shall have no more time 
 to quarrel with me than just what it may re- 
 quire for me to give the signal, and for my fa- 
 ther Simon to answer it. I wonder how the old 
 man will contrive to bring her to the window ? 
 I fear, if she knew his purpose, he would find 
 it difficult to carry it into execution." 
 
 While these lover-like thoughts were passing 
 through his brain, the armourer loitered in his 
 pace, often turning his eyes eastward, and eying 
 the firmament, in which no slight shades of 
 grey were beginning to flicker, to announce 
 the approach of dawn, however distant, which, 
 to the impatience of the stout armourer, seem- 
 ed on that morning to abstain longer than 
 usual from occupying her eastern barbican. He 
 was now passing slowly under the wall of Saint
 
 99 
 
 Anne's Chapel, (not failing to cross himself and 
 say an are, as he trode the consecrated ground,) 
 when a voice, which seemed to come from be- 
 hind one of the flying buttresses of the chapel, 
 said, " He lingers that has need to run." 
 
 " Who speaks ?" said the armourer, looking 
 around him, somewhat startled at an address so 
 unexpected, both in its tone and tenor. 
 
 u No matter who speaks," answered the same 
 voice. " Do thou make great speed, or thou 
 wilt scarce make good speed. Bandy not words, 
 but begone." 
 
 " Saint or sinner, angel or devil," said Hen^ 
 ry, crossing himself, " your advice touches me 
 but too dearly to be neglected. Saint Valen- 
 tine be my speed !" 
 
 So saying, he instantly changed his loitering 
 pace to one with which few people could have 
 kept up, and in an instant was in Couvrefew 
 Street. He had not made three steps towards 
 Simon Glover's, which stood in the midst of 
 the narrow street, when two men started from 
 under the houses on different sides, and advan- 
 ced, as it were by concert, to intercept his pass-
 
 100 
 
 age. The imperfect light only permitted him to 
 discern that they wore the Highland mantle. 
 
 " Clear the way, catheran," said the ar- 
 mourer, in the deep stern voice which corre- 
 sponded with the breadth of his chest. 
 
 They did not answer, at least intelligibly; 
 but he could see that they drew their swords, 
 with the purpose of withstanding him by vio- 
 lence. Conjecturing some evil, but of what 
 kind he could not anticipate, Henry instantly 
 determined to make his way through what- 
 ever odds, and defend his mistress, or at least 
 die at her feet. He cast his cloak over his 
 left arm as a buckler, and advanced rapidly and 
 steadily to the two men. The nearest made a thrust 
 at him, but Henry Smith, parrying the blow with 
 his cloak, dashed his arm in the man's face, and 
 tripping him at the same time, gave him a severe 
 fall on the causeway ; while almost at the same 
 instant he struck a blow with his whinger at the 
 fellow who was upon his right hand, so severely 
 applied, that he also lay prostrate by his asso- 
 ciate. Meanwhile, the armourer pushed for- 
 ward in alarm, for which the circumstances of
 
 101 
 
 the street being guarded or defended by stran- 
 gers who conducted themselves with such vio- 
 lence, afforded sufficient reason. He heard a sup- 
 pressed whisper and a bustle under the Glover's 
 windows — those very windows from which he 
 had expected to be hailed by Catharine as her 
 Valentine. He kept to the opposite side of the 
 street, that he might reconnoitre their number 
 and purpose. But one of the party, who were 
 beneath the window, observing or hearing him, 
 crossed the street also, and taking him doubt- 
 less for one of the sentinels, asked, in a whis- 
 per, " What noise was yonder, Kenneth ? why 
 gave you not the signal ?" 
 
 " Villain !" said Henry, " you are discover- 
 ed, and you shall die the death !" 
 
 As he spoke thus, he dealt the stranger a 
 blow with his weapon, which would probably 
 have made his words good, had not the man, 
 raising his arm, received on his hand the blow 
 meant for his head. The wound must have been 
 a severe one, for he staggered and fell with a 
 deep groan. Without noticing him farther, Hen- 
 ry Smith sprung forward upon a party of men
 
 102 
 
 who seemed engaged in placing a ladder against 
 the lattice window in the gable. Henry did not 
 stop either to count their numbers or to ascer- 
 tain their purpose. But crying the alarm-word 
 of the town, and giving the signal at which the 
 burghers were wont to collect, he rushed on the 
 nightwalkers, one of whom was in the act of 
 ascending the ladder. The Smith seized it by 
 the rounds, threw it down on the pavement, and 
 placing his foot on the body of the man who had 
 been mounting, prevented him from regaining 
 his feet. His accomplices struck fiercely at 
 Henry, to extricate their companion. But his 
 mail-coat stood him in good stead, and he re- 
 paid their blows with interest, shouting aloud, 
 " Help, help, for bonnie St Johnstoun ! — Bows 
 and blades, brave citizens ! bows and blades ! 
 — they break into our houses under cloud of 
 night." 
 
 These words, which resounded far through 
 the streets, were accompanied by as many fierce 
 blows, dealt with good effect among those whom 
 the armourer assailed. In the meantime, the 
 inhabitants of the street began to awaken and
 
 103 
 
 appear on the street iu their shirts, with swords 
 and targets, and some of them with torches. 
 The assailants now endeavoured to make their 
 escape, which all of them effected excepting the 
 man who had been thrown down along with the 
 ladder. Him the intrepid armourer had caught 
 by the throat in the scuffle, and held as fast 
 as the greyhound holds the hare. The other 
 wounded men were borne oif by their com- 
 rades. 
 
 " Here are a sort of knaves breaking peace 
 within burgh," said Henry to the neighbours 
 who began to assemble ; "make after the rogues. 
 They cannot all get off, for I have maimed some 
 of them ; the blood will guide you to them." 
 
 " Some Highland catherans — " said the citi- 
 zens, — " up, and chase, neighbours !" 
 
 " Ay, chase — chase, — leave me to manage 
 this fellow," continued the armourer. 
 
 The assistants dispersed in different direc- 
 tions, their lights flashing, and their cries re- 
 sounding through the whole adjacent district. 
 
 In the meantime the armourer's captive en- 
 treated for freedom, using both promises and
 
 104 
 
 throats to obtain it. " As thou art a gentle- 
 man," he said, " let me go, and what is past 
 shall be forgiven." 
 
 " I am no gentleman," said Henry — " I am 
 Hal of the Wynd, a burgess of Perth ; and I 
 have done nothing to need forgiveness." 
 
 " Villain, thou hast done thou knowest not 
 what ! But let me go, and I will fill thy bonnet 
 with gold pieces." 
 
 " I shall fill thy bonnet with a cloven head 
 presently," said the armourer, " unless thou 
 stand still as a true prisoner." 
 
 " What is the matter, my son Harry ?" said 
 Simon, who now appeared at the window. — " I 
 hear thy voice in another tone than I expected. — 
 What is all this noise ; and why are the neigh- 
 bours gathering to the affray ?" 
 
 " There have been a proper set of limmers 
 about to scale your windows, father Simon ; 
 but I am like to prove godfather to one of them, 
 whom I hold here, as fast as ever vice held 
 iron." 
 
 " Hear me, Simon Glover," said the prison- 
 er ; " let me but speak one word with you iu
 
 105 
 
 private, and rescue me from the gripe of this 
 iron-fisted and leaden-pated clown, and I will 
 show thee, that no harm was designed to thee 
 or thine ; and, moreover, tell thee what will 
 much advantage thee." 
 
 " I should know that voice," said Simon 
 Glover, who now came to the door with a dark- 
 lantern in his hand. " Son Smith, let this 
 young man speak with me. There is no danger 
 in him, I promise you. Stay hut an instant 
 where you are, and let no one enter the house, 
 either to attack or defend. I will be answer- 
 able that this galliard meant but some Saint 
 Valentine's jest." 
 
 So saying, the old man pulled in the prisoner 
 and shut the door, leaving Henry a little sur- 
 prised at the unexpected light in which his fa- 
 ther-in-law had viewed the affray. " A jest !" 
 he said ; " it might have been a strange jest, 
 if they had got into the maiden's sleeping 
 room ! — And they would have done so, had it 
 not been for the honest friendly voice from be- 
 twixt the buttresses, which, if it were not that of 
 the blessed Saint, (though what am I that the
 
 106 
 
 holy person should speak to me?) could not 
 sound in that place without her permission and 
 assent, and for which I will promise her a wax 
 candle at her shrine, as long as my whinger, — 
 and I would I had had my two-handed broad- 
 sword in stead, both for the sake of St Johnstoun 
 and of the rogues — for of a certain, those whin- 
 gers are pretty toys, but more fit for a boy's hand 
 than a man's. Oh, my old two-handed Trojan, 
 hadst thou been in my hands, as thou hang'st 
 presently at the tester of my bed, the legs of 
 those rogues had not carried their bodies so clean 
 off the field. — But there come lighted torches 
 and drawn swords. — So ho — stand ! — Are you 
 for St Johnstoun ? — If friends to the bonnie 
 burgh, you are well come." 
 
 " We have been but bootless hunters," said 
 the townsmen. " We followed by the tracks of 
 the blood into the Dominican burial-ground, 
 and we started two fellows from amongst the 
 tombs, supporting betwixt them a third, who 
 had probably got some of your marks about him, 
 Harry. They got to the postern gate before we 
 could overtake them, and rang the sanctuary
 
 107 
 
 bell, — the gate opened, and in went they. So 
 they are safe in girth and sanctuary, and we 
 may go to our cold beds and warm us." 
 
 " Ay," said one of the party, " the good 
 Dominicans have always some devout brother 
 of their convent sitting up to open the gate of 
 the sanctuary to any poor soul that is in trouble, 
 and desires shelter in the church." 
 
 " Yes, if the poor hunted soul can pay for it," 
 said another ; " but, truly, if he be poor in purse 
 as well as in spirit, he may stand on the outside 
 till the hounds come up with him." 
 
 A third, who had been poring for a few mi- 
 nutes upon the ground by advantage of his torch, 
 now looked upwards and spoke. He was a 
 brisk, forward, rather corpulent little man, call- 
 ed Oliver Proudfute, reasonably wealthy, and 
 a leading man in his craft, which was that of 
 bonnet-makers ; he, therefore, spoke as one in 
 authority. — " Canst tell us, jolly Smith," — for 
 they recognised each other by the lights which 
 were brought into the streets, — " what manner 
 of fellows they were who raised up this fray 
 within burgh ?"
 
 108 
 
 " The two that I first saw," answered the 
 armourer, " seemed to me, as well as I could 
 observe them, to have Highland plaids about 
 them." 
 
 " Like enough — like enough," answered the 
 citizen, shaking his head. " It's a shame the 
 breaches in our walls are not repaired, and that 
 these land-louping Highland scoundrels are left 
 at liberty to take honest men and women out of 
 their beds any night that is dark enough." 
 
 " But look here, neighbours," said Oliver 
 Proudfute, showing a bloody hand which he 
 had picked up from the ground; " when did such 
 a hand as this tie a Highlandman's brogues ? It 
 is large, indeed, and bony, but as fine as a 
 lady's, with a ring that sparkles like a gleam- 
 ing candle. Simon Glover has made gloves for 
 this hand before now, if I am not much mis- 
 taken, for he works for all the courtiers." The 
 spectators here began to gaze on the bloody to- 
 ken with various comments. 
 
 " If that is the case," said one, " Harry Smith 
 had best show a clean pair of heels for it, 
 since the Justiciar will scarce think the pro-
 
 109 
 
 tecting a burgess's bouse an excuse for cutting 
 off a gentleman's band. Tbere be hard laws 
 against mutilation." 
 
 " Fie upon you, that you will say so, Michael 
 Wabster," answered the bonnet-maker ; " are 
 we not representatives and successors of the 
 stout old Romans, who built Perth as like to their 
 own city as they could ? And have we not char- 
 ters from all our noble kings and progenitors, 
 as being their loving liegemen ? And would you 
 have us now yield up our rights, privileges, and 
 immunities, our outfang and infang, our hand- 
 habend, our back-bearand, and our blood-suits, 
 and amerciaments, escheats, and commodities, 
 and suffer an honest burgess's house to be as- 
 saulted without seeking for redress ? No — brave 
 citizens, craftsmen, and burgesses, the Tay shall 
 flow back to Dunkeld before we submit to such 
 injustice !" 
 
 " And how can we help it ?" said a grave old 
 man, who stood leaning on a two-handed sword — 
 " What would you have us do ?" 
 
 " Marry, Bailie Craigdallie, I wonder that 
 you, of all men ask the question, I would have 
 
 10
 
 110 
 
 you pass like true men from this very place to 
 the King's Grace's presence, raise him from his 
 royal rest, and presenting to him the piteous 
 case of our being called forth from our beds at 
 this season, with little better covering than these 
 shirts, I would show him this bloody token, and 
 know from his Grace's own royal lips, whether 
 it is just and honest that his loving lieges should 
 be thus treated by the knights and nobles of his 
 deboshed court. And this I call pushing our 
 cause warmly." 
 
 " Warmly, sayst thou ?" replied the old bur- 
 gess ; " why, so warmly that we shall all die of 
 cold, man, before the porter turn a key to let 
 us into the royal presence. — Come, friends, the 
 night is bitter — we have kept our watch and 
 ward like men, and our jolly Smith hath given a 
 warning to those that would wrong us, which 
 shall be worth twenty proclamations of the 
 King. To-morrow is a new day ; we will con- 
 sult on this matter on this self-same spot, and 
 consider what measures should be taken for 
 discovery and pursuit of the villains. And there- 
 fore let us dismiss before the heart's-blood freeze
 
 Ill 
 
 "Bravo, bravo, neighbour Craigdallie — St 
 Johnstoun for ever V 
 
 Oliver Proudfute would still have spoken ; for 
 he was one of those pitiless orators who think 
 that their eloquence can overcome all inconve- 
 niences in time, place, and circumstances. But 
 no one would listen ; and the citizens dispersed 
 to their own houses by the light of the dawn, 
 which began now to streak the horizon. 
 
 They were scarce gone ere the door of Glo- 
 ver's house opened, and seizing the Smith by the 
 hand, the old man pulled him in. 
 
 " Where is the prisoner ?" demanded the ar- 
 mourer. 
 
 " He is gone — escaped — fled — what do I 
 know of him?" said the Glover. " He got out 
 at the back door, and so through the little gar- 
 den. — Think not of him, but come and see the 
 Valentine, whose honour and life you have saved 
 this morning." 
 
 " Let me but sheathe my weapon," said the 
 Smith — " let me but wash my hands." 
 
 " There is not an instant to lose, she is up 
 and almost dressed. — Come on, man. She shall 
 
 15
 
 112 
 
 see thee with thy good weapon in thy hand, and 
 with villain's blood on thy fingers, that she may 
 know what is the value of a true man's service. 
 She has stopped my mouth over long with her 
 pruderies and her scruples. I will have her 
 know what a brave man's love is worth, and a 
 bold burgess's to boot,"
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Startled from her repose by the noise of 
 the affray, the Fair Maid of Perth had listened 
 in breathless terror to the sounds of violence 
 and outcry which arose from the street. She 
 had sunk on her knees to pray for assistance, 
 and when she distinguished the voices of neigh- 
 bours and friends collected for her protection, 
 she remained in the same posture to return 
 thanks. She was still kneeling when her fa- 
 ther almost thrust her champion, Henry Smith, 
 into her apartment; the bashful lover hang- 
 ing back at first, as if afraid to give offence, 
 and, on observing her posture, from respect to 
 her devotion. 
 
 " Father," said the armourer, " she prays — 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 114 
 
 I dare no more speak to her than to a bishop 
 when he says mass." 
 
 " Now, go thy ways, for a right valiant and 
 courageous blockhead," said her father ; and 
 then speaking to his daughter, he added, — 
 " Heaven is best thanked, my daughter, by 
 gratitude shown to our fellow-creatures. Here 
 comes the instrument by whom God has rescued 
 thee from death, or perhaps from dishonour 
 worse than death. Receive him, Catharine, as 
 thy true Valentine, and him whom I desire to 
 see my affectionate son." 
 
 " Not thus— father," replied Catharine. " I 
 can see — can speak to no one now. I am not 
 ungrateful — perhaps I am too thankful to the 
 instrument of our safety ; but let me thank the 
 guardian Saint who sent me this timely relief, 
 and give me but a moment to don my kirtle." 
 
 " Nay, God-a-mercy, wench, it were hard 
 to deny thee time to busk thy body-clothes, since 
 the request is the only words like a woman that 
 thou hast uttered for these ten days. — Truly, 
 son Harry, I would my daughter would put off 
 being entirely a saint, till the time comes for
 
 113 
 
 her being canonized for St Catharine the Se- 
 cond." 
 
 " Nay, jest not, father ; for I will swear she 
 has at least one sincere adorer already, who 
 hath devoted himself to her pleasure, so far as 
 sinful man may. — Fare-thee-well then, for the 
 moment, fair maiden," he concluded, raising 
 his voice, u and Heaven send thee dreams as 
 peaceful as thy waking thoughts. I go to watch 
 thy slumbers, and woe with him that shall in- 
 trude on them !" 
 
 " Nay, good and brave Henry, whose warm 
 heart is at such variance with thy reckless hand, 
 thrust thyself into no farther quarrels to-night ; 
 but take the kindest thanks, and with these, 
 try to assume the peaceful thoughts which you 
 assign to me. To-morrow we will meet, that 
 I may assure you of my gratitude — Farewell." 
 
 " And farewell, lady and light of my heart !" 
 said the armourer, and, descending the stair 
 which led to Catharine's apartment, was about 
 to sally forth into the street, when the Glover 
 caught him by the arm. 
 
 " I shall like the ruffle of to-night," said he,
 
 116 
 
 " better than I ever thought to do the clashing 
 of steel, if it brings my daughter to her senses, 
 Harry, and teaches her what thou art worth. 
 By St Macgrider ! I even love these roysterers, 
 and am sorry for that poor lover who will ne- 
 ver wear left-handed chevron again. Ay ! He 
 has lost that which he will miss all the days of 
 his life, especially when he goes to pull on his 
 gloves, — ay, he will pay but half a fee to my 
 craft in future. — Nay, not a step from this 
 house to-night," he continued. H Thou dost 
 not leave us, I promise thee, my son." 
 
 " I do not mean it. But I will, with your 
 permission, watch in the street. The attack 
 may be renewed." 
 
 " And if it be," said Simon, " thou wilt have 
 better access to drive them back, having the 
 vantage of the house. It is the way of fighting 
 which suits us burghers best — that of resisting 
 from behind stone walls. Our duty of watch 
 and ward teaches us that trick ; besides, enough 
 are awake and astir to ensure us peace and quiet 
 till morning. So come in this way." 
 
 So saying, he drew Henry, nothing loath,
 
 117 
 
 into the same apartment where they had supped, 
 and where the old woman, who was on foot, 
 disturbed as others had been by the nocturnal 
 affray, soon roused up the fire. 
 
 " And now, my doughty son," said the Glo- 
 ver, " what liquor wilt thou pledge thy father 
 in?" 
 
 Henry Smith had suffered himself to sink 
 mechanically upon a seat of old black oak, and 
 now gazed on the fire, that flashed back a ruddy 
 light over his manly features. He muttered to 
 himself half audibly — " Good Henry — brave 
 Henry — Ah ! had she but said, dear Henry !" 
 
 " What liquors be these ?" said the old Glo- 
 ver, laughing. " My cellar holds none such ; 
 but if sack, or rhenish, or wine of Gascony 
 can serve, why, say the word and the flagon 
 foams — that is all." 
 
 " The kindest thanks," said the armourer, 
 still musing ; " that's more than she ever said 
 to me before — the kindest thanks — what may 
 not that stretch to ?" 
 
 " It shall stretch like kid's leather, man," 
 said the Glover, " if thou wilt but be ruled,
 
 118 
 
 and say what thou wilt take for thy morning's 
 draught." 
 
 " Whatever thou wilt, father," answered the 
 armourer carelessly, and relapsed into the ana- 
 lysis of Catharine's speech to him. " She spoke 
 of my warm heart ; but she also spoke of my 
 reckless hand. What earthly thing can I do 
 to get rid of that fighting fancy? Certainly 
 I were best strike my right hand off, and nail 
 it to the door of a church, that it may never do 
 me discredit more." 
 
 " You have chopped off hands enough for one 
 night," said his friend, setting a flagon of wine 
 on the table. " Why dost thou vex thyself, 
 man ? She would love thee twice as well did 
 she not see how thou doatest upon her. But it 
 becomes serious now. I am not to have the 
 risk of my booth being broken, and my house 
 plundered, by the hell-raking followers of the 
 nobles, because she is called the Fair Maid of 
 Perth, and please ye. No, she shall know I am 
 her father, and will have that obedience to which 
 law and gospel give me right. I will have her 
 thy wife, Henry, my heart of gold — thy wife,
 
 119 
 
 my man of metal, and that before many weeks 
 are over. Come, come, here is to thy merry 
 bridal, jolly Smith." 
 
 The father quaffed a large cup, and filled it 
 to his adopted son, who raised it slowly to his 
 head ; then, ere it had reached his lips, replaced 
 it suddenly on the table and shook his head. 
 
 " Nay, if thou wilt not pledge me to such a 
 health, I know no one who will," said Simon. 
 "What canst thou mean, thou foolish lad? Here 
 has a chance happened, which in a manner places 
 her in thy power, since from one end of the city 
 to the other, all would cry fie on her if she should 
 say thee nay. Here am I her father, not only 
 consenting to the cutting out of the match, but 
 willing to see you two as closely united together, 
 as ever needle stitched buckskin r And with all 
 this on thy side, fortune, father, and all, thou 
 lookest like a distracted lover in a ballad, more 
 like to pitch thyself into the Tay, than to woo 
 a lass that may be had for the asking, if you 
 can but choose the lucky minute." 
 
 " Ay, but that lucky minute, father ! I ques- 
 tion much if Catharine ever has such a moment
 
 120 
 
 to glance on earth and its inhabitants, as might 
 lead her to listen to a coarse ignorant borrel 
 man like me. I cannot tell how it is, father ; 
 elsewhere I can hold up my head like another 
 man, but with your saintly daughter I lose heart 
 and courage, and I cannot help thinking that it 
 would be well nigh robbing a holy shrine, if I 
 could succeed in surprising her affections. Her 
 thoughts are too much fitted for heaven to be 
 wasted on such a one as I am." 
 
 " E'en as you like, Henry," answered the 
 Glover. " My daughter is not courting you any 
 more than I am — a fair offer is no cause of feud ; 
 — only if you think that I will give into her fool- 
 ish notions of a convent, take it with you that 
 I will never listen to them. I love and honour 
 the church,'* he said, crossing himself. " I pay 
 her rights duly and cheerfully; tithes and alms, 
 wine and wax, I pay them as justly, I say, as 
 any man in Perth of my means doth ; but I can- 
 not afford the church my only and single ewe- 
 lamb that I have in the world. Her mother 
 was dear to me on earth, and is now an angel 
 in heaven. Catharine is all I have to remind
 
 121 
 
 me of her I have lost ; and if she goes to the 
 cloister, it shall be when these old eyes are 
 closed for ever, and not sooner. — But as for 
 you, friend Gow, I pray you will act according 
 to your own best liking. I want to force no 
 wife on you, I promise you." 
 
 " Nay, now, you beat the iron twice over," 
 said Henry. " It is thus We always end, fa- 
 ther, by your being testy with me for not do- 
 ing that thing in the world which would make 
 me happiest, were I to have it in my power. 
 Why, father, I would the keenest dirk I ever 
 forged were sticking in my heart at this moment, 
 if there is one single particle in it that is not 
 more your daughter's property than my own. 
 But what can I do ? I cannot think less of her, 
 or more of myself, than we both deserve ; and 
 what seems to you so easy and certain, is to me 
 as difficult as it would be to work a steel hau- 
 berk out of hards of flax. — But here is to you, 
 father," he added, in a more cheerful tone ; 
 " and here is to my fair Saint and Valentine, 
 as I hope your Catharine will be mine for the 
 season. And let me not keep your old head
 
 122 
 
 longer from the pillow, but make interest with 
 your feather-bed till day-break ; and then you 
 must be my guide to your daughter's chamber- 
 door, and my apology for entering it, to bid her 
 good morrow, for the brightest that the sun will 
 awaken in the city or for miles round it !" 
 
 " No bad advice, my son," said the honest 
 Glover. " But you, what will you do ? will 
 you lie down beside me, or take a part of Co- 
 nachar's bed ?" 
 
 " Neither," answered Harry Gow ; " I 
 should but prevent your rest ; and for me this 
 easy-chair is worth a down bed, and I will sleep 
 like a sentinel, with my graith about me." 
 
 As he spoke, he laid his hand on his sword. 
 
 " Nay, Heaven send us no more need of wea- 
 pons. — Good night, or rather, good morrow, 
 till day-peep — and the first who wakes calls up 
 the other." 
 
 Thus parted the two burghers. The Glover 
 retired to his bed, and, it is to be supposed, to 
 rest. The lover was not so fortunate. His bo- 
 dily frame easily bore the fatigue which he had 
 encountered in the course of the night, but his
 
 I :., 
 
 mind was of a different and more delicate 
 mould. In one point of view, he was but the 
 stout burgher of his period, proud alike of his 
 art in making weapons, and wielding them 
 when made ; his professional jealousy, personal 
 strength, and skiD in the use of arms, brought 
 him into many quarrels, which had made him 
 generally feared, and in some instances dis- 
 liked. But with these qualities were united 
 the simple good-nature of a child, and at the 
 same time an imaginative and enthusiastic tem- 
 per, which seemed little to correspond with his 
 labours at the forge, or his combats in the field. 
 Perhaps a little of the hair-brained and ardent 
 feeling which he had picked out of old ballads, 
 or from the metrical romances which were his 
 sole source of information or knowledge, may 
 have been the means of pricking him on to some 
 of his achievements, which had often a rude 
 strain of chivalry in them ; at least, it was cer- 
 tain that his love to the fair Catharine had in it 
 a delicacy such as might have become the squire 
 of low degree, who was honoured, if song speaks 
 truth, with the smiles of the King of Hungary's
 
 124 
 
 daughter. His sentiments towards her were cer- 
 tainly as exalted as if they had been fixed upon 
 an actual angel, which made old Simon, and 
 others who watched his conduct, think that his 
 passion was too high and devotional to be suc- 
 cessful with maiden of mortal mould. They 
 were mistaken, however. Catharine, coy and 
 reserved as she was, had a heart which could 
 feel and understand the nature and depth of the 
 armourer's passion ; and whether she was able 
 to repay it or not, she had as much secret pride 
 in the attachment of the redoubted Henry Gow, 
 as a lady of romance may be supposed to have 
 in the company of a tame lion, who follows to 
 provide for and defend her. It was with sen- 
 timents of the most sincere gratitude that she 
 recollected, as she awoke at dawn, the ser- 
 vices of Henry during the course of the event- 
 ful night, and the first thought which she dwelt 
 upon, was the means of making him understand 
 her feelings. 
 
 Arising hastily from bed, and half blushing 
 at her own purpose — " I have been cold to him, 
 and perhaps unjust ; I will not be ungrateful,"
 
 125 
 
 she said to herself, " though I cannot yield to 
 his suit ; I will not wait till my father compels 
 me to receive him as my Valentine for the year ; 
 I will seek him out, and choose him myself. I 
 have thought other girls bold, when they did 
 something like this ; but I shall thus best please 
 my father, and but discharge the rites due to 
 good Saint Valentine by showing my gratitude 
 to this brave man." 
 
 Hastily slipping on her dress, which, never- 
 theless, was left a good deal more disordered 
 than usual, she tripped down stairs and opened 
 the door of the chamber, in which, as she had 
 guessed, her lover had passed the hours after 
 the fray. Catharine paused at the door, and 
 became half afraid of executing her purpose, 
 which not only permitted but enjoined the Va- 
 lentines of the year to begin their connexion 
 with a kiss of affection. It was looked upon as 
 a peculiarly propitious omen, if the one party 
 could find the other asleep, and awaken him or 
 her by performance of this interesting cere- 
 mony. 
 
 Never was a fairer opportunity offered for
 
 126 
 
 commencing this mystic tic, than that which 
 now presented itself to Catharine. After many 
 and various thoughts, sleep had at length over- 
 come the stout armourer in the chair in which 
 he had deposited himself. His features, in re- 
 pose, had a more firm and manly cast than Ca- 
 tharine had thought, who, having generally seen 
 them fluctuating between shamefacedness and 
 apprehension of her displeasure, had been used 
 to connect with them some idea of imbecility. 
 
 " He looks very stern," she said ; " if he 
 should be angry — and then when he awakes — 
 we are alone — if I should call Dorothy — if I 
 should wake my father — but no ! it is a thing 
 of custom, and done in all maidenly and sisterly 
 love and honour. I will not suppose that Henry 
 can misconstrue it, and I will not let a childish 
 fear put my gratitude to sleep." 
 
 So saying, she tripped along the floor of the 
 apartment with a light, though hesitating step, 
 and a cheek crimsoned at her own purpose ; and 
 gliding to the chair of the sleeper, dropped a 
 kiss upon his lips as light as if a rose-leaf had 
 fallen on them. The slumbers must have been
 
 127 
 
 slight which such a touch could dispel, and 
 the dreams of the sleeper must needs have been 
 connected with the cause of the interruption, 
 since Henry, instantly starting up, caught the 
 maiden in his arms, and attempted to return 
 in ecstasy the salute which had broken his re- 
 pose. But Catharine struggled in his embrace ; 
 and as her efforts implied alarmed modesty, 
 rather than maidenly coyness, her bashful lover 
 suffered her to escape a grasp, from which 
 twenty times her strength could not have ex- 
 tricated her. 
 
 " Nay, be not angry, good Henry," said Ca- 
 tharine, in the kindest tone, to her surprised 
 lover. " I have paid my vows to Saint Valen- 
 tine, to show how I value the mate which he 
 has sent me for the year. Let but my father 
 be present, and I will not dare to refuse thee 
 the revenge you may claim for a broken sleep." 
 
 " Let not that be a hinderance," said the old 
 Glover, rushing in ecstasy into the room — " to 
 her, Smith — to her — strike while the iron is 
 hot, and teach her what it is not to let sleeping 
 dogs lie still."
 
 128 
 
 Thus encouraged, Henry, though perhaps 
 with less alarming vivacity, again seized the 
 blushing maiden in his arms, who submitted 
 with a tolerable grace to receive repayment of 
 her salute, a dozen times repeated, and with an 
 energy very different from that which had pro- 
 voked such severe retaliation. At length, she 
 again extricated herself from her lover's arms, 
 and, as if frightened and repenting what she 
 had done, threw herself into a seat, and cover- 
 ed her face with her hands. 
 
 " Cheer up, thou silly girl," said her father, 
 " and be not ashamed that thou hast made the 
 two happiest men in Perth, since thy old father 
 is one of them. Never was kiss so well bestowed, 
 and meet it is that it should be suitably return- 
 ed. Look up, my darling ! look up, and let 
 me see thee but give one smile. By my honest 
 word, the sun that now rises over our fair city 
 shows no sight that can give me greater plea- 
 sure. — What," he continued, in a jocose tone, 
 " thou though tst thou hadst Jamie Keddie's 
 ring, and couldst walk invisible ? but not so, my 
 
 fairy of the dawning. Just as I was about to 
 13
 
 129 
 
 rise, I heard tby chamber door open, and watch- 
 ed thee down stairs — not to protect thee against 
 this sleepy-headed Henry, but to see with my 
 own delighted eyes, my beloved girl do that 
 which her father most wished. — Come, put 
 down these foolish hands, and though thou 
 blushest a little, it will only the better grace 
 St Valentine's morn, when blushes best become 
 a maiden's cheek." 
 
 As Simon Glover spoke, he pulled away, 
 with gentle violence, the hands which hid his 
 daughter's face. She blushed deeply, indeed, 
 but there was more than maiden's shame in her 
 face, and her eyes were fast filling with tears. 
 
 " What ! weeping, love ?" continued her fa- 
 ther, — " nay, nay, this is more than need — 
 Henry, help me to comfort this little fool." 
 
 Catharine made an effort to collect herself 
 and to smile, but the smile was of a melancholy 
 and serious cast. 
 
 " I only meant to say, father," said the Fair 
 
 Maid of Perth, with continued exertion, " that 
 
 in choosing Henry Gow for my Valentine, and 
 
 rendering to him the rights and greeting of the 
 
 vol. i. i
 
 130 
 
 morning, according to wonted custom, I meant 
 bat to show my gratitude to him for his manly 
 and faithful service, and my obedience to 
 you. — But do not lead him to think — and, oh, 
 dearest father, do not yourself entertain an idea, 
 that I meant more than what the promise to be 
 his faithful and affectionate Valentine through 
 the year requires of me." 
 
 " Ay — ay — ay — ay — we understand it all," 
 said Simon, in the soothing tone which nurses 
 apply to children — " We understand what the 
 meaning is ; enough for once ; enough for once. 
 Thou shalt not be frightened or hurried. — Lo- 
 ving, true, and faithful Valentines are ye, and 
 the rest as Heaven and opportunity shall per- 
 mit. Come, prithee, have done^-wring not 
 thy tiny hands, nor fear farther persecution 
 now. Thou hast done bravely, excellently — 
 And now, away to Dorothy, and call up the old 
 sluggard; we must have a substantial break- 
 fast, after a night of confusion and a morning 
 of joy ; and thy hand will be needed to prepare 
 for us some of these delicate cakes, which no 
 one can make but thyself; and well hast thou
 
 131 
 
 a right to the secret, seeing who taught it thee. 
 — Ah ! health to the soul of thy dearest mother," 
 he added, with a sigh ; " how blithe would she 
 have been to see this happy St Valentine's 
 morning !" 
 
 Catharine took the opportunity of escape 
 which was thus given her, and glided from the 
 room. To Henry it seemed as if the sun had 
 disappeared from the heaven at mid-day, and left 
 the world in sudden obscurity. Even the high- 
 swelled hopes with which the late incident had 
 filled him, began to quail, as he reflected upon 
 her altered demeanour ; the tears in her eyes ; 
 the obvious fear which occupied her features ; 
 and the pains she had taken to show, as plain- 
 ly as delicacy would permit, that the advances 
 which she had made to him were limited to the 
 character with which the rites of the day had 
 invested him. Her father looked on his fallen 
 countenance with something like surprise and 
 displeasure. 
 
 " In the name of good St John, what has be- 
 fallen you, that makes you look as grave as an 
 owl, when a lad of your spirit, having really 
 15
 
 132 
 
 such a fancy for this poor girl as you pretend, 
 ought to be as lively as a lark ?" 
 
 " Alas, father !" replied the crest-fallen lo- 
 ver, " there is that written on her brow, which 
 says she loves me well enough to be my Valen- 
 tine, especially since you wish it — but not well 
 enough to be my wife." 
 
 " Now, a plague on thee for a cold, down- 
 hearted goose-cap," answered the father. " I 
 can read a woman's brow as well, and better 
 than thou ; and I can see no such matter on 
 hers. What, the foul fiend, man ! there thou 
 wast lying like a lord in thy elbow-chair, as 
 sound asleep as a judge, when, hadst thou been 
 a lover of any spirit, thou wouldst have been 
 watching the east for the first ray of the sun. 
 But there thou layest, snoring, I warrant, think- 
 ing nought about her, or anything else; and 
 the poor girl rises at peep of day, lest any one 
 else should pick up her most precious and vi- 
 gilant Valentine, and wakes thee with a grace, 
 which — so help me St Macgrider ! — would 
 have put life in an anvil; and thou awakest 
 to hone, and pine, and moan, as if she had
 
 l;j 
 
 drawn a hot iron across thy lips ! I would to 
 St John she had sent old Dorothy on the er- 
 rand, and bound thee for thy Valentine service 
 to that bundle of dry bones, with never a tooth 
 in her head. She were fittest Valentine in 
 Perth for so craven a wooer." 
 
 " As to craven, father," answered the Smith, 
 " there are twenty good cocks, whose combs I 
 have plucked, can tell thee if I am craven or no. 
 And Heaven knows, that I would give my good 
 land, held by burgess' tenure, with smithy, bel- 
 lows, tongs, anvil, and all, providing it would 
 make your view of the matter the true one. But 
 it is not of her coyness, or her blushes, that I 
 speak ; it is of the paleness which so soon fol- 
 lowed the red, and chased it from her cheeks ; 
 and it is of the tears which succeeded. It was 
 like the April shower stealing upon, and ob- 
 scuring the fairest dawning that ever beamed 
 over the Tay." 
 
 " Tutti taitti," replied the Glover ; " neither 
 Rome nor Perth were built in a day. Thou hast 
 fished salmon a thousand times, and mightst 
 have taken a lesson. When the fish has taken
 
 134 
 
 the fly, to pull a hard strain on the line would 
 snap the tackle to pieces, were it made of wire. 
 Ease your hand, man, and let him rise ; take 
 leisure, and in half-an-hour thou layesthim on 
 the bank. — There is a beginning, as fair as you 
 could wish, unless you expect the poor wench 
 to come to thy bed-side, as she did to thy chair ; 
 and that is not the fashion of modest maidens. 
 But observe me ; after we have had our break- 
 fast, I will take care thou hast an opportunity 
 to speak thy mind ; only beware thou be nei- 
 ther too backward, nor press her too hard. Give 
 her line enough ; but do not slack too fast, and 
 my life for yours upon the issue." 
 
 " Do what I can, father," answered Henry, 
 " you will always lay the blame on me ; either 
 that I give too much head, or that I strain the 
 tackle. I would give the best habergeon I ever 
 wrought, that the difficulty in truth rested with 
 me ; for there were then the better chance of its 
 being removed. I own, however, I am but an 
 ass in the trick of bringing about such discourse 
 as is to the purpose for the occasion." 
 
 " Come into the booth with me, my son, and
 
 135 
 
 I will furnish thee with a fitting theme. Thou 
 knowest the maiden who ventures to kiss a 
 sleeping man, wins of him a pair of gloves. 
 Come to my booth ; thou shalt have a pair of 
 delicate kid-skin, that will exactly suit her hand 
 and arm. — I was thinking of her poor mother 
 when I shaped them," added honest Simon, with 
 a sigh; " and except Catharine, I know not 
 the woman in Scotland whom they would fit, 
 though I have measured most of the high beau- 
 ties of the court. Come with me, I say, and 
 thou shalt be provided with a theme to wag thy 
 tongue upon, providing thou have courage and 
 caution to stand by thee in thy wooing."
 
 136 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Never to man shall Catharine give her hand. 
 
 Taming of a Shrew. 
 
 The breakfast was served, and the thin soft 
 cakes, made of flour and honey according to 
 the family receipt, were not only commended 
 with all the partiality of a father and a lover, 
 but done liberal justice to in the mode which 
 is best proof of cake as well as pudding. They 
 talked, jested, and laughed. Catharine, too, 
 had recovered her equanimity where the dames 
 and damsels of the period were apt to lose theirs 
 — in the kitchen, namely, and in the superinten- 
 dence of household affairs, in which she was an 
 adept. I question much, if the perusal of Se- 
 neca for as long a period, would have had equal 
 effect in composing her mind.
 
 137 
 
 Old Dorothy sate down at the board-end, as 
 was the homespun fashion of the period ; and 
 so much were the two men amused with their 
 own conversation, — and Catharine occupied 
 either in attending to them, or with her own re- 
 flections, — that the old woman was the first 
 who observed the absence of the boy Conachar. 
 
 " It is true," said the Master Glover ; " go 
 call him, the idle Highland loon. He was not 
 seen last night during the fray neither, at least 
 I saw him not. Did any of you observe him ?" 
 
 The reply was negative ; and Henry's obser- 
 vation followed, — 
 
 " There are times when Highlanders can 
 couch like their own deer, — ay, and run from 
 danger too as fast. I have seen them do so 
 myself, for the matter of that." 
 
 " — And there are times," replied Simon, 
 "when King Arthur and his Round Table could 
 not make stand against them. I wish, Henry, you 
 would speak more reverently of the Highland- 
 ers. They are often in Perth, both alone and in 
 numbers; and you ought to keep peace with 
 them, so long as they will keep peace with you."
 
 138 
 
 An answer of defiance rose to Henry's lips, 
 but be prudently suppressed it. 
 
 " Why, thou knowest, father," he said, smi- 
 ling, " that we handicrafts best love the folks 
 we live by ; now, my craft provides for valiant 
 and noble knights, gentle squires and pages, 
 stout men-at-arms, and others that wear the 
 arms which we make. It is natural I should 
 like the Ruthvens, the Lindsays, the Ogilvys, 
 the Oliphants, and so many others of our brave 
 and noble neighbours, who are sheathed in 
 steel of my making, like so many Paladins, 
 better than those naked, snatching mountain- 
 eers, who are ever doing us wrong, especially 
 since no five of each clan have a rusty shirt 
 of mail as old as their br attach ;* and that is but 
 the work of the clumsy clan-smith after all, 
 who is no member of our honourable mystery, 
 but simply works at the anvil, where his father 
 wrought before him. I say, such people can 
 have no favour in the eyes of an honest crafts- 
 man." 
 
 " Well, well," answered Simon : " I prithee 
 
 ■ Standard.
 
 139 
 
 let the matter rest even now, for here comes 
 the loitering boy; and though it is a holiday 
 morn, I want no more bloody puddings." 
 
 The youth entered accordingly. His face was 
 pale, his eyes red ; and there was an air of dis- 
 composure about his whole person. He sate 
 down at the lower end of the table, opposite to 
 Dorothy, and crossed himself, as if preparing 
 for his morning's meal. As he did not help 
 himself to any food, Catharine offered him a 
 platter containing some of the cakes which had 
 met with such general approbation. At first 
 he rejected her offered kindness rather sullenly ; 
 but on her repeating the offer with a smile of 
 good- will, he took a cake in his hand, broke it, 
 and was about to eat a morsel, when the effort 
 to swallow seemed almost too much for him ; 
 and though he succeeded, he did not repeat it. 
 
 " You have a bad appetite for Saint Valen- 
 tine's morning, Conachar, ,, said his good-hu- 
 moured master ; " and yet I think you must 
 have slept soundly the night before, since I con- 
 clude you were not disturbed by the noise of 
 the scuffle. Why, I thought a lively Glunami 
 would have been at his master's side, dirk in
 
 140 
 
 hand, at the first sound of danger which arose 
 within a mile of us." 
 
 " I heard but an indistinct noise," said the 
 youth, his face glowing suddenly like a heated 
 coal, " which I took for the shout of some 
 merry revellers ; and you are wont to bid me 
 never open door or window, or alarm the house, 
 on the score of such folly." 
 
 " Well, well," said Simon; " I thought a 
 Highlander would have known better the dif- 
 ference betwixt the clash of swords and the 
 twanging on harps, the wild war-cry and the 
 merry hunts up. But let it pass, boy ; I am 
 glad thou art losing thy quarrelsome fashions. 
 Eat thy breakfast, any way, as I have that to 
 employ thee, which requires haste." 
 
 " I have breakfasted already, and am in haste 
 myself. I am for the hills. — Have you any mes- 
 sage to my father ?" 
 
 " None," replied the Glover, in some sur- 
 prise; "but art thou beside thyself, boy? or what 
 a vengeance takes thee from the city, like the 
 wing of the whirlwind?" 
 
 " My warning has been sudden," said Cona- 
 char, speaking with difficulty; but whether ari-
 
 141 
 
 sing from the hesitation incidental to the use of 
 a foreign language, or whether from some other 
 cause, could not easily be distinguished. " There 
 
 is to be a meeting — a great hunting " Here 
 
 he stopped. 
 
 " And when are you to return from this 
 blessed hunting ?" said his master ; " that is, 
 if I may make so bold as to ask." 
 
 " I cannot exactly answer," replied the ap- 
 prentice. " Perhaps never— if such be my fa- 
 ther's pleasure," continued Conachar, with assu- 
 med indifference. 
 
 " I thought," said Simon Glover, rather se- 
 riously, " that all this was to be laid aside, 
 when at earnest intercession I took you under 
 my roof. I thought that when I undertook, be- 
 iDg very loath to do so, to teach you an honest 
 trade, we were to hear no more of hunting, or 
 hosting, or clan-gatherings, or any matters of 
 the kind?" 
 
 " I was not consulted when I was sent hi- 
 ther," said the lad, haughtily. " I cannot tell 
 what the terms were." 
 
 " But I can tell you, Sir Conachar," said 
 the Glover, angrily, " that there is no fashion
 
 U2 
 
 of honesty in binding yourself to an honest 
 craftsman, and spoiling more hides than your 
 own is worth ; and now, when you are of age 
 to be of some service, in taking up the disposal 
 of your time at your pleasure, as if it were your 
 own property, not your masters." 
 
 " Reckon with my father about that," an- 
 swered Conachar ; " he will pay you gallantly — 
 a French mutton* for every hide I have spoil- 
 ed, and a fat cow or bullock for each day I have 
 been absent." 
 
 " Close with him, friend Glover — close with 
 him," said the armourer, drily. l ' Thou wiltbe paid 
 gallantly at least, if not honestly. Methinks I 
 would like to know how many purses have been 
 emptied to fill the goatskin sporran,f that is to 
 be so free to you of its gold, and whose pastures 
 
 * Mouton, a French gold coin, so called from its being im- 
 pressed with the image of a lamb. 
 
 f The Highland pouch, generally formed of goatskin, and 
 worn in front of the garb, is called in Gaelic a Sporran. A 
 sporran-mouUach is a shaggy pouch, formed, as they usually 
 are, of goatskin, or some such material, with the rough side 
 outermost.
 
 143 
 
 the bullocks have been calved in, that are to be 
 sent down to you from the Grampian passes." 
 
 " You remind me, friend," said the High- 
 land youth, turning haughtily towards the 
 Smith, " that I have also a reckoning to hold 
 with you." 
 
 " Keep at arm's-length, then," said Henry, 
 extending his brawny arm, — " I will have no 
 more close hugs — no more bodkin work, like 
 la6t night. I care little for a wasp's sting, yet 
 I will not allow the insect to come near me if I 
 have warning." 
 
 Conachar smiled contemptuously. " I meant 
 thee no harm," he said. " My father's son did 
 thee but too much honour to spill such churl's 
 blood. I will pay you for it by the drop, that it 
 may be dried up, and no longer soil my fingers." 
 
 " Peace, thou bragging ape !" said the Smith ; 
 " the blood of a true man cannot be valued in 
 gold. The only expiation would be that thou 
 shouldst come a mile into the Low Country 
 with two of the strongest gallo-glasses of thy 
 clan; and while I dealt with them, I would leave 
 thee to the correction of my apprentice, little 
 Jankin."
 
 144 
 
 Here Catharine interposed. " Peace," she 
 said, " my trusty Valentine, whom I have a right 
 to command ; and peace you, Conachar, who 
 ought to obey me as your master's daughter. 
 It is ill done to awaken again on the morrow 
 the evil which has been laid to sleep at night," 
 
 " Farewell, then, master," said Conachar, af- 
 ter another look of scorn at the Smith, which he 
 only answered with a laugh, " Farewell ! and I 
 thank you for your kindness, which has been 
 more than I deserved. If I have at times seemed 
 less than thankful, it was the fault of circum- 
 stances, and not of my will. Catharine " He 
 
 cast upon the maiden a look of strong emotion, 
 in which various feelings were blended. He he- 
 sitated, as if to say something, and at length 
 turned away with the single woidfarewell. Five 
 minutes afterwards, with Highland buskins on 
 his feet, and a small bundle in his hand, he 
 passed through the north gate of Perth, and di- 
 rected his course to the Highlands. 
 
 " There goes enough of beggary and of pride 
 for a whole Highland clan," said Henry. " He 
 talks as familiarly of gold pieces as I would of 
 1
 
 silver pennies ; and yet I will be sworn that the 
 thumb of his mother's worsted glove might hold 
 the treasure of the whole clan." 
 
 " Like enough," said the Glover, laughing at 
 the idea ; " his mother was a large-boned wo- 
 man, especially in the fingers and wrist." 
 
 " And as for cattle," continued Henry, " I 
 reckon his father and brothers steal sheep by 
 one at a time." 
 
 " The less we say of them the better," said 
 the Glover, becoming again grave. rt Brothers 
 he hath none ; his father is a powerful man — 
 hath long hands — reaches as far as he can, and 
 hears farther than it is necessary to talk of 
 him." 
 
 " And yet he hath bound his only son ap- 
 prentice to a glover in Perth ?" said Henry. 
 " Why, I should have thought the Gentle Craft, 
 as it is called, of St Crispin, would have suited 
 him best ; and that if the son of some great Mac 
 or O was to become an artizan, it could only be 
 in the craft where princes set him the example." 
 
 This remark, though ironical, seemed to awa- 
 
 VOL. i. K
 
 146 
 
 ken our friend Simon's sense of professional 
 dignity, which was a prevailing feeling that 
 marked the manners of the artizans of the time. 
 
 " You err, son Henry," he replied, with much 
 gravity; " the glovers are the more honour- 
 able craft of the two, in regard they provide 
 for the accommodation of the hands, whereas 
 the shoemakers and cordwainers do but work 
 for the feet." 
 
 " Both equally necessary members of the 
 body corporate," said Henry, whose father had 
 been a cordwainer. 
 
 " It may be so, my son," said the Glover ; 
 " but not both alike honourable. Bethink you, 
 that we employ the hands as pledges of friendship 
 and good faith, and the feet have no such pri- 
 vilege. Brave men fight with their hands — 
 cowards employ their feet in flight. A glove 
 is borne aloft, a shoe is trampled in the mire ; — 
 a man greets a friend with his open hand; 
 he spurns a dog, or one whom he holds as mean 
 as a dog, with his advanced foot. A glove on 
 the point of a spear is a sign and pledge of 
 faith all the wide world over, as a gauntlet
 
 14? 
 
 flung down is a gage of knightly battle; while 
 I know no other emblem belonging to an old 
 shoe, except that some crones will fling them 
 after a man by way of good luck, in which 
 practice I avow myself to entertain no confi- 
 dence." 
 
 M Nay," said the Smith, amused with his 
 friend's eloquent pleading for the dignity of the 
 art he practised, " I am not the man, I promise 
 you, to disparage the glover's mystery. Be- 
 think you, I am myself a maker of gauntlets. 
 But the dignity of your ancient craft removes 
 not my wonder, that the father of this Cona- 
 char suffered his son to learn a trade of any 
 kind from a Lowland craftsman, holding us, 
 as they do, altogether beneath their magnificent 
 degree, and a race of contemptible drudges, un- 
 worthy of any other fate than to be ill used 
 and plundered, as often as these bare-breeched 
 Dunniewassals see safety and convenience for 
 doing so." 
 
 " Ay," answered the Glover, " but there 
 
 were powerful reasons for — for " He 
 
 withheld something which seemed upon his
 
 148 
 
 lips, and went on, " for Conaclmr's father act- 
 ing as he did. — Well, I have played fair with 
 him, and I do not doubt but he will act ho- 
 nourably by me. — ButConachar's sudden leave- 
 taking has put me to some inconvenience. He 
 had things under his charge. I must look 
 through the booth." 
 
 " Can I help you, father ?" said Henry Gow, 
 deceived by the earnestness of his manner. 
 
 " You ? — no," — said Simon, with a dryness 
 which made Henry so sensible of the simplicity 
 of his proposal, that he blushed to the eyes at 
 his own dulness of comprehension, in a matter 
 where love ought to have induced him to take 
 his cue easily up. " You, Catharine," said the 
 Glover, as he left the room, " entertain your 
 Valentine for five minutes, and see he departs 
 not till my return. — Come hither with me, old 
 Dorothy, and bestir thy limbs in my behalf." 
 
 He left the room, followed by the old woman ; 
 and Henry Smith remained with Catharine, al- 
 most for the first time in his life, entirely alone. 
 There was embarrassment on the maiden's part, 
 and awkwardness on that of the lover, for about
 
 U0 
 
 a minute; when Henry, calling up his courage, 
 pulled the gloves put of his pocket with which 
 Simon had supplied him, and asked her to per- 
 mit one who had been so highly graced that 
 morning, to pay the usual penalty for being 
 asleep at the moment when he would have 
 given the slumbers of a whole twelvemonth to 
 be awake for a single minute. 
 
 " Nay, but," said Catharine, " the fulfilment 
 of my homage to St Valentine infers no such 
 penalty as you desire to pay, and I cannot 
 therefore think of accepting them." 
 
 " These gloves," said Henry, advancing his 
 seat insidiously towards Catharine as he spoke, 
 " were wrought by the hands that are dearest 
 to you ; and see — they are shaped for your 
 own." He extended them as he spoke, and taking 
 her arm in his robust hand, spread the gloves 
 beside it to show how well they fitted. " Look 
 at that taper arm," he said, " look at these 
 small fingers; think who sewed these seams of 
 silk and gold, and think whether the glove, 
 and the arm which alone the glove can fit, ought 
 to remain separate, because the poor glove has
 
 150 
 
 had the misfortune to be for a passing minute 
 in the keeping of a hand so swart and rough as 
 mine.'* 
 
 " They are welcome as coming from my fa- 
 ther," said Catharine ; " and surely not less so 
 as coming from my friend, (and there was an 
 emphasis on the word,) as well as my Valen- 
 tine and preserver." 
 
 " Let me aid to do them on," said the Smith, 
 bringing himself yet closer to her side ; " they 
 may seem a little over tight at first, and you 
 may require some assistance." 
 
 " You are skilful in such service, good Hen- 
 ry Gow," said the maiden, smiling, but at the 
 same time drawing farther from her lover. 
 
 " In good faith no," said Henry, shaking his 
 head ; " my experience has been in donning 
 steel gauntlets on mailed knights, more than in 
 fitting embroidered gloves upon maidens." 
 
 " I will trouble you then no further, and 
 Dorothy shall aid me — though there needs no as- 
 sistance — my father's eye and fingers are faith- 
 ful to his craft ; what work he puts through his 
 hands is always true to the measure."
 
 151 
 
 " Let me be convinced of it," said the Smith ; 
 " let me see that these slender gloves actually 
 match the hands they were made for." 
 
 " Some other time, good Henry," answered 
 the maiden ; " I will wear the gloves in honour 
 of St Valentine, and the mate he has sent me for 
 the season. I would to heaven I could pleasure 
 my father as well in weightier matters — at pre- 
 sent the perfume of the leather harms the head- 
 ach I have had since morning." 
 
 " Head-ach ! dearest maiden ?" echoed her 
 lover. 
 
 " If you call it heart-ach, you will not mis- 
 name it," said Catharine, with a sigh, and pro- 
 ceeded to speak in a very serious tone. " Hen- 
 ry," she said, " I am going perhaps to be as 
 bold as I gave you reason to think me this 
 morning ; for I am about to speak the first upon 
 a subject, on which, it may well be, I ought to 
 wait till I had to answer you. But I cannot, 
 after what has happened this morning, suffer my 
 feelings towards you to remain unexplained, 
 without the possibility of my being greatly mis- 
 conceived. — Nay, do not answer till you have
 
 \52 
 
 heard me out. — You are brave, Henry, beyond 
 most men, honest and true as the steel you 
 work upon " 
 
 " Stop — stop, Catharine, for mercy's sake ! 
 You never said so much that was good con- 
 cerning me, save to introduce some bitter cen- 
 sure, of which your praises were the harbingers. 
 I am honest, and so forth, you would say, but 
 a hot-brained brawler, and common sworder 
 or stabber." 
 
 " I should injure both myself and you in 
 calling you such. No, Henry, to no common 
 stabber, had he worn a plume in his bonnet, 
 and gold spurs on his heels, would Catharine 
 Glover have offered the little grace she has this 
 day voluntarily done to you. If I have at times 
 dwelt severely upon the proneness of your spi- 
 rit to anger, and of your hand to strife, it is be- 
 cause I would have you, if I could so persuade 
 you, hate in yourself the sins of vanity and 
 wrath, by which you are most easily beset. I 
 have spoken on the topic more to alarm your 
 own conscience, than to express my opinion. I 
 know as well as my father, that in thcbe for-
 
 ] 53 
 
 loru and desperate days, the whole customs of 
 our nation, nay, of every Christian nation, may 
 be quoted in favour of bloody quarrels for tri- 
 fling causes ; of the taking deadly and deep re- 
 venge for slight offences ; and the slaughter of 
 each other for emulation of honour, or often in 
 mere sport. But I know, that for all these 
 things we shall one day be called into judg- 
 ment ; and fain would I convince thee, my 
 brave and generous friend, to listen oftener to 
 the dictates of thy good heart, and take less 
 pride in the strength and dexterity of thy un- 
 sparing arm." 
 
 " I am — I am convinced, Catharine," ex- 
 claimed Henry ; " thy words shall hencefor- 
 ward be a law to me. I have done enough, 
 far too much, indeed, for proof of my bodily 
 strength and courage ; but it is only from you, 
 Catharine, that I can learn a better way of 
 thinking. Remember, my fair Valentine, that 
 my ambition of distinction in arms, and my 
 love of strife, if it can be called such, do not 
 fight even-handed with my reason and my 
 milder dispositions, but have their patrons and
 
 154 
 
 sticklers to egg them on. Is there a quarrel, — 
 and suppose that I, thinking on your counsels, 
 am something loth to engage in it, — believe 
 you I am left to decide between peace or war at 
 my own choosing ? Not so, by St Mary ! there 
 are a hundred round me to stir me on. ' Why, 
 how now, Smith, is thy mainspring rusted,' says 
 one. * Jolly Henry is deaf on the quarrelling 
 ear this morning,' says another. ' Stand to it, 
 for the honour of Perth,' says my Lord the Pro- 
 vost. ' Harry against them for a gold noble,' 
 cries your father, perhaps. Now, what can a 
 poor fellow do, Catharine, when all are halloo- 
 ing him on in the devil's name, and not a soul 
 putting in a word on the other side ?" 
 
 " Nay, I know the devil has factors enough 
 to utter his wares," said Catharine ; " but it is 
 our duty to despise such idle arguments, though 
 they may be pleaded even by those to whom we 
 owe much love and honour." 
 
 " Then there are the minstrels, with their 
 romaunts and ballads, which place all a man's 
 praise in receiving and repaying hard blows. 
 It is sad to tell, Catharine, how many of my
 
 155 
 
 sins that Blind Harry the Minstrel hath to an- 
 swer for. When I hit a downright blow, it is 
 not, (so save me, St John !) to do any man 
 injury, but only to strike as William Wallace 
 struck." 
 
 The MinstrePs namesake spoke this in such 
 a tone of rueful seriousness, that Catharine 
 could scarce forbear smiling ; but nevertheless 
 she assured him that the danger of his own and 
 other men's lives ought not for a moment to be 
 weighed against such simple toys. 
 
 " Ay, but," replied Henry, emboldened by 
 her smiles, " methinks now the good cause of 
 peace would thrive all the better for an advocate. 
 Suppose, for example, that when I am pressed 
 and urged to lay hand on my weapon, I could 
 have cause to recollect that there was a gentle 
 and guardian angel at home, whose image would 
 seem to whisper, ' Henry, do no violence ; it 
 is my hand which you crimson with blood — 
 Henry, rush upon no idle danger; it is my 
 breast which you expose to injury ;' such 
 thoughts would do more to restrain my mood, 
 than if every monk in Perth should cry ' Hold 
 thy hand, on pain of bell, book, and candle.' "
 
 156 
 
 " If such a warning as could be given by the 
 voice of sisterly affection can have weight in the 
 debate," said Catharine, " do think, that in stri- 
 king, you empurple this hand ; that in receiving 
 wounds, you harm this heart." 
 
 The Smith took courage at the sincerely af- 
 fectionate tone in which these words were deli- 
 vered. 
 
 " And wherefore not stretch your regard a 
 degree beyond these cold limits ? Why, since you 
 are so kind and generous as to own some in- 
 terest in the poor ignorant sinner before you, 
 should you not at once adopt him as your scho- 
 lar and your husband ? Your father desires it ; 
 the town expects it ; glovers and smiths are 
 preparing their rejoicings ; and you, only you, 
 whose words are so fair and so kind, you will 
 not give your consent !" 
 
 " Henry," said Catharine, in a low and tre- 
 mulous voice, " believe me I should hold it my 
 duty to comply with my father's commands, 
 were there not obstacles invincible to the 
 match which he proposes." 
 
 fc< Yet think — think but for a moment. 1
 
 157 
 
 have little to say for myself in comparison of 
 you, who can both read and write. But then 
 I wish to hear reading, and could listen to your 
 sweet voice for ever. You love music, and I 
 have been taught to play and sing as well as 
 some minstrels. You love to be charitable, I 
 have enough to give, and enough to keep ; as 
 large a daily alms as a deacon gives would 
 never be missed by me. Your father gets old 
 for daily toil ; he would live with us, as I should 
 truly hold him for my father also. I would be 
 as chary of mixing in causeless strife, as of 
 thrusting my hand into my own furnace; and 
 if there came on us unlawful violence, its wares 
 would be brought to an ill-chosen market." 
 
 " May you experience all the domestic hap- 
 piness which you can conceive, Henry, — but 
 with some one more happy than I am." 
 
 So spoke, or rather so sobbed, the Fair Maid- 
 en of Perth, who seemed choking in the at- 
 tempt to restrain her tears. 
 
 " You hate me, then ?" said the lover, after 
 a pause. 
 
 " Heaven is mv witness, No."
 
 158 
 
 " Or you love some other better ?" 
 
 " It is cruel to ask what it cannot avail you 
 to know. But you are entirely mistaken." 
 
 " Yon wild-cat, Conachar, perhaps ?" said 
 Henry. " I have marked his looks " 
 
 " You avail yourself of this painful situation 
 to insult me, Henry, though I have little de- 
 served it. Conachar is nothing to me, more 
 than the trying to tame his wild spirit by in- 
 struction might lead me to take some interest 
 in a mind abandoned to prejudices and passions, 
 and therein, Henry, not unlike your own." 
 
 " It must then be some of these flaunting 
 silk- worm Sirs about the court," said the ar- 
 mourer, his natural heat of temper kindling 
 from disappointment and vexation ; " some of 
 those who think they carry it off through the 
 height of their plumed bonnets and the jingle 
 of their spurs. I would I knew which it was, 
 that, leaving his natural mates, the painted and 
 perfumed dames of the court, comes to take 
 his prey among the simple maidens of the 
 burgher craft. I would I knew but his name 
 and surname !"
 
 1.59 
 
 " Henry Smith," said Catharine, shaking off 
 the weakness which seemed to threaten to over- 
 power her a moment before, " this is the lan- 
 guage of an ungrateful fool, or rather of a fran- 
 tic madman. I have told you already, there 
 was no one who stood, at the beginning of this 
 conference, more high in my opinion, than he 
 who is now losing ground with every word he 
 utters, in the tone of unjust suspicion and sense- 
 less anger. You had no title to know even what 
 I have told you ; which, I pray you to observe, 
 implies no preference to you over others, though 
 it disowns any preference of another to you. It 
 is enough you should be aware that there is as 
 insuperable an objection to what you desire, as 
 if an enchante/ had a spell over my destiny." 
 
 " Spells may be broken by true men y " said 
 the Smith. " I would it were come to that. 
 Thorbiorn, the Danish armourer, spoke of a 
 spell he had for making breastplates, by sing- 
 ing a certain song while the iron was heating. 
 I told him that his runic rhymes were no proof 
 against the weapons which fought at Loncarty 
 — what farther came of it it is needless to tell :
 
 160 
 
 —but the corslet and the wearer, and the leech 
 who salved his wound, know if Henry Gow 
 can break a spell or no." 
 
 Catharine looked at him as if about to return 
 an answer little approving of the exploit he had 
 vaunted, which the downright Smith had not 
 recollected, was of a kind that exposed him to 
 her frequent censure. But ere she had given 
 words to her thoughts, her father thrust his 
 head in at the door. 
 
 " Henry," he said, " I must interrupt your 
 more pleasing affairs, and request you to come 
 into my working room in all speed, to consult 
 about certain matters deeply affecting the weal 
 of the burgh." 
 
 Henry, making his obeisance to Catharine, 
 left the apartment upon her father's summons. 
 Indeed it was probably in favour of their future 
 friendly intercourse that they were parted on 
 this occasion, at the turn which the conver- 
 sation seemed likely to take. For as the wooer 
 had begun to hold the refusal of the damsel as 
 somewhat capricious and inexplicable after the 
 degree of encouragement, which, in his opinion,
 
 1G1 
 
 she had afforded ; Catharine, on the other hand, 
 considered him rather as an encroacher upon 
 the grace which she had shown him, than one 
 whose delicacy rendered him deserving of such 
 favour. 
 
 But there was living in their bosoms towards 
 each other a reciprocal kindness, which, on the 
 termination of the dispute was sure to revive, 
 inducing the maiden to forget her offended de- 
 licacy, and the lover his slighted warmth of 
 passion. 
 
 vol. i.
 
 162 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 This quarrel may draw blood another day. 
 
 Henry VI. Part 1. 
 
 The conclave of citizens appointed to meet for 
 investigating the affray of the preceding even- 
 ing, had now assembled. The work-room of 
 Simon Glover was filled to crowding by per- 
 sonages of no little consequence, some of whom 
 wore black velvet cloaks, and gold chains around 
 their necks. They were, indeed, the fathers of 
 the city ; and there were bailies and deacons in 
 the honoured number. There was an ireful 
 and offended air of importance upon every 
 brow, as they conversed together, rather in 
 whisper, than aloud or in detail. Busiest among 
 the busy, the little important assistant of the 
 previous night, Oliver Proudfute by name, and 
 bonnet-maker by profession, was bustling among 

 
 163 
 
 the crowd ; much after the manner of the sea- 
 gull, which flutters, screams, and sputters most 
 at the commencement of a gale of wind, though 
 one can hardly conceive what the bird has bet- 
 ter to do than to fly to its nest, and remain quiet 
 till the gale is over. 
 
 Be that as it may, Master Proudfute was in 
 the midst of the crowd, his fingers upon every 
 one's button, and his mouth in every man's ear, 
 embracing such as were near to his own stature, 
 that he might more closely and mysteriously 
 utter his sentiments ; and standing on tipr 
 toe, and supporting himself by the cloak-col- 
 lars of tall men, that he might dole out to them 
 also the same share of information. He felt 
 himself one of the heroes of the affair, being 
 conscious of the dignity of superior information 
 on the subject as an eye-witness, and much dis- 
 posed to push his connexion with the scuffle a 
 few points beyond the modesty of truth. It 
 cannot be said his communications were in 
 especial curious and important, consisting chief- 
 ly of such assertions as these : — 
 
 " It is all true, bv St John. I was there
 
 164 
 
 and saw it myself — was the first to run to the 
 fray ; and if it had not been for me and another 
 stout fellow, who came in about the same time, 
 they had broken into Simon Glover's house, 
 cut his throat, and carried his daughter off to 
 the mountains. It is too evil usage — not to be 
 suffered, neighbour Crookshank, — not to be en- 
 dured, neighbour Glass — not to be borne, neigh- 
 bours Balneaves, Rollock, and Chrysteson. It 
 was a mercy that I and that stout fellow came 
 in — Was it not, neighbour and worthy Bailie 
 Craigdallie ?" 
 
 These speeches were dispersed by the busy 
 bonnet-maker into sundry ears. Bailie Craig- 
 dallie, a portly guild-brother, the same who had 
 advised the prorogation of their civic council to 
 the present place and hour, a big, burly, good- 
 looking man, shook the deacon from his cloak 
 with pretty much the grace with which a large 
 horse shrugs off the importunate fly that has 
 beset him for ten minutes, and exclaimed, " Si- 
 lence, good citizens ; here comes Simon Glover, 
 in whom no man ever saw falsehood. We will 
 hear the outrage from his own mouth."
 
 165 
 
 Simon being called upon to tell his tale, did 
 so with obvious embarrassment, which he im 
 puted to a reluctance that the burgh should be 
 put in deadly feud with any one upon his ac- 
 count. It was, he dared to say, a masking or 
 revel on the part of the young gallants about 
 court; and the worst that might come of it 
 would be, that he would put iron stancheons 
 on his daughter's window, in case of such an- 
 other frolic. 
 
 " Why, then, if this was a mere masking or 
 mummery," said Craigdallie, " our townsman, 
 Harry of the Wynd, did far wrong to cut off a 
 gentleman's hand for such a harmless plea- 
 santry, and the town may be brought to a 
 heavy fine for it, unless we secure the person 
 of the mutilator." 
 
 " Our Lady forbid," said the Glover. " Did 
 you know what I do, you would be as much 
 afraid of handling this matter, as if it were 
 glowing iron. But, since you will needs put 
 your fingers in the fire, truth must be spoken. 
 And come what will, I must say, that the 
 matter might have ended ill for me and mine,
 
 16(1 
 
 but for the opportune assistance of Henry Gow, 
 the armourer, well known to you all." 
 
 " And mine also was not awanting," said 
 Oliver Proudfute, " though I do not profess to 
 be utterly so good a swordsman as our neigh- 
 bour, Henry Gow. — You saw me, neighbour 
 Glover, at the beginning of the fray ?" 
 
 " I saw you after the end of it, neighbour," 
 answered the Glover, drily. 
 
 " True, true ; I had forgot you were in your 
 house while the blows were going, and could 
 not survey who were dealing them." 
 
 " Peace, neighbour Proudfute ; I prithee, 
 peace," 6aid Craigdallie, who was obviously 
 tired of the tuneless screeching of the worthy 
 deacon. 
 
 " There is something mysterious here," said 
 the Bailie ; " but I think I spy the secret. Our 
 friend Simon is, as you all know, a peaceful 
 man, and one that will rather sit down with 
 wrong, than put a friend, or say a neighbour- 
 hood, in danger, to seek his redress. Thou, 
 Henry, who art never wanting where the 
 burgh needs a defender, tell us what thou know- 
 pst of this matter."
 
 167 
 
 Our Smith told his story to the same purpose 
 which we have already related ; and the med- 
 dling maker of bonnets added as before, " And 
 thou sawest me there, honest Smith, didst thou 
 not ?" 
 
 " Not I, in good faith, neighbour," answer- 
 ed Henry ; " but you are a little man, you know, 
 and I might overlook you." 
 
 This reply produced a laugh at Oliver's ex- 
 pense, who laughed for company, but added, 
 M I was one of the foremost to the rescue for all 
 that." 
 
 " Why, where wert thou then, neighbour ?" 
 said the Smith ; " for I saw you not, and I 
 would have given the worth of the best suit of 
 armour I ever wrought to have seen as stout a 
 fellow as thou at my elbow." 
 
 " I was no farther off, however, honest Smith ; 
 and whilst thou wert laying on blows as if on an 
 anvil, I was parrying those that the rest of the 
 villains aimed at thee behind thy back; and that 
 is the cause thou sawest me not." 
 
 " I have heard of Smiths of old time who 
 had but one eye," said Henry. " I have two,
 
 168 
 
 but they are both set in my forehead, and so I 
 could not see behind my back, neighbour." 
 
 " The truth is, however," persevered Master 
 Oliver, " there I was, and I will give Master 
 Bailie my account of the matter ; for the Smith 
 and I were first up to the fray." 
 
 " Enough at present," said the Bailie, waving 
 to Master Proudfute an injunction of silence. 
 " The precognition of Simon Glover and Henry 
 Gow would bear out a matter less worthy of 
 belief. — And now, my masters, your opinion 
 what should be done. Here are all our burgher 
 rights broken through and insulted, and you 
 may well fancy that it is by some man of power, 
 since no less dared have attempted such an out- 
 rage. My masters, it is hard on flesh and blood 
 to submit to this. The laws have framed us of 
 lower rank than the princes and nobles, yet it 
 is against reason to suppose that we will suffer 
 our houses to be broken into, and the honour of 
 our women insulted, without some redress." 
 
 " It is not to be endured," answered the citi- 
 zens, unanimously. 
 
 Here Simon Glover interfered with a verv
 
 169 
 
 anxious and ominous countenance. " I hope 
 still that all was not meant so ill as it seemed 
 to us, my worthy neighbours ; and I for one 
 would cheerfully forgive the alarm and disturb- 
 ance to my poor house, providing the fair city 
 were not brought into jeopardy for me. I be- 
 seech you to consider who are to be our judges 
 that are to hear the case, and give or refuse re- 
 dress. I speak among neighbours and friends, 
 and therefore I speak openly. The King, God 
 bless him ! is so broken in. mind and body, that 
 he will but turn us over to some great man 
 amongst his councillors, who shall be in favour 
 for the time — Perchance he will refer us to 
 his brother the Duke of Albany, who will make 
 our petition for righting of our wrongs the pre- 
 tence for squeezing money out of us." 
 
 " We will none of Albany for our judge/' 
 answered the meeting with the same unanimity 
 as before. 
 
 " Or perhaps," added Simon, " he will bid 
 the Duke of Rothsay take charge of it ; and the 
 wild young prince will regard the outrage as 
 something for his gay companions to scoff at, 
 and his minstrels to turn into a song."
 
 170 
 
 " Away with Rothsay ! he is too gay to be 
 our judge," again exclaimed the citizens. 
 
 Simon, emboldened by seeing he was reach- 
 ing the point he aimed at, yet pronouncing the 
 dreaded name with a half whisper, next added, 
 " Would you like the Black Douglas better to 
 deal with ?" 
 
 There was no answer for a minute. They 
 looked on each other with fallen countenances 
 and blanched lips. But Henry Smith spoke out 
 boldly, and in a decided voice, the sentiments 
 which all felt, but none else dared give words 
 to— 
 
 " The Black Douglas to judge betwixt a 
 burgher and a gentleman, nay, a nobleman for 
 all I know or care ? — The black devil of hell 
 sooner ! You are mad, Father Simon, so much 
 as to name so wild a proposal." 
 
 There was again a silence of fear and uncer- 
 tainty, which was at length broken by Bailie 
 Craigdallie, who, looking very significantly to 
 the speaker, replied, " You are confident in a 
 stout doublet, neighbour Smith, or you would 
 not talk so boldlv."
 
 171 
 
 " I am confident of a good heart under my 
 doublet, such as it is, Bailie," answered the un- 
 daunted Henry ; " and though I speak but little, 
 my mouth shall never be padlocked by any 
 noble of them all." 
 
 " Wear a thick doublet, good Henry, or do 
 not speak so loud," reiterated the Bailie, in the 
 same significant tone. " There are Border men 
 in the town who wear the bloody heart on their 
 shoulder. — But all this is no rede. What shall 
 we do ?" 
 
 " Short rede, good rede," said the Smith. 
 " Let us to our Provost, and demand his coun- 
 tenance and assistance." 
 
 A murmur of applause went through the 
 party, and Oliver Proudfute exclaimed, " That 
 is what I have been saying for this half hour, 
 and not one of ye would listen to me. Let us 
 go to our Provost, said I. He is a gentleman 
 himself, and ought to come between the burgh 
 and the nobles in all matters." 
 
 " Hush, neighbours, hush; be wary what 
 you say or do," said a thin meagre figure of a 
 man, whose diminutive person seemed still more
 
 172 
 
 reduced in size, and more assimilated to a sha- 
 dow, by his efforts to assume an extreme degree 
 of humility, and make himself, to suit his argu- 
 ment, look meaner yet, and yet more insignifi- 
 cant than nature had made him. 
 
 M Pardon me," said he ; " I am but a poor Pot- 
 tingar. Nevertheless, I have been bred in Paris, 
 and learned my humanities and my cursus me- 
 dendi as well as some that call themselves learn- 
 ed leeches. Methinks I can tent this wound, 
 and treat it with emollients. Here is our friend 
 Simon Glover, who is, as you all know, a man 
 of worship. Think you he would not be the 
 most willing of us all to pursue harsh courses 
 here, since his family honour is so nearly con- 
 cerned ? And since he blenches away from the 
 charge against these same revellers, consider if 
 he may not have some good reason more than 
 he cares to utter for letting the matter sleep. It 
 is not for me to put my finger on the sore ; but, 
 alack ! we all know that young maidens are 
 what I call fugitive essences. Suppose now, an 
 honest maiden — I mean in all innocence — leaves 
 her window unlatched on St Valentine's morn,
 
 173 
 
 that some gallant cavalier may — in all honesty, 
 I mean — become her Valentine for the season ; 
 and suppose the gallant be discovered, may she 
 not scream out as if the visit were unexpected, 
 and — and — bray all this in a mortar, and then 
 consider, will it be a matter to place the town 
 in feud for ?" 
 
 The Pottingar delivered his opinion in a most 
 insinuating manner ; but he seemed to shrink 
 into something less than his natural tenuity 
 when he saw the blood rise in the old cheeks 
 of Simon Glover, and inflame to the temples 
 the complexion of the redoubted Smith. The 
 last, stepping forward, and turning a stern look 
 on the alarmed Pottingar, broke out as fol- 
 lows : — " Thou walking skeleton ! thou asth- 
 matic gallipot ! thou poisoner by profession ! if 
 I thought that the puff of vile breath thou hast 
 left could blight for the tenth part of a minute 
 the fair fame of Catharine Glover, I would 
 pound thee, quacksalver ! in thine own mortar, 
 and beat up thy wretched carrion with flower 
 of brimstone, the only real medicine in thy 
 booth, to make a salve to rub mangy hounds 
 with !"
 
 174 
 
 " Hold, son Henry, hold !" cried the Glover, 
 in a tone of authority, — " no man has title to 
 speak of this matter but me. — Worshipful Bailie 
 Craigdallie, since such is the construction that 
 is put upon my patience, I am willing to pur- 
 sue this riot to the uttermost ; and though the 
 issue may prove that we had better have been 
 patient, you will all see that my Catharine hath 
 not by any lightness or folly of hers afforded 
 grounds for this great scandal.'' 
 
 The Bailie also interposed. u Neighbour Hen- 
 ry," said he, " we came here to consult, and not 
 to quarrel. As one of the fathers of the fair city, 
 I command thee to forego all evil will and mal- 
 talent you may have against Master Pottingar 
 Dwining.' , 
 
 " He is too poor a creature, Bailie," said 
 Henry Gow, " for me to harbour feud with — 
 I that could destroy him and his booth with 
 one blow of my fore-hammer." 
 
 " Peace, then, and hear me," said the official. 
 ** We all are as much believers in the honour of 
 the Fair Maiden of Perth, as in that of our 
 Blessed Lady." Here he crossed himself devout-
 
 175 
 
 ly. " But touching our appeal to our Provost, 
 are you agreed, neighbours, to put matter like 
 this into our Provost's hand, being against a 
 powerful noble, as is to be feared ?" 
 
 " The Provost being himself a nobleman — " 
 squeaked the Pottingar, in some measure re- 
 leased from his terror by the intervention of the 
 Bailie. " God knows, I speak not to the dispa- 
 ragement of an honourable gentleman, whose 
 forebears have held the office he now holds for 
 many years " 
 
 " By free choice of the citizens of Perth," 
 said the Smith, interrupting the speaker with 
 the tones of his deep and decisive voice. 
 
 " Ay, surely," said the disconcerted orator, 
 " by the voice of the citizens. How else ? — I 
 pray you, friend Smith, interrupt me not. I 
 speak to our worthy and eldest Bailie, Craig- 
 dallie, according to my poor mind. I say that, 
 come amongst us how he will, still this Sir Pa- 
 trick Charter is is a nobleman, and hawks will 
 not pick hawks' eyes out. He may well bear 
 us out in a feud with the Highlandmen, and 
 do the part of our Provost and leader against 
 12
 
 170 
 
 them; but whether he that himself wears silk will 
 take our part against broidered cloak and cloth 
 of gold, though he may do so against tartan and 
 Irish frieze, is something to be questioned. Take 
 a fool's advice. We have saved our Maiden, of 
 whom I never meant to speak harm, as truly I 
 knew none. They have lost one man's hand 
 at least, thanks to Harry Smith " 
 
 " And to me," added the little important 
 bonnet-maker. 
 
 " And to Oliver Proudfute, as he tells us," 
 continued the Pottingar, who contested no man's 
 claim to glory, provided he was not himself 
 compelled to tread the perilous paths which lead 
 to it. "I say, neighbours, since they have left 
 a hand as a pledge they will never come in 
 Couvrefew street again, why, in my simple mind, 
 we were best to thank our stout townsman, and 
 the town having the honour, and these rake- 
 hells the loss, that we should hush the matter 
 up, and say no more about it." 
 
 These pacific counsels had their effect with 
 some of the citizens, who began to nod and 
 look exceedingly wise upon the advocate of ac-
 
 177 
 
 quiescence, with whom, notwithstanding the of- 
 fence so lately given, Simon Glover seemed also 
 to agree in opinion. But not so Henry Smith, 
 who, seeing the consultation at a stand, took up 
 the speech in his usual downright manner. 
 
 " I am neither the oldest nor the richest 
 among you, neighbours, and I am not sorry 
 for it. Years will come, if one lives to see 
 them ; and I can win and spend my penny like 
 another, by the blaze of the furnace and the 
 wind of the bellows. But no man ever saw me 
 sit down with wrong done in word or deed to 
 our fair town, if man's tongue and man's hand 
 could right it. Neither will I sit down with 
 this outrage, if I can help it. I will go to the 
 Provost myself, if no one will go with me ; he 
 is a knight, it is true, and a gentleman of free 
 and true-born blood, as we all know, since 
 Wallace's time, who settled his great-grandsire 
 amongst us. But if he were the proudest no- 
 bleman in the land, he is the Provost of Perth, 
 and for his own honour must see the freedoms 
 and immunities of the burgh preserved — ay, 
 and I know he will — I have made a steel dou- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 
 
 blet for him, and have a good guess at the kind 
 of heart that it was meant to cover." 
 
 " Surely," said Bailie Craigdallie, " it would 
 be to no purpose to stir at court without Sir 
 Patrick Charteris's countenance ; the ready an- 
 swer would be, Go to your Provost, you borrel 
 loons. So, neighbours and townsmen, if you will 
 stand by my side, I and our Pottingar Dvvining 
 will repair presently to Kinfauns, with Sim 
 Glover, the jolly Smith, and gallant Oliver 
 Proudfute, for witnesses to the onslaught, and 
 speak with Sir Patrick Charteris, in name of 
 the Fair Town." 
 
 " Nay," said the peaceful man of medicine, 
 " leave me behind, I pray you ; I lack audacity 
 to speak before a belted knight." 
 
 " Never regard that, neighbour, you must 
 go," said Bailie Craigdallie. " The town hold 
 me a hot-headed carle for a man of threescore — 
 Sim Glover is the offended party — we all know 
 that Harry Gow spoils more harnesses with his 
 sword, than he makes with his hammer — and 
 our neighbour Proudfute, — who, take his own 
 word, is at the beginning and end of every
 
 179 
 
 fray in Perth,— is of course a man of action. Wc 
 must have at least one advocate amongst us for 
 peace and quietness ; and thou, Pottingar, must 
 be the man. Away with you, sirs, get your boots 
 and your beasts — horse and hattock, I say — and 
 let us meet at the East Port — that is, if it is 
 your pleasure, neighbours, to trust us with the 
 matter." 
 
 " There can be no better rede, and we will 
 all avouch it," said the citizens. " If the Pro- 
 vost take our part, as the Fair Town hath a 
 right to expect, we may bell-the-cat with the 
 best of them." 
 
 " It is well, then, neighbours," answered the 
 Bailie ; " so said, so shall be done. Meanwhile, 
 I have called the whole town-council together 
 about this hour, and I have little doubt," look- 
 ing around the company, " that as so many of 
 them who are in this place have resolved to 
 consult with our Provost, the rest will be com- 
 pliant to the same resolution. And therefore, 
 neighbours, and good burghers of the fair city 
 of Perth — horse and hattock, as I said before, 
 and meet me at the East Port." 
 
 A general acclamation concluded the sitting
 
 180 
 
 of this species of privy council, or Lords of the 
 Articles ; and they dispersed, the deputation to 
 prepare for the journey, and the rest to tell their 
 impatient wives and daughters of the measures 
 they had taken to render their chambers safe in 
 future, against the intrusion of gallants at un- 
 seasonable hours. 
 
 While nags are saddling, and the town-coun- 
 cil debating, or rather putting in form what 
 the leading members of their body had already 
 adopted, it may be necessary, for the informa- 
 tion of some readers, to state in distinct terms 
 what is more circuitously intimated in the course 
 of the former discussion. 
 
 It was the custom at this period, when the 
 strength of the feudal aristocracy controlled the 
 rights, and frequently insulted the privileges, of 
 the royal burghs of Scotland, that the latter, 
 where it was practicable, often chose their Pro- 
 vost, or Chief Magistrate, not out of the order 
 of the merchants, shopkeepers, and citizens, who 
 inhabited the town itself, and filled up the roll 
 of the ordinary magistracy, but elected to that 
 pre-eminent state some powerful nobleman, or
 
 181 
 
 baron, in the neighbourhood of the burgh, who 
 was expected to stand their friend at court in 
 such matters as concerned their common weal, 
 and to lead their civic militia to fight, whether 
 in general battle or in private feud, reinforcing 
 them with his own feudal retainers. This pro- 
 tection was not always gratuitous. The Provosts 
 sometimes availed themselves of their situation 
 to an unjustifiable degree, and obtained grants 
 of lands and tenements belonging to the com- 
 mon good, or public property of the burgh, and 
 thus made the citizens pay dear for the counte- 
 nance which they afforded. Others were satis- 
 fied to receive the powerful aid of the towns- 
 men in their own feudal quarrels, with such 
 other marks of respect and benevolence, as the 
 burgh over which they presided were willing to 
 gratify them with, in order to secure their active 
 services in case of necessity. The Baron, who 
 was the regular protector of a royal burgh, ac- 
 cepted such free-will offerings without scruple, 
 and repaid them by defending the rights of the 
 town, by arguments in the council, and by bold 
 deeds in the field.
 
 182 
 
 The citizens of the town, or, as they loved 
 better to call it, the Fair City of Perth, had for 
 several generations found a protector and Pro- 
 vost of this kind in the knightly family of Char- 
 teris, Lords of Kinfauns, in the neighbourhood 
 of the burgh. It was scarce a century (in the 
 time of Robert III.) since the first of this dis- 
 tinguished family had settled in the strong cas- 
 tle which now belonged to them, with the pic- 
 turesque and fertile scenes adjoining to it. But 
 the history of the first settler, chivalrous and 
 romantic in itself, was calculated to facilitate 
 the settlement of an alien, in the land in which 
 his lot was cast. We relate it as it is given by 
 an ancient and uniform tradition, which carries 
 in it great indications of truth, and is warrant 
 enough, perhaps, for its insertion in graver his- 
 tories than the present. 
 
 During the brief career of the celebrated pa- 
 triot Sir William Wallace, and when his arms 
 had for a time expelled the English invaders 
 from his native country, he is said to have 
 undertaken a voyage to France, with a small 
 band of trusty friends, to try what his presence
 
 18;; 
 
 (for he was respected through all countries for 
 his prowess) might do to induce the French 
 monarch to send to Scotland a body of auxili- 
 ary forces, or other assistance, to aid the Scots 
 in regaining their independence. 
 
 The Scottish Champion was on board a small 
 vessel, and steering for the port of Dieppe, 
 when a sail appeared in the distance, which the 
 mariners regarded with doubt and apprehension, 
 and at last with confusion and dismay. Wallace 
 demanded to know what was the cause of their 
 alarm. The captain of the ship informed him, 
 that the tall vessel which was bearing down, 
 with the purpose of boarding that which he 
 commanded, was the ship of a celebrated rover, 
 equally famed for his courage, strength of body, 
 and successful piracies. It was commanded by 
 a gentleman named Thomas de Longueville, a 
 Frenchman by birth, but by practice one of 
 those pirates who called themselves friends to 
 the sea, and enemies to all who sailed upon that 
 element. He attacked and plundered vessels of 
 all nations, like one of the ancient Norse Sea- 
 kings, as they were termed, whose dominion waa
 
 184 
 
 upon the mountain waves. The master added, 
 that no vessel could escape the rover hy flight, 
 so speedy was the bark he commanded ; and that 
 no crew, however hardy, could hope to resist 
 him, when, as was his usual mode of combat, he 
 threw himself on board at the head of his fol- 
 lowers, 
 
 Wallace smiled sternly, while the master of 
 the ship, with alarm in his countenance, and 
 tears in his eyes, described to him the certain- 
 ty of their being captured by the Red Rover, 
 a name given to De Longueville, because he 
 usually displayed the blood-red flag, which he 
 had now hoisted. 
 
 " I will clear the narrow seas of this rover," 
 said Wallace. 
 
 Then calling together some ten or twelve of 
 his own followers, Boyd, Kerlie, Seton, and 
 others, to whom the dust of the most desperate 
 battle was like the breath of life, he command- 
 ed them to arm themselves, and lie flat upon 
 the deck, so as to be out of sight. He ordered 
 the mariners below, excepting such as were ab- 
 solutely necessary to manage the vessel ; and he
 
 185 
 
 gave the master instructions, upon pain of death, 
 so to steer, as that, while the vessel had an 
 appearance of attempting to fly, he should in 
 fact permit the Red Rover to come up with 
 them and do his worst. Wallace himself then 
 lay down on the deck, that nothing might be 
 seen which could intimate any purpose of re- 
 sistance. In a quarter of an hour De Longue- 
 ville's vessel ran on board that of the Cham- 
 pion, and the Red Rover casting out grap- 
 pling irons to make sure of his prize, jump- 
 ed on the deck in complete armour, followed 
 by his men, who gave a terrible shout, as if 
 victory had been already secured. But the 
 armed Scots started up at once, and the ro- 
 ver found himself unexpectedly engaged with 
 men accustomed to consider victory as secure, 
 when they were only opposed as one to two or 
 three. Wallace himself rushed on the pirate 
 captain, and a dreadful strife began betwixt 
 them with such fury, that the others suspend- 
 ed their own battle to look on, and seemed by 
 common consent to refer the issue of the strife 
 to the fate of the combat between the two
 
 186 
 
 chiefs. The pirate fought as well as man could 
 do; but Wallace's strength was beyond that 
 of ordinary mortals. He dashed the sword from 
 the rover's hand, and placed him in such peril, 
 that, to avoid being cut down, he was fain to 
 close with the Scottish Champion, in hopes 
 of overpowering him in the grapple. In this 
 also he was foiled. They fell on the deck, locked 
 in each other's arms, but the Frenchman fell un- 
 dermost ; and Wallace, fixing his grasp upon his 
 gorget, compressed it so closely, notwithstand- 
 ing it was made of the finest steel, that the blood 
 gushed from his eyes, nose, and mouth, and he 
 was only able to ask for quarter by signs. His 
 men threw down their weapons and begged for 
 mercy, when they saw their leader thus severe- 
 ly handled. The victor granted them all their 
 lives, but took possession of their vessel, and 
 detained them prisoners. 
 
 When he came in sight of the French har- 
 bour, Wallace alarmed the place by displaying 
 the rover's colours, as if De Longueville was 
 coming to pillage the town. The bells were rung 
 backward; horns were blown, and the citizens
 
 187 
 
 were hurrying to arms, when the scene chan- 
 ged. The Scottish Lion on his shield of gold was 
 raised above the piratical flag, and announced 
 that the Champion of Scotland was approach- 
 ing, like a falcon with his prey in his clutch. He 
 landed with his prisoner, and carried him to the 
 court of France, where, at Wallace's request, the 
 robberies which the pirate had committed were 
 forgiven, and the King even conferred the honour 
 of knighthood on Sir Thomas de Longueville, 
 and offered to take him into his service. But 
 the rover had contracted such a friendship for 
 his generous victor, that he insisted on uniting 
 his fortunes with those of Wallace, with whom 
 he returned to Scotland, and fought by his side 
 in many a bloody battle, where the prowess of 
 Sir Thomas de Longueville was remarked as 
 inferior to that of none, save of his heroic con- 
 queror. His fate also was more fortunate than 
 that of his patron. Being distinguished by the 
 beauty as well as strength of his person, he 
 rendered himself so acceptable to a young lady, 
 heiress of the ancient family of Charteris, that 
 she chotse him lor her husband, bestowing on
 
 188 
 
 him with her hand the fair baronial Castle of 
 Kinfauns, and the domains annexed to it. Their 
 descendants took the name of Charteris, as con- 
 necting themselves with their maternal ances- 
 tors, the ancient proprietors of the property, 
 though the name of Thomas de Longueville was 
 equally honoured amongst them ; and the large 
 two-handed sword with which he mowed the 
 ranks of war, was, and is still, preserved among 
 the family muniments. Another account is, 
 that the family name of De Longueville him- 
 self was Charteris. The estate afterwards pass- 
 ed to a family of Blairs, and is now the pro- 
 perty of Lord Gray. 
 
 These barons of Kinfauns, from father to son, 
 held, for several generations, the office of Pro- 
 vost of Perth ; the vicinity of the castle and 
 town rendering it a very convenient arrange- 
 ment for mutual support. The Sir Patrick of 
 this history had more than once led out the men 
 of Perth to battles and skirmishes with the rest- 
 less Highland depredators, and with other ene- 
 mies, foreign and domestic. True it is, he used 
 sometimes to be weary of the slight and frivo-
 
 189 
 
 lous complaints unnecessarily brought before 
 him, and in which he was requested to interest 
 himself. Hence he had sometimes incurred the 
 charge of being too proud as a nobleman, or 
 too indolent as a man of wealth, and one who 
 was too much addicted to the pleasures of the 
 field, and the exercise of feudal hospitality, to 
 bestir himself upon all and every occasion when 
 the Fair Town would have desired his active in- 
 terference. But notwithstanding that this oc- 
 casioned some slight murmuring, the citizens, 
 upon any serious cause of alarm, were wont to 
 rally around their Provost, and were warmly 
 supported by him both in council and action.
 
 190 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The character and quality of Sir Patrick 
 Charteris, the Provost of Perth, heing such as 
 we have sketched in the last chapter, let us now 
 return to the deputation which was in the act 
 of rendezvousing at the East Port, in order to 
 wait upon that dignitary with their complaints, 
 at Kinfauns. 
 
 And first appeared Simon Glover, on a pa- 
 cing palfrey, which had sometimes enjoyed the 
 honour of bearing the fairer person as well as the 
 lighter weight of his beautiful daughter. His 
 cloak was muffled round the lower part of his 
 face, as a sign to his friends not to interrupt him 
 by any questions while he passed through the 
 streets, and partly, perhaps, on account of the 
 coldness of the weather. The deepest anxiety
 
 191 
 
 was seated on liis brow, as if the more he me- 
 ditated on the matter he was engaged in, the 
 more difficult and perilous it appeared. He 
 only greeted by silent gestures his friends as 
 they came to the rendezvous. 
 
 A strong black horse, of the old Galloway 
 breed, of an under size, not exceeding fourteen 
 hands, but high- shouldered, strong-limbed, well- 
 coupled, and round-barrelled, bore to the East 
 Port the gallant Smith. A judge of the ani- 
 mal might see in his eye a spark of that vicious 
 temper which is frequently the accompaniment 
 of the form that is most vigorous and enduring ; 
 but the weight, the hand, and the seat of the 
 rider, added to the late regular exercise of a 
 long journey, had subdued its stubbornness for 
 the present. He was accompanied by the ho- 
 nest Bonnet-maker, who, being, as the reader is 
 aware, a little round man, had planted himself 
 like a red pin-cushion, (for he was wrapped in 
 a scarlet cloak, over which he had slung a hawk- 
 ing pouch,) on the top of a great saddle, which 
 he might be said rather to be perched upon than 
 15
 
 192 
 
 to bestride. The saddle and the man were girth- 
 ed on the ridge-bone of a great trampling Fle- 
 mish mare, with a nose turned up in the air 
 like a camel, a huge fleece of hair at each foot, 
 and every hoof full as large in circumference as 
 a frying-pan. The contrast between the beast 
 and the rider was so extremely extraordinary, 
 that whilst chance passengers contented them- 
 selves with wondering how he got up, his friends 
 were anticipating with sorrow the perils which 
 must attend his coming down again ; for the high- 
 seated horseman's feet did not by any means 
 come beneath the laps of the saddle. He had 
 associated himself to the Smith, whose motions 
 he had watched for the purpose of joining him ; 
 for it was Oliver Proudfute's opinion, that men 
 of action showed to most advantage when be- 
 side each other; and he was delighted when 
 some wag of the lower class had gravity enough 
 to cry out, without laughing outright, " There 
 goes the pride of Perth — there go the slashing 
 craftsmen, the jolly Smith of the Wynd, and 
 the bold Bonnet-maker !" 
 
 13
 
 193 
 
 It is true, the fellow who gave this all-hail 
 thrust his tongue in his cheek to some scape- 
 graces like himself; but as the Bonnet-maker 
 did not see this by-play, he generously threw 
 him a silver penny to encourage his respect for 
 martialists. This munificence occasioned their 
 being followed by a crowd of boys, laughing 
 and hallooing, until Henry Smith, turning back, 
 threatened to switch the foremost of them ; a 
 resolution which they did not wait to see put 
 in execution. 
 
 " Here are we the witnesses," said the little 
 man on the large horse, as they joined Simon 
 Glover at the East Port ; " but where are they 
 that should back us ? Ah, brother Henry ! 
 authority is a load for an ass rather than a spi- 
 rited horse ; it would but clog the motions of 
 such young fellows as you and me." 
 
 " I could well wish to see you bear ever so 
 little of that same weight, worthy Master Proud- 
 fute," replied Henry Gow, u were it but to keep 
 you firm in the saddle ; for you bounce about as 
 if you were dancing a jig on your seat, without 
 any help from your legs." 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 1&4 
 
 " Ay, ay ; I raise myself in my stirrups to 
 avoid the jolting. She is cruelly hard set this 
 mare of mine ; but she has carried me in field 
 and forest, and through some passages that were 
 something perilous ; so Jezabel and I part not 
 — I call her Jezabel, after the Princess of Cas- 
 tille." 
 
 " Isabel, I suppose you mean," answered the 
 Smith. 
 
 " Ay — Isabel, or Jezabel, — all the same, you 
 know. But here comes Bailie Craigdallie at 
 last, with that poor, creeping, cowardly creature 
 the Pottingar. They have brought two town- 
 officers with their partizans, to guard their fair 
 persons, I suppose. — If there is one thing I hate 
 more than another, it is such a sneaking varlet 
 as that Dwining !" 
 
 " Have a care he does not hear you say so," 
 said the Smith. " I tell thee, Bonnet-maker, that 
 there is more danger in yonder slight wasted 
 anatomy, than in twenty stout fellows like your- 
 self." 
 
 " Pshaw ! Bully Smith, you are but jesting 
 with me," said Oliver, — softening his voice, how- 
 ever, and looking towards the Pottingar, as if
 
 195 
 
 to discover in what limb or lineament of his 
 wasted face and form lay any appearance of the 
 menaced danger ; and his examination reassu- 
 ring him, he answered boldly, " Blades and 
 bucklers, man, I would stand the feud of a 
 dozen such as Dwining. What could he do to 
 any man with blood in his veins ?" 
 
 " He could give him a dose of physic," an- 
 swered the Smith, drily. 
 
 They had no time for further colloquy, For 
 Bailie Craigdallie called to them to take the road 
 to Kin fauns, and himself showed the example. 
 As they advanced at a leisurely pace, the dis- 
 course turned on the reception which they were 
 to expect from their Provost, and the interest 
 which he was likely to take in the aggression 
 which they complained of. The Glover seemed 
 particularly desponding, and talked more than 
 once, in a manner which implied a wish that 
 they would yet consent to let the matter rest. 
 He did not speak out very plainly, however*, 
 fearful, perhaps, of the malignant interpretation 
 which might be derived from any appearance of 
 his flinching from the assertion of his daugh- 
 ter's reputation. Dwining seemed to agree with
 
 196 
 
 him in opinion, but spoke more cautiously than 
 in the morning. 
 
 " After all," said the Bailie, " when I think 
 of all the propines and good gifts which have 
 passed from the good town to my Lord Pro- 
 vost's, I cannot think he will be backward to 
 show himself. More than one lusty boat, laden 
 with Bourdeaux wine, has left the South Shore 
 to discharge its burden under the Castle of 
 Kinfauns. I have some right to speak of that, 
 who was the merchant importer." 
 
 " And," said Dwining, with his squeaking 
 voice, " I could speak of delicate confections, 
 curious comfits, loaves of wastel bread, and 
 even cakes of that rare and delicious condiment 
 which men call sugar, that have gone thither 
 to help out a bridal banquet, or a kirstening 
 feast, or such like. But alack, Bailie Craig- 
 dallie, wine is drunk, comfits are eaten, and 
 the gift is forgotten when the flavour is past 
 away. Alas, neighbour ! the banquet of last 
 Christmas is gone like the last year's snow." 
 
 " But there have been gloves full of gold 
 pieces," said the Magistrate. 
 
 " I should know that who wrought them,"
 
 19' 
 
 said Simon, whose professional recollections 
 still mingled with whatever else might occupy 
 his mind. " One was a hawking glove for my 
 lady. I made it something wide. Her ladyship 
 found no fault, in consideration of the intend- 
 ed lining." 
 
 " Well, go to," said Bailie Craigdallie, " the 
 less I lie ; and if these are not to the fore, it is 
 the Provost's fault, and not the town's ; they 
 could neither be eat nor drunk in the shape in 
 which he got them." 
 
 " I could speak of a brave armour too," 
 said the Smith ; " but, cogcm na schie ! as John 
 Highlandman says, I think the Knight of Kin- 
 fauns will do his devoir by the burgh in peace 
 or war ; and it is needless to be reckoning the 
 town's good deeds, till we see him thankless for 
 them." 
 
 " So say I," cried our friend Proudfute, from 
 the top of bis mare. " We roystering blades 
 never bear so base a mind as to count for wine 
 and walnuts with a friend like Sir Patrick Char- 
 teris. Nay, trust me, a good woodsman like 
 Sir Patrick will prize the right of hunting and
 
 198 
 
 sporting over the lands of the burgh as an high 
 privilege, and one which, his Majesty the King's 
 Grace excepted, is neither granted to lord nor 
 loon save to our Provost alone." 
 
 As the Bonnet-maker spoke, there was heard 
 on the left hand, the cry of, " So so — ivaiv waw 
 — haw" being the shout of a falconer to his 
 hawk. 
 
 " Methinks yonder is a fellow using the privi- 
 lege you mention, who, from his appearance, is 
 neither King nor Provost," said the Smith. 
 
 " Ay, marry, I see him," said the Bonnet- 
 maker, who imagined the occasion presented a 
 prime occasion to win honour. " Thou and I, 
 jolly Smith, will prick towards him and put 
 him to the question." 
 
 " Have with you, then," cried the Smith ; 
 and his companion spurred his mare and went 
 off, never doubting that Gow was at his heels. 
 
 But Craigdallie caught Henry's horse by the 
 reins. " Stand fast by the standard," he said ; 
 " let us see the luck of our light horseman. If 
 he procures himself a broken pate, he will be 
 quieter for the rest of the day."
 
 199 
 
 " From what I already see," said the Smith, 
 " he may easily come by such a boon. Yonder 
 fellow who stops so impudently to look at us, 
 as if he were engaged in the most lawful sport 
 in the world — I guess him, by his trotting nob- 
 bier, his rusty head-piece with the cock's fea- 
 ther, and long two-handed sword, to be the fol- 
 lower of some of the southland lords — men who 
 live so near the Southron, that the black jack 
 is never off their, backs, and who are as free of 
 their blows as they are light in their fingers.'' 
 
 Whilst they were thus speculating on the 
 issue of the rencounter, the valiant Bonnet-ma- 
 ker began to pull up Jezabel, in order that the 
 Smith, who he still concluded was close be- 
 hind, might overtake him, and either advance 
 first, or at least abreast of himself. But when 
 he saw him at a hundred yards' distance, stand- 
 ing composedly with the rest of the group, 
 the flesh of the champion, like that of the old 
 Spanish general, began to tremble, in anticipa- 
 tion of the dangers into which his own ventu- 
 rous spirit was about to involve it. Yet the con- 
 sciousness of being countenanced by the neigh-
 
 200 
 
 bourhood of so many friends ; the hopes that the 
 appearance of such odds must intimidate the 
 single intruder, and the shame of abandoning 
 an enterprise in which he had volunteered, and 
 when so many persons must witness his dis- 
 grace, surmounted the strong inclination which 
 prompted him to wheel Jezabel to the right 
 about, and return to the friends whose protec- 
 tion he had quitted, as fast as her legs could 
 carry them. He accordingly continued his di- 
 rection towards the stranger, who increased his 
 alarm considerably, by putting his little nag in 
 motion, and riding to meet him at a brisk trot. 
 On observing this apparently offensive move- 
 ment, our hero looked over his left shoulder 
 more than once, as if reconnoitring the ground 
 for a retreat, and in the meanwhile came to a 
 decided halt. But the Philistine was upon him 
 ere the Bonnet-maker could decide whether to 
 fight or fly, and a very ominous-looking Phi- 
 listine he was. His figure was gaunt and lathy, 
 his visage marked by two or three ill-favour- 
 ed scars, and the whole man had much the air
 
 201 
 
 of one accustomed to say, " Stand and deliver," 
 to a true man. 
 
 This individual began the discourse, by ex- 
 claiming", in tones as sinister as his looks, — 
 " The devil catch you for a cuckoo, why do you 
 ride across the moor to spoil my sport ?" 
 
 " Worthy stranger," said our friend, in the 
 tone of pacific remonstrance, " I am Oliver 
 Proudfute, a burgess of Perth, and a man of 
 substance ; and yonder is the worshipful Adam 
 Craigdallie, the oldest Bailie of the burgh, with 
 the fighting Smith of the Wynd, and three or 
 four armed men more, who desire to know your 
 name, and how you come to take your plea- 
 sure over these lands belonging to the burgh of 
 Perth — although, natheless, I will answer for 
 them, it is not their wish to quarrel with a 
 gentleman, or stranger, for any accidental tres- 
 pass ; only it is their use and wont not to grant 
 such leave, unless it is duly asked; and — and 
 — therefore I desire to know your name, worthy 
 sir." 
 
 The grim and loathly aspect with which the 
 falconer had regarded Oliver Proudfute during
 
 202 
 
 his harangue, had greatly disconcerted him, and 
 altogether altered the character of the inquiry 
 which, with Henry Gow to back him, he would 
 probably have thought most fitting for the oc- 
 casion. 
 
 The stranger replied to it, modified as it was, 
 with a most inauspicious grin, which the scars 
 of his visage made appear still more repulsive. 
 " You want to know my name ? — My name is 
 the Devil's Dick of Hellgarth, well known in 
 Annandale for a gentle Johnstone. I follow the 
 rtout Laird of Wamphray, who rides with his 
 kinsman the redoubted Lord of Johnstone, who 
 is banded with the doughty Earl of Douglas ; 
 and the Earl and the Lord, and the Laird and I 
 the Esquire, fly our hawks where we find our 
 game, and ask no man whose ground we ride 
 over." 
 
 M I will do your message, sir," replied Oliver 
 Proudfute, meekly enough ; for he began to be 
 very desirous to get free of the embassy which 
 he had so rashly undertaken, and was in the 
 act of turning his horse's head, when the An- 
 nandale man added, —
 
 203 
 
 " And take you this to boot, to keep you in 
 mind that you met the Devil's Dick, and to teach 
 you another time to beware how you spoil the 
 sport of any one who wears the flying spur on 
 his shoulder." 
 
 With these words he applied two or three 
 smart blows of his riding-rod upon the luckless 
 Bonnet-maker's head and person. Some of them 
 lighted upon Jezabel, who, turning sharply 
 round, laid her rider upon the moor, and gal- 
 loped back towards the party of citizens. 
 
 Proudfute, thus overthrown, began to cry for 
 assistance in no very manly voice, and almost in 
 the same breath to whimper for mercy ; for his 
 antagonist, dismounting almost as soon as he 
 fell, offered a whinger, or large wood knife, to 
 his throat, while he rifled the pockets of the un- 
 lucky citizen, and even examined his hawking 
 bag, swearing two or three grisly oaths, that he 
 would have what it contained, since the wearer 
 had interrupted his sport. He pulled the belt 
 rudely off, terrifying the prostrate Bonnet-maker 
 still more by the regardless violence which he 
 used, as, instead of taking the pains to unbuckle
 
 204 
 
 the strap, he drew till the fastening gave way. 
 But apparently it contained nothing to his mind. 
 He threw it carelessly from him, and at the same 
 time suffered the dismounted cavalier to rise, 
 while he himself remounted his hobbler, and 
 looked towards the rest of Oliver's party, who 
 were now advancing. 
 
 When they had seen their delegate over- 
 thrown, there was some laughter ; so much had 
 the vaunting humour of the Bonnet-maker pre- 
 pared his friends to rejoice, when, as Henry 
 Smith termed it, tbey saw their Oliver meet 
 with a Rowland. But when the Bonnet-maker's 
 adversary was seen to bestride him, and handle 
 him in the manner described, the armourer could 
 hold out no longer. " Please you, good Master 
 Bailie, I cannot endure to see our townsman 
 beaten and rifled, and like to be murdered before 
 us all. It reflects upon the Fair Town ; and if 
 it is neighbour Proudfute's misfortune, it is our 
 shame. I must to his rescue." 
 
 " We will all go to his rescue," answered 
 Bailie Craigdallie : " but let no man strike with- 
 out order from me. We have more feuds on
 
 205 
 
 our hands, it is to be feared, than we have 
 strength to bring to good end. And therefore I 
 charge you all, more especially you, Henry of the 
 Wynd, in the name of the Fair City, that you 
 make no stroke but in self-defence." They all 
 advanced, therefore, in a body ; and the appear- 
 ance of such a number drove the plunderer from 
 his booty. He stood at gaze, however, at some 
 distance, like the wolf, which, though it retreats 
 before the dogs, cannot be brought to absolute 
 flight. 
 
 Henry, seeing this state of things, spurred his 
 horse and advanced far before the rest of the 
 party, up towards the scene of Oliver Proud- 
 fute's misfortune. His first task was to catch 
 Jezabel by the flowing rein, and his next to lead 
 her to meet her discomfited master, who was 
 crippling towards him, his clothes much soiled 
 with his fall, his eyes streaming with tears, from 
 pain as well as mortification, and altogether ex- 
 hibiting an aspect so unlike the spruce and dap- 
 per importance of his ordinary appearance, that 
 the honest Smith felt compassion for the little
 
 206 
 
 man, and some remorse at having left liim ex- 
 posed to such disgrace. All men, I believe, en- 
 joy an ill-natured joke. The difference is, that 
 an ill-natured person can drink out to very 
 dregs the amusement which it affords, while 
 the better-moulded mind soon loses the sense of 
 the ridiculous in sympathy for the pain of the 
 sufferer. 
 
 u Let me pitch you up to your saddle again, 
 neighbour," said the Smith, dismounting at the 
 same time, and assisting Oliver to scramble into 
 his war-saddle, as a monkey might have done. 
 
 " May God forgive you, neighbour Smith, for 
 not backing of me ! I would not have believed 
 in it, though fifty credible witnesses had sworn 
 it of you." 
 
 Such were the first words, spoken in sorrow 
 more than anger, by which the dismayed Oli- 
 ver vented his feelings. 
 
 " The Bailie kept hold of my horse by the 
 bridle ; and besides," Henry continued, with a 
 smile, which even his compassion could not sup- 
 press, " I thought you would have accused me 
 of diminishing your honour, if I brought you
 
 20 K 
 
 aid against a single man. But cheer up ! the vil- 
 lain took foul odds of you, your horse not being 
 well at command." 
 
 " That is true — that is true," said Oliver, 
 eagerly catching at the apology. 
 
 " And yonder stands the faitour, rejoicing at 
 the mischief he has done, and triumphing in 
 your overthrow, like the King in the romance, 
 who played upon the fiddle whilst a city was 
 burning. Come thou with me, and thou shalt 
 see how we will handle him — Nay, fear not 
 that I will desert thee this time." 
 
 So saying, he caught Jezabel by the rein, 
 and galloping alongside of her, without giving 
 Oliver time to express a negative, he rushed 
 toward the Devil's Dick, who had halted on 
 the top of a rising ground at some distance. 
 The gentle Johnstone, however, either that he 
 thought the contest unequal, or that he had 
 fought enough for the day, snapping his fingers, 
 and throwing his hand out with an air of defi- 
 ance, spurred his horse into a neighbouring 
 bog, through which he seemed to flutter like a 
 wild duck, swinging his lure round his head,
 
 208 
 
 and whistling to his hawk all the while, though 
 any other horse and rider must have been in- 
 stantly bogged up to the saddle-girths. 
 
 " There goes a thorough-bred moss-trooper," 
 said the Smith. " That fellow will fight or flee 
 as suits his humour, and there is no use to pur- 
 sue him, any more than to hunt a wild goose. 
 He has got your purse, I doulvt me, for they 
 seldom leave off till they are full- handed." 
 
 " Ye— ye — yes," said Proudfute, in a me- 
 lancholy tone; " he has got my purse — but 
 there is less matter since he hath left the hawk- 
 ing-bag." 
 
 " Nay, the hawking-bag had been an em- 
 blem of personal victory, to be sure — a trophy, 
 as the minstrels call it." 
 
 " There is more in it than that, friend," said 
 Oliver, significantly. 
 
 " Why, that is well, neighbour ; I love to 
 hear you speak in your own scholarly tone 
 again. Cheer up, you have seen the villain's 
 back, and regained the trophies you had lost 
 when taken at advantage." 
 
 " Ah, Henry Gow — Henry Gow," said the
 
 209 
 
 Bonnet-maker, and stopped short vvitli a deep 
 sigh, nearly amounting to a groan. 
 
 "What is the matter ?" asked his friend: 
 " what is it you vex yourself about now ?" 
 
 " I have some suspicion, my dearest friend, 
 Henry Smith, that the villain fled for fear of 
 you, not of me I" 
 
 " Do not think so," replied the armourer ; 
 " he saw two men and fled, and who can tell 
 whether he fled for one or the other ? Besides, 
 he knows by experience your strength and ac- 
 tivity ; we all saw how you kicked and struggled 
 when you were on the ground." 
 
 " Did I ?" said poor Proudfute ; " I do not 
 remember it — but I know it is my best point — 
 I am a strong dog in the loins. But did they 
 all see it?" 
 
 "All as much as I," said the Smith, smo- 
 thering an inclination to laughter. 
 
 " But thou wilt remind them of it ?" 
 
 " Be assured I will," answered Henry, "and 
 of thy desperate rally even now. Mark what 
 I say to Bailie Craigdallie, and make the best 
 of it." 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 210 
 
 " It is not that I require any evidence in my 
 favour, for I am as brave by nature as most 
 
 men in Perth — but only " Here the man of 
 
 valour paused. 
 
 " But only what ?" inquired the stout ar- 
 mourer. 
 
 " But only I am afraid of being killed. To 
 leave my pretty wife and my young family, you 
 know, would be a sad change, Smith. You will 
 know this when it is your own case, and will 
 feel abated in courage." 
 
 " It is like that I may," said the armourer, 
 musing. 
 
 " Then I am so accustomed to the use of 
 arms, and so well breathed, that few men can 
 match me. It's all here," said the little man, 
 expanding his breast like a trussed fowl, and 
 patting himself with his hands ; " here is room 
 for all the wind machinery." 
 
 " I dare say you are long-breathed — long- 
 winded, — at least your speech bewrays " 
 
 " My speech ? — You are a wag — but I have 
 got the stern post of a dromond brought up the 
 river from Dundee."
 
 211 
 
 " The stern post of a Drummond !■" exclaim- 
 ed the armourer, " conscience, man, it will put 
 you in feud with the whole clan — not the least 
 wrathful in the country, as I take it." 
 
 " St Andrew, man, you put me out ! — I 
 mean a dromond, that is, a large ship. I have 
 fixed this post in my yard, and had it painted 
 and carved something like a Soldan or Saracen, 
 and with him I breathe myself, and will wield 
 my two-handed sword against him, thrust or 
 point, for an hour together.'' 
 
 " That must make you familiar with the use 
 of your weapon," said the Smith. 
 
 " Ay, marry does it — and sometimes I will 
 place you a bonnet (an old one, most likely) on 
 my Soldan's head, and cleave it with such a 
 downright blow, that, in troth, the infidel has 
 but little of his skull remaining to hit at." 
 
 " That is unlucky, for you will lose your 
 practice," said Henry. — " But how say you, 
 Bonnet-maker? I will put on my head-piece 
 and corslet one day, and you shall hew at me, 
 allowing me my broadsword to parry and pay 
 back ? Eh, what say you ?"
 
 212 
 
 " By no manner of means, my dear Friend. 
 I should do you too much evil ; — besides, to tell 
 you the truth, I strike far more freely at a hel- 
 met or bonnet, when it is set on my wooden 
 Soldan — then I am sure to fetch it down. But 
 when there is a plume of feathers in it that nod, 
 and two eyes gleaming fiercely from under the 
 shadow of the visor, and when the whole is 
 dancing about here and there, I acknowledge it 
 puts out my hand of fence." 
 
 " So, if men would but stand stock still like 
 your Soldan, you would play the tyrant with 
 them, Master Proudfute ?" 
 
 " In time, and with practice, I conclude I 
 might," answered Oliver. — " But here we come 
 up with the rest of them; Bailie Craigdallie 
 looks angry — but it is not his kind of anger 
 that frightens me." 
 
 You are to recollect, gentle reader, that as 
 soon as the Bailie, and those who attended 
 him, saw that the Smith had come up to the 
 forlorn Bonnet-maker, and that the stranger 
 had retreated, they gave themselves no trouble 
 about advancing further to his assistance, which
 
 213 
 
 they regarded as quite insured by the presence 
 of the redoubted Henry Gow. They had re- 
 sumed their straight road to Kinfauns, desirous 
 that nothing should delay the execution of their 
 mission. As some time had elapsed ere the Bon- 
 net-maker and the Smith rejoined the party, 
 Bailie Craigdallie asked them, and Henry Smith 
 in particular, what they meant by dallying away 
 precious time by riding up hill after the falconer. 
 " By the mass, it was not my fault, Master 
 Bailie," replied the Smith. " If ye will couple 
 up an ordinary low-country greyhound with a 
 highland wolf-dog, you must not blame the first 
 of them for taking the direction in which it 
 pleases the last to drag him on. It was so, and 
 not otherwise, with my neighbour Oliver Proud- 
 fute. He no sooner got up from the ground, but 
 he mounted his mare like a flash of lightning, 
 and enraged at the unknightly advantage which 
 yonder rascal had taken of his stumbling horse, 
 he flew after him like a dromedary. I could not 
 but follow, both to prevent a second stumble, and 
 secure our over bold friend and champion from 
 the chance of some ambush at the top of the
 
 214 
 
 bill. But the villain, who is a follower of some 
 Lord of the Marches, and wears a winged spur 
 for his cognizance, fled from our neighbour like 
 fire from flint." 
 
 The senior Bailie of Perth listened with sur- 
 prise to the legend which it had pleased Gow 
 to circulate ; for, though not much caring for 
 the matter, he had always doubted the Bonnet- 
 maker's romancing account of his own exploits, 
 which hereafter he must hold as in some degree 
 orthodox. The shrewd old Glover looked closer 
 into the matter. 
 
 "^You will drive the poor Bonnet-maker 
 mad," he whispered to Henry, " and set him 
 a-ringing his clapper, as if he were a town-bell 
 on a rejoicing day, when for order and decency 
 it were better he were silent." 
 
 " O, by Our Lady, father," replied the Smith, 
 " I love the poor little braggadocio, and could 
 not think of his sitting rueful and silent in 
 the Provost's hall, while all the rest of them, 
 and in especial that venomous Pottingar, were 
 telling their mind." 
 
 " Thou art even too good-natured a fellow,
 
 215 
 
 Henry," answered Simon, " But mark the 
 difference betwixt these two men. The harm- 
 less little Bonnet-maker assumes the airs of a 
 dragon, to disguise his natural cowardice ; while 
 the Pottingar wilfully desires to show himself 
 timid, poor-spirited, and humble, to conceal the 
 danger of his temper. The adder is not the 
 less deadly that he creeps under a stone. I tell 
 thee, son Henry, that for all his sneaking looks, 
 and timorous talking, this wretched anatomy 
 loves mischief more than he fears danger. — 
 But here we stand in front of the Provost's 
 castle ; and a lordly place is Kinfauns, and a 
 credit to the city it is, to have the owner of 
 such a gallant castle for their chief magistrate." 
 " A goodly fortalice, indeed," said the Smith, 
 looking at the broad winding Tay, &s it swept 
 under the bank on which the castle stood, like 
 its modern successor, and seemed the queen of 
 the valley, although, on the opposite side of the 
 river, the strong walls of Elcho appeared to 
 dispute the pre-eminence. Elcho, however, was 
 i n that age a peaceful nunnery, and the walls 
 with which it was surrounded were the bar-
 
 216 
 
 riers of secluded vestals, not the bulwarks of 
 an armed garrison. " 'Tis a brave castle," said 
 the armourer," again looking at the towers of 
 Kinfauns, " and the breast-plate and target of 
 the bonnie course of the Tay. It were worth 
 lipping* a good blade before wrong were offer- 
 ed to it." 
 
 The porter of Kinfauns, who knew from a 
 distance the persons and characters of the party, 
 had already opened the court-yard gate for 
 their entrance, and sent notice to Sir Patrick 
 Charteris, that the eldest Bailie of Perth, with 
 some other good citizens, were approaching the 
 castle. The good knight, who was getting ready 
 for a hawking party, heard the intimation, 
 with pretty much the same feelings that the 
 modern representative of a burgh hears of the 
 menaced visitation of a party of his worthy 
 electors, at a time rather unseasonable for their 
 reception. That is, he internally devoted the 
 intruders to Mahound and Termagant, and 
 outwardly gave orders to receive them with all 
 
 * Lipping. ?'. e. making notches in a sword, or knife.
 
 21 
 
 decorum and civility ; commanded the sewers to 
 bring hot venison steaks and cold baked meats 
 into the knightly ball with all dispatch, and the 
 butler to broacb bis casks, and do his duty ; 
 for if the Fair City of Perth sometimes filled his 
 cellar, her citizens were always equally ready 
 to assist at emptying his flagons. 
 
 The good burghers were reverently mar- 
 shalled into the hall, where the knight, who 
 was in a riding-habit, and booted up to the 
 middle of bis thighs, received them with a 
 mixture of courtesy and patronizing conde- 
 scension ; wishing them all the while at the bot- 
 tom of the Tay, on account of the interruption 
 their arrival gave to his proposed amusement 
 of tbe morning. He met them in the midst of 
 the ball, with bare head and bonnet in hand, and 
 some such salutation as the following : — u Ha, 
 my Master Eldest Bailie, and you, worthy Simon 
 Glover, fathers of the Fair City ; — and you, my 
 learned Pottingar ;— and you, stout Smith ; — 
 and my slashing Bonnet-maker too, who cracks 
 more skulls than he covers, how come I to have 
 the pleasure of seeing so many friends so early ?
 
 218 
 
 I was thinking to see my hawks fly, and your 
 company will make the sport more pleasant — 
 (Aside, I trust in Our Lady they may break 
 their necks !) — that is, always, unless the city 
 have any commands to lay on me — Butler Gil- 
 bert, dispatch, thou knave — But I hope you 
 have no more grave errand than to try if the 
 malvoisie holds its flavour ?" 
 
 The city delegates answered to their Pro- 
 vost's civilities by inclinations and congees, 
 more or less characteristic, of which the Pot- 
 tingar's bow was the lowest, and the Smith's 
 the least ceremonious. Probably he knew his 
 own value as a fighting man upon occasion. 
 To the general compliment the elder Bailie re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Sir Patrick Charteris, and our noble Lord 
 Provost," said Craigdallie, gravely, " had our 
 errand been to enjoy the hospitality with which 
 we have been often regaled here, our manners 
 would have taught us to tarry till your lord- 
 ship had invited us, as on other occasions. And 
 as to hawking, we have had enough on't for 
 one morning; since a wild fellow, who was fly-
 
 219 
 
 ing a falcon hard by on the moor, unhorsed and 
 cudgelled our worthy friend Oliver Bonnet- 
 maker, or Proudfute, as some men call him, 
 merely because he questioned him, in your ho- 
 nour's name, and the town of Perth's, who or 
 what he was that took so much upon him." 
 
 " And what account gave he of himself?" 
 said the Provost. " By St John ! I will teach 
 him to forestall my sport L" 
 
 " So please your lordship," said the Bonnet- 
 maker, " he did take me at disadvantage. But 
 I got on horseback again afterwards, and 
 pricked after him gallantly. He calls himself 
 Richard the Devil." 
 
 " How, man ? he that the rhymes and ro- 
 mances are made on ?" said the Provost. " I 
 thought that smaik's name had been Robert." 
 
 " I trow they be different, my lord ; I only 
 graced this fellow with the full title, for indeed 
 he called himself the Devil's Dick, and said he 
 was a Johnstone, and a follower of the lord of 
 that name. But I put him back into the bog, 
 and recovered my hawking bag, which he had 
 taken when I was at disadvantage,"
 
 J220 
 
 Sir Patrick paused for an instant. " We 
 have heard," said he, " of the Lord of Johnstone, 
 and of his followers. Little is to be had by 
 meddling with them. — Smith, tell me, did you 
 endure this ?" 
 
 " Ay, faith did I, Sir Patrick ; having com- 
 mand from my betters not to help." 
 
 " Well, if thou satst down with it," said the 
 Provost, " I see not why we should rise up ; 
 especially as Master Oliver Proudfute, though 
 taken at advantage at first, has, as he has told us, 
 recovered his reputation and that of the burgh. 
 But here comes the wine at length. Fill round 
 to my good friends and guests till the wine leap 
 over the cup. Prosperity to St Johnstoun, and 
 a merry welcome to you all, my honest friends ! 
 And now sit you to eat a morsel, for the sun is 
 high up, and it must be long since you thrifty 
 men have broken your fast." 
 
 " Before we eat, my Lord Provost," said the 
 Bailie, " let us tell you the pressing cause of 
 our coming, which as yet we have not touched 
 upon." 
 
 " Nay, prithee. Bailie," said the Provost,
 
 221 
 
 " put it off till thou hast eaten. Some complaint 
 against the rascally jackmen and retainers of 
 the nobles, for playing at foot-ball on the streets 
 of the burgh, or some such goodly matter." 
 
 " No, my lord," said Craigdallie, stoutly and 
 firmly. " It is the jackmens' masters of whom 
 we complain, for playing at foot-ball with the 
 honour of our families, and using as little cere- 
 mony with our daughters' sleeping chambers, as 
 if they were in a bordel at Paris. A party of 
 reiving night-walkers, — courtiers, and men of 
 rank, as there is but too much reason to believe, 
 — attempted to scale the windows of Simon 
 Glover's house last night ; they stood in their 
 defence with drawn weapons when they were 
 interrupted by Henry Smith, and fought till 
 they were driven off by the rising of the citi- 
 zens.'' 
 
 " How ?" said Sir Patrick, setting down the 
 cup which he was about to raise to his head. 
 " Cocksbody, make that manifest to me, and by 
 the soul of Thomas of Lougueville, I will see 
 you righted with my best power, were it to cost 
 me life and land. — Who attests this ? — Simon 
 Glover, you arc held an honest and a cautious
 
 £82 
 
 man — do you take the truth of this charge upon 
 your conscience ?" 
 
 " My lord," said Simon, " understand I am 
 no willing complainer in this weighty matter. 
 No damage has arisen, save to the breakers of 
 the peace themselves. I fear only great power 
 could have encouraged such lawless audacity ; 
 and I were unwilling to put feud between my 
 native town and some powerful nobleman on 
 my account. But it has been said, that if I 
 hang back in prosecuting this complaint, it will 
 be as much as admitting that my daughter ex- 
 pected such a visit, which is a direct falsehood. 
 Therefore, my lord, I will tell your lordship 
 what happened, so far as I know, and leave 
 further proceeding to your wisdom." He then 
 told, from point to point, all that he had seen of 
 the attack. 
 
 Sir Patrick Charteris, listening with much 
 attention, seemed particularly struck with the 
 escape of the man who had been made prisoner. 
 " Strange," he said, " that you did not secure 
 him when you had him. Did you not look at 
 him so as to know him again ?" 
 
 " I had but the light of a lantern, my Lord
 
 223 
 
 Provo6t ; and as to suffering him to escape, I was 
 alone," said the Glover, " and old. But yet I 
 might have kept him, had I not heard my 
 daughter shriek in the upper room ; and ere I 
 had returned from her chamber, the man had 
 escaped through the garden." 
 
 " Now, armourer, as a true man, and a good 
 soldier," said Sir Patrick, " tell me what you 
 know of this matter." 
 
 Henry Gow, in his own decided style, gave 
 a brief but clear narrative of the whole affair. 
 
 Honest Proudfute being next called upon, 
 began his statement with an air of more im- 
 portance. " Touching this awful and astound- 
 ing tumult within the burgh, I cannot altoge- 
 ther, it is true, say with Henry Gow, that I saw 
 the very beginning. But it will not be denied 
 that I beheld a great part of the latter end, 
 and especially that I procured the evidence most 
 effectual to convict the knaves." 
 
 " And what is it, man ?" said Sir Patrick 
 Charteris. " Never lose time fumbling and 
 prating about it. What is it ?" 
 
 " I have brought your lordship, in this pouch, 
 
 13
 
 224 
 
 what one of the rogues left behind him," said 
 the little man. " It is a trophy which, in good 
 faith and honest truth, I do confess I won not 
 by the blade, but I claim the credit of securing 
 it with that presence of mind which few men 
 possess amidst flashing torches and clashing wea- 
 pons. I secured it, my lord, and here it is." 
 
 So saying, he produced, from the hawking 
 pouch already mentioned, the stiffened hand 
 which had been found on the scene of the skir- 
 mish. 
 
 " Nay, Bonnet-maker," said the Provost, 
 " I'll warrant thee man enough to secure a 
 rogue's hand after it is cut from the body. — 
 What do you look so busily for in your bag ?" 
 
 " There should have been — there was — a ring, 
 my lord, which was on the knave's finger. I 
 fear I have been forgetful, and left it at home, 
 for I took it off to show to my wife, as she cared 
 not to look upon the dead hand, as women love 
 not such sights. But yet I thought I had put it 
 on the finger again. Nevertheless, it must, I 
 bethink me, be at home. I will ride back for it, 
 and Henry Smith will trot along with me."
 
 225 
 
 " We will all trot with thee," said Sir Pa- 
 trick Charteris, " since I am for Perth myself. 
 Look you, honest burghers and good neigh- 
 bours of Perth. You may have thought me un- 
 apt to be moved by light complaints and trivial 
 breaches of your privileges, such as small tres- 
 passes on your game, the barons' followers play- 
 ing foot-ball in the street, and such like. But, 
 by the soul of Thomas of Longueville, you shall 
 not find Patrick Charteris slothful in a matter 
 of this importance. — This hand," he continued, 
 holding up the severed joint, " belongs to one 
 who hath worked no drudgery. We will put it 
 in a way to be known and claimed of the owner, 
 if his comrades of the revel have but one spark 
 of honour in them. — Hark you, Gerard — get 
 me some half-score of good men instantly to 
 horse, and let them take jack and spear. Mean- 
 while, neighbours, if feud arise out of this, as is 
 most likely, we must come to each other's sup- 
 port. If my poor house be attacked, how many 
 men will you bring to my support ?" 
 
 The burghers looked at Henry Gow, to whom 
 VOL. i. p
 
 226 
 
 they instinctively turned when such matters 
 were discussed. " I will answer," said he, " for 
 fifty good fellows to be assembled ere the com- 
 mon bell has rung ten minutes ; for a thou- 
 sand, in the space of an hour." 
 
 " It is well," answered the gallant Provost ; 
 " and in the case of need, I will come to aid the 
 Fair City with such men as I can make. And 
 now, good friends, let us to horse."
 
 227 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 It was early in the afternoon of St Valentine's 
 Day that the Prior of the Dominicans was en- 
 gaged in discharge of his duties as Confessor to 
 a penitent of no small importance. This was an 
 elderly man, of a goodly presence, a florid and 
 healthful cheek, the under part of which was 
 shaded by a venerable white beard, which de- 
 scended over his bosom. The large and clear blue 
 eyes, with the broad expanse of brow, expressed 
 dignity ; but it was of a character which seemed 
 more accustomed to receive honours voluntarily 
 paid, than to enforce them when they were re- 
 fused. The good-nature of the expression was 
 so great as to approach to defenceless simpli- 
 city or weakness of character, unfit, it might be 
 inferred^ to repel intrusion, or subdue resist-
 
 228 
 
 ancc. Amongst the grey locks of this personage 
 was placed a small circlet or coronet of gold, 
 upon a blue fillet. His beads, which were large 
 and conspicuous, were of native gold, rudely- 
 enough wrought, but ornamented with Scottish 
 pearls, of rare size and beauty. These were 
 his only ornaments ; and a long crimson robe of 
 silk, tied by a sash of the same colour, formed 
 his attire. His shrift being finished, he arose 
 heavily from the embroidered cushion upon 
 which he kneeled during his confession, and by 
 the assistance of a crutch-headed staff of ebony, 
 moved, lame and ungracefully, and with appa- 
 rent pain, to a chair of state, which, surmount- 
 ed by a canopy, was placed for his accommoda- 
 tion by the chimney of the lofty and large apart- 
 ment. 
 
 This was Robert, third of the name, and the 
 second of the ill-fated family of Stewart, who fill- 
 ed the throne of Scotland. He had many virtues, 
 and was not without talent ; but it was his great 
 misfortune, that, like others of his devoted line, 
 his merits were not of a kind suited to the part 
 which he was called upon to perform in life,
 
 229 
 
 The King of so fierce a people as the Scots then 
 were, ought to have been warlike, prompt, and 
 active, liberal in rewarding services, strict in 
 punishing crimes ; one whose conduct should 
 make him feared as well as beloved. The qua- 
 lities of Robert the Third were the reverse of 
 all these. In youth he had indeed seen battles ; 
 but, without incurring disgrace, he had never 
 manifested the chivalrous love of war and peril, 
 or the eager desire to distinguish himself by dan- 
 gerous achievements, which in that age was ex- 
 pected from all who were of noble birth, and 
 had claims to authority. 
 
 Besides, his military career was very short. 
 Amidst the tumult of a tournament, the young 
 Earl of Carrick, such was then his title, recei- 
 ved a kick from the horse of Sir James Douglas 
 of Dalkeith ; in consequence of which, he was 
 lame for the rest of his life, and absolutely dis- 
 abled from taking share either in warfare, or in 
 the military sports and tournaments which were 
 its image. As Robert had never testified m uch 
 predilection for violent exertion, he did not pro- 
 bably much regret the incapacities which ex-
 
 230 
 
 empted him from these active scenes, But his 
 misfortune, or rather its consequences, lowered 
 him in the eyes of a fierce nohility and warlike 
 people. He was obliged to repose the principal 
 charge of his affairs now in one memher, now in 
 another, of his family ; sometimes with the actual 
 rank, and always with the power of Lieutenant- 
 general of the kingdom. His paternal affection 
 would have induced him to use the assistance 
 of his eldest son, a young man of spirit and ta- 
 lent, whom in fondness he had created Duke of 
 Rothsay, in order to give him the present pos- 
 session of a dignity next to that of the throne. 
 But the young Prince's head was too giddy, and 
 his hand too feeble, to wield with dignity the 
 delegated sceptre. However fond of power, 
 pleasure was the Prince's favourite pursuit ; 
 and the court was disturbed, and the country 
 scandalized, by the number of fugitive amours, 
 and extravagant revels, practised by him who 
 should have set an example of order and regu- 
 larity to the youth of the kingdom. 
 
 The license and impropriety of the Duke of 
 Rothsay's conduct was the more reprehensible
 
 231 
 
 in the public view, that he was a married per- 
 son ; although some, over whom his youth, gaie- 
 ty, grace, and good temper, had obtained in- 
 fluence, were of opinion, that an excuse for his 
 libertinism might be found in the circumstances 
 of the marriage itself. They reminded each other 
 that his nuptials were entirely conducted by his 
 uncle, the Duke of Albany, by whose counsels 
 the infirm and timid King was much governed 
 at the time, and who had the character of ma- 
 naging the temper of his brother and sovereign, 
 so as might be most injurious to the interests 
 and prospects of the young heir. By Albany's 
 machinations, the hand of the heir apparent was 
 in a manner put up to sale, as it was under- 
 stood publicly that the nobleman in Scotland 
 who should give the largest dower to his daugh- 
 ter, might aspire to raise her to the bed of the 
 Duke of Rothsay. 
 
 In the contest for preference which ensued, 
 George, Earl of Dunbar and March, who possess- 
 ed, by himself or his vassals, a great part of 
 the eastern frontier, was preferred to other com- 
 petitors ; and his daughter was, with the mutual
 
 232 
 
 good will of the young couple, actually contract- 
 ed to the Duke of Rothsay. 
 
 But there remained a third party to be con- 
 sulted, and that was no other than the tremen- 
 dous Archibald, Earl of Douglas, terrible alike 
 from the extent of his lands, from the offices 
 and jurisdictions with which he was invested, 
 and from his personal qualities of wisdom and 
 valour, mingled with indomitable pride, and 
 more than the feudal love of vengeance. The 
 Earl was also nearly related to the throne, ha- 
 ving married the eldest daughter of the reign- 
 ing Monarch. 
 
 After the espousals of the Duke of Rothsay 
 with the Earl of March's daughter, Douglas, as 
 if he had postponed his share in the negotiation 
 to show that it could not be concluded with any 
 one but himself, entered the lists to break off 
 the contract. He made a larger offer with his 
 daughter Marjory than the Earl of March had 
 proffered ; and secured by his own cupidity and 
 fear of the Douglas, Albany exerted his influence 
 with the timid monarch till he was prevailed 
 upon to break the contract with the Earl of
 
 233 
 
 March, and wed his son to Marjory Douglas, a 
 woman whom he could not love. No apology 
 was offered to the Earl of March, excepting that 
 the espousals betwixt the Prince and Elizabeth 
 of Dunbar had not been approved by the States 
 of Parliament, and that till such ratification, 
 the contract was liable to be broken off. The 
 Earl deeply resented the wrong done to himself 
 and his daughter, and was generally understood 
 to study revenge, which his great influence on 
 the English frontier was likely to place within 
 his power. 
 
 In the meantime, the Duke of Rothsay, in- 
 censed at the sacrifice of his hand and his incli- 
 nations to this state-intrigue, took his own mode 
 of venting his displeasure, by neglecting his 
 wife, contemning his formidable and dangerous 
 father-in-law, and showing little respect to the 
 authority of the King himself, and none what- 
 ever to the remonstrances of Albany his uncle, 
 whom he looked upon as his confirmed enemy. 
 
 Amid these internal dissensions of his family, 
 which extended themselves through his coun- 
 cils and administration, introducing everywhere
 
 2?A 
 
 the baneful effects of uncertainty and disunion, 
 the feeble Monarch had for some time been 
 supported by the counsels of his Queen Anna- 
 bella, a daughter of the noble house of Drum- 
 mond, gifted with a depth of sagacity and firm- 
 ness of mind, which exercised some restraint 
 over the levities of a son who respected her, and 
 sustained on many occasions the wavering reso- 
 lution of her royal husband. But after her 
 death the imbecile Sovereign resembled nothing 
 so much as a vessel drifted from her anchors, 
 and tossed about amidst contending currents. 
 Abstractedly considered, Robert might be said 
 to doat upon his son, — to entertain respect and 
 awe for the character of his brother Albany, so 
 much more decisive than his own, — to fear the 
 Douglas with a terror which was almost in- 
 stinctive, and to suspect the constancy of the 
 bold but fickle Earl of March. But his feelings 
 towards these various characters were so mixed 
 and complicated, that from time to time they 
 showed entirely different from what they real- 
 ly were ; and according to the interest which 
 had been last exerted over his flexible mind.
 
 235 
 
 the King would change from an indulgent, to 
 a strict and even cruel father — from a con- 
 fiding, to a jealous brother — or from a benignant 
 and bountiful, to a grasping and encroaching 
 Sovereign. Like the cameleon, his feeble mind 
 reflected the colour of that firmer character 
 upon which at the time he reposed for coun- 
 sel and assistance. And when he disused the 
 advice of one of his family, and employed the 
 counsel of another, it was no unwonted thing 
 to see a total change of measures, equally disre- 
 spectable to the character of the King, and dan- 
 gerous to the safety of the state. 
 
 It followed as a matter of course, that the 
 clergy of the Catholic Church acquired influence 
 over a man whose intentions were so excellent, 
 but whose resolutions were so infirm. Robert 
 was haunted, not only with a due sense of the 
 errors he had really committed, but with the 
 tormenting apprehensions of those peccadilloes 
 which beset a superstitious and timid mind. It 
 is scarcely necessary, therefore, to add, that the 
 churchmen of various descriptions had no small 
 influence over this easy-tempered prince, though
 
 236 
 
 indeed, theirs was, at that period, an influence 
 from which few or none escaped, however reso- 
 lute and firm of purpose in affairs of a temporal 
 character. — We now return from this long di- 
 gression, without which what we have to re- 
 late could not perhaps have been well under- 
 stood. 
 
 The King had moved with ungraceful diffi- 
 culty to the cushioned chair, which, under a 
 state or canopy, stood prepared for his accommo- 
 dation, and upon which he sank down with en- 
 joyment, like an indolent man, who had been 
 for some time confined to a constrained posi- 
 tion. When seated, the gentle and venerable 
 looks of the good old man showed benevolence. 
 The Prior, who now remained standing op- 
 posite to the royal seat, with an air of deep de- 
 ference which cloaked the natural haughtiness 
 of his carriage, was a man betwixt forty and 
 fifty years of age, but every one of whose hairs 
 still retained their natural dark colour. Acute 
 features, and a penetrating look, attested the 
 talents by which the venerable. father had ac-
 
 237 
 
 quired his high station in the community over 
 which he presided ; and, we may add, in the 
 councils of the kingdom in whose service they 
 were often exercised. The chief objects which 
 his education and habits taught him to keep in 
 view, were the extension of the dominion and 
 the wealth of the church, and the suppression 
 of heresy, both of which he endeavoured to ac- 
 complish by all the means which his situation 
 afforded him. But he honoured his religion by 
 the sincerity of his own belief, and by the mo- 
 rality which guided his conduct in all ordinary 
 situations. The faults of the Prior Anselm, 
 though they led him into grievous error, and 
 even cruelty, were perhaps rather those of his 
 age and profession — his virtues were his own. 
 
 " These things done," said the King, " and 
 the lands I have mentioned, secured by my 
 gift to this monastery, you are of opinion, fa- 
 ther, that I stand as much in the good graces 
 of our Holy Mother Church, as to term myself 
 her dutiful son ?" 
 
 " Surely, my liege," said the Prior ; " would 
 to God that all her children brought to the ef- 
 11
 
 238 
 
 licacious sacrament of confession as deep a 
 sense of their errors, and as much will to make 
 amends for them. But I speak these comfort- 
 ing words, my liege, not to Robert King of 
 Scotland, but only to my humble and devout 
 penitent, Robert Stewart of Carrick." 
 
 " You surprise me, Father," answered the 
 King ; " I have little check on my conscience 
 for aught that I have done in my kingly office, 
 seeing that I use therein less mine own opinion 
 than the advice of the most wise counsel- 
 lors." 
 
 " Even therein lieth the danger, my liege," 
 replied the Prior. " The Holy Father recog- 
 nises in your Grace, in every thought, word, 
 and action, an obedient vassal of the Holy 
 Church. But there are perverse counsellors, 
 who obey the instinct of their wicked hearts, 
 while they abuse the good-nature and ductility 
 of their monarch, and, under colour of serving 
 his temporal interests, take steps which are pre- 
 judicial to those that last to eternity." 
 
 King Robert raised himself upright in his
 
 239 
 
 chair, and assumed an air of authority, which, 
 though it well became him, he did not usually 
 display. 
 
 " Prior Anselm," he said, " if you have dis- 
 covered anything in my conduct, whether as a 
 king or a private individual, which may call 
 down such censures as your words intimate, it 
 is your duty to speak plainly, and I command 
 you to do so." 
 
 " My liege, you shall be obeyed," answer- 
 ed the Prior, with an inclination of the body. 
 Then raising himself up, and assuming the 
 dignity of his rank in the church, he said, 
 " Hear from me the words of our Holy Father 
 the Pope, the successor of St Peter, to whom 
 have descended the keys, both to bind and to 
 unloose. ' Wherefore, O Robert of Scotland, 
 hast thou not received into the See of St An- 
 drews, Robert of Wardlaw, whom the Pontiff 
 hath recommended to fill that See ? Why dost 
 thou make profession with thy lips, of dutiful 
 service to the Church, when thy actions pro- 
 claim the depravity and disobedience of thy
 
 240 
 
 inward soul ? Obedience is better than sacri- 
 fice/ " 
 
 " Sir Prior," said the Monarch, bearing him- 
 self in a manner not unbecoming his lofty- 
 rank, " we may well dispense with answering 
 you upon this subject, being a matter which 
 concerns us and the Estates of our kingdom, 
 but does not affect our private conscience." 
 
 " Alas," said the Prior, " and whose con- 
 science will it concern at the last day ? Which 
 of your belted lords or wealthy burgesses will 
 then step between their King and the penalty 
 which he has incurred, by following of their 
 secular policy in matters ecclesiastical ? Know, 
 mighty King, that, were all the chivalry of thy 
 realm drawn up to shield thee from the red 
 levin- bolt, they would be consumed like scorch- 
 ed parchment before the blaze of a furnace." 
 
 " Good Father Prior," said the King, on 
 whose timorous conscience this kind of lan- 
 guage seldom failed to make an impression, 
 " you surely argue over rigidly in this matter. 
 It was during my last indisposition, while the
 
 241 
 
 Earl of Douglas held, as Lieutenant-general, 
 the regal authority in Scotland, that the ob- 
 struction to the reception of the Primate unhap- 
 pily arose. Do not, therefore, tax me with 
 what happened when I was unable to conduct 
 the affairs of the kingdom, and compelled to 
 delegate my power to another." 
 
 " To your subject, Sire, you have said 
 enough," replied the Prior. " But, if the impe- 
 diment arose during the lieutenancy of the 
 Earl of Douglas, the Legate of his Holiness will 
 demand wherefore it has not been instantly 
 removed, when the King resumed in his royal 
 hands the reins of authority ? The Black Dou- 
 glas can do much ; more perhaps than a subject 
 should have power to do in the kingdom of his 
 sovereign; but he cannot stand betwixt your 
 grace and your own conscience, or release you 
 from the duties to the Holy Church, which your 
 situation as a king imposes upon you." 
 
 " Father," said Robert, somewhat impatient- 
 ly* " you are over peremptory in this matter, 
 and ought at least to wait a reasonable season, 
 vol. i. o
 
 242 
 
 until we have time to consider of some remedy. 
 Such disputes have happened repeatedly in the 
 reigns of our predecessors ; and our royal and 
 blessed ancestor, Saint David, did not resign 
 his privileges as a monarch without making a 
 stand in their defence, even though he was in- 
 volved in arguments with the Holy Father him- 
 self." 
 
 " And therein was that great and good king 
 neither holy nor saintly," said the Prior ; " and 
 therefore was he given to be a rout and a 
 spoil to his enemies, when he raised his sword 
 against the banners of St Peter, and St Paul, 
 and St John of Beverley, in the war, as it is 
 still called, of the Standard. Well was it for 
 him, that, like his namesake, the son of Jesse, 
 his sin was punished upon earth, and not en- 
 tered against him at the long and dire day of 
 accounting." 
 
 " Well, good Prior — well — enough of this 
 for the present. The Holy See shall, God 
 willing, have no reason to complain of me. I 
 take Our Lady to witness, I would not for the
 
 243 
 
 crown I wear take the burden of wronging 
 our Mother Church. We have ever feared that 
 the Earl of Douglas kept his eyes too much 
 fixed on the fame and the temporalities of this 
 frail and passing life, to feel altogether as 
 he ought the claims that refer to a future 
 world." 
 
 " It is but lately," said the Prior, " that he 
 hath taken up forcible quarters in the Monas- 
 tery of Aberbrothock, with his retinue of a 
 thousand followers ; and the abbot is compel- 
 led to furnish him with all he needs for horse 
 and man, which the Earl calls exercising the 
 hospitality which he hath a right to expect from 
 the foundation to which his ancestors were 
 contributors. Certain, it were better to return 
 to the Douglas his lands than to submit to such 
 exaction, which more resembles the masterful 
 license of Highland thiggers and sorners, than 
 the demeanour of a Christian baron." 
 
 " The Black Douglasses," said the King, with 
 a sigh, " are a race which will not be said 
 nay. But, Father Prior, I am myself, it may
 
 2U 
 
 be, an intruder of this kind ; for my sojourn- 
 ing hath been long among you, and my retinue, 
 though far fewer than the Douglas's, are ne- 
 vertheless enough to cumber you for their daily 
 maintenance ; and though our order is to send 
 out purveyors to lessen your charge as much 
 as may be, yet if there be inconvenience, it were 
 fitting we should remove in time." 
 
 " Now, Our Lady forbid," said the Prior, 
 who, if desirous of power, had nothing meanly 
 covetous in his temper, but was even magnificent 
 in his generous kindness ; " certainly the Domi- 
 nican Convent can afford to her Sovereign the 
 hospitality which the house offers to every 
 wanderer of whatever condition, who will re- 
 ceive it at the hands of the poor servants of our 
 patron. No, my royal liege ; come with ten 
 times your present train, they shall neither want 
 a grain of oats, a pile of straw, a morsel of 
 bread, nor an ounce of food, which our convent 
 will not supply them. It is one thing to em- 
 ploy the revenues of the Church, which are 
 so much larger than monks ought to need or
 
 245 
 
 wish for, in the suitable and dutiful reception 
 of your royal Majesty, and another to have it 
 wrenched from us by the hands of rude and 
 violent men, whose love of rapine is only li- 
 mited by the extent of their power." 
 
 " It is well, good Prior," said the King ; 
 " and now to turn our thoughts for an instant 
 from state affairs, can thy reverence inform us 
 how the good citizens of Perth have begun 
 their Valentine's Day ? — Gallantly and merrily, 
 and peacefully, I hope." 
 
 ki For gallantly, my liege, I know little of 
 such qualities. For peacefully, there were three 
 or four men, two cruelly wounded, came this 
 morning before day-light to ask the privilege of 
 girth and sanctuary, pursued by a hue and cry 
 of citizens in their shirts, with clubs, bills, Loch- 
 aber axes, and two-handed swords, crying kill 
 and slay, each louder than another. Nay } they 
 were not satisfied when our porter and watch 
 told them that those they pursued had taken 
 refuge in the Galilee of the Church ; but conti- 
 nued for some minutes clamouring and striking
 
 246 
 
 upon the postern door, demanding that the 
 men who had offended should be delivered up 
 to them. — I was afraid their rude noise might 
 have broken your Majesty's rest, and raised 
 some surprise." 
 
 " My rest might have been broken," said the 
 Monarch ; " but that sounds of violence should 
 have occasioned surprise — Alas, reverend Fa- 
 ther, there is in Scotland only one place where 
 the shriek of the victim, and threats of the 
 oppressor are not heard — and that, Father, is — 
 the grave." 
 
 The Prior stood in respectful silence, sym- 
 pathizing with the feelings of a monarch, whose 
 tenderness of heart suited so ill with the con- 
 dition and manners of his people. 
 
 " And what became of the fugitives ?" asked 
 Robert, after a minute's pause. 
 
 " Surely, Sire," said the Prior, " they were 
 dismissed, as they desired to be, before day- 
 light ; and after we had sent out to be assured 
 that no ambush of their enemies watched them 
 in the vicinity, they went their way in peace."
 
 247 
 
 " You know nothing," inquired the King, 
 " who the men were, or the cause of their taking 
 refuge with you ?" 
 
 " The cause," said the Prior, " was the riot 
 with the townsmen : hut how arising is not 
 known to us. The custom of our house is to af- 
 ford twenty-four hours of uninterrupted refuge 
 in the sanctuary of St Dominic, without asking 
 any question at the poor unfortunates who have 
 sought relief there. If they desire to remain 
 for a longer space, the cause of their resorting 
 to sanctuary must be put upon the register of 
 the convent; and, praised be our holy Saint, 
 many persons escape the weight of the law by 
 this temporary protection, whom, did we know 
 the character of their crimes, we might have 
 found ourselves obliged to render up to their 
 pursuers and persecutors." 
 
 As the Prior spoke, a dim idea occurred to 
 the Monarch, that the privilege of sanctuary 
 thus peremptorily executed, must prove a se- 
 vere interruption to the course of justice through 
 his realm, But he repelled the feeling, as if it
 
 248 
 
 had been a suggestion of Satan, and took care 
 that not a single word should escape to betray 
 to the churchman that such a profane thought 
 had ever occupied his bosom ; on the contrary, 
 he hasted to change the subject. 
 
 11 The sun," he said, " moves slowly on the 
 index. After the painful information you have 
 given me, I expected the Lords of my Council 
 ere now, to take order with the ravelled affairs of 
 this unhappy riot. Evil was the fortune which 
 gave me rule over a people, among whom it 
 seems to me I am in my own person the only 
 man who desires rest and tranquillity." 
 
 " The Church always desires peace and tran- 
 quillity," added the Prior, not suffering even so 
 general a proposition to escape the poor King's 
 oppressed mind, without insisting on a saving 
 clause for the Church's honour. 
 
 " We meant nothing else," said Robert. 
 " But, Father Prior, you will allow that the 
 Church, in quelling strife, as is doubtless her 
 purpose, resembles the busy housewife, who 
 puts in motion the dust which she means to 
 sweep away."
 
 249 
 
 To this remark the Prior would have made 
 some reply, but the door of the apartment was 
 opened, and a gentleman usher announced the 
 Duke of Albany.
 
 'i.')0 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 If I know how to manage these affairs*, 
 Thus thrust disorderly upon my hands, 
 Never believe me— — 
 
 Richard II. 
 
 The Duke of Albany was, like his royal bro- 
 ther, named Robert. The Christian name of the 
 latter had been John, until he was called to the 
 throne ; when the superstition of the times ob- 
 served that the name had been connected with 
 misfortune in the lives and reigns of John of 
 England, John of France, and John Baliol of 
 Scotland. It was therefore agreed, that, to 
 elude the bad omen, the new King should as- 
 sume the name of Robert, rendered dear to 
 Scotland by the recollections of Robert Bruce. 
 We mention this, to account for the existence
 
 251 
 
 of two brothers of the same Christian name in 
 one family, which was not certainly an usual 
 occurrence, more than at the present day. 
 
 Albany, also an aged man, was not sup- 
 posed to be much more disposed for warlike 
 enterprise than the King himself. But if he 
 had not courage, he had wisdom to conceal and 
 cloak over his want of that quality, which, once 
 suspected, would have ruined all the plans 
 which his ambition had formed. He had also 
 pride enough to supply, in extremity, the want 
 of real valour, and command enough over his 
 nerves to conceal their agitation. In other re- 
 spects, he was experienced in the ways of courts, 
 calm, cool, and crafty, fixing upon the points 
 which he desired to attain, while they were yet 
 far removed, and never losing sight of them, 
 though the winding paths in which he trode 
 might occasionally seem to point to a differ- 
 ent direction. In his person he resembled the 
 King, for he was noble and majestic both in sta- 
 ture and countenance. But he had the advan- 
 tage of his elder brother, in being unencumbered 
 with any infirmity, and in every respect lighter
 
 252 
 
 and more active. His dress was rich and grave, 
 as became his age and rank, and, like his royal 
 brother, he wore no arms of any kind, a case 
 of small knives supplying at his girdle the place 
 usually occupied by a dagger, in absence of a 
 sword. 
 
 At the Duke's entrance the Prior, after ma- 
 king an obeisance, respectfully withdrew to a re- 
 cess in the apartment, at some distance from the 
 royal seat, in order to leave the conversation of 
 the brothers uncontrolled by the presence of a 
 third person. It is necessary to mention, that the 
 recess was formed by a window, placed in the 
 inner front of the monastic buildings, called the 
 Palace, from its being the frequent residence 
 of the Kings of Scotland, but which was, un- 
 less on such occasions, the residence of the Prior 
 or Abbot. The window was placed over the 
 principal entrance to the royal apartments, and 
 commanded a view of the internal quadrangle 
 of the convent, formed on the right hand by 
 the length of the magnificent church, on the 
 left by a building, containing the range of cel- 
 lars, with the refectory, chapter-house, and
 
 253 
 
 other conventual apartments rising above them, 
 for such existed altogether independent of the 
 space occupied by King Robert and his attend- 
 ants ; while a fourth row of buildings, showing 
 a noble outward front to the rising sun, con- 
 sisted of a large hospitiian, for the reception 
 of strangers and pilgrims, and many subor- 
 dinate offices, warehouses, and places of ac- 
 commodation, for the ample stores which sup- 
 plied the magnificent hospitality of the Domi- 
 nican fathers. A lofty vaulted entrance led 
 through this eastern front into the quadrangle, 
 and was precisely opposite to the window at 
 which Prior Anselm stood, so that he could see 
 underneath the dark arch, and observe the light 
 which gleamed beneath it from the eastern and 
 open portal ; but, owing to the height to which 
 he was raised, and the depth of the vaulted 
 archway, his eye could but indistinctly reach 
 the opposite and external portal. It is necessary 
 to notice these localities. We return to the con- 
 versation between the princely relatives. 
 
 " My dear brother," said the King, raising 
 the Duke of Albany, as he stooped to kiss his
 
 254 
 
 hand ; " my dear, dear brother, wherefore this 
 ceremonial ? Are we not both sons of the same 
 Stewart of Scotland, and of the same Elizabeth 
 More ?" 
 
 " I have not forgot that it is so," said Al- 
 bany, arising ; " but I must not omit, in the 
 familiarity of the brother, the respect that is 
 due to the King." 
 
 " Oh, true, most true, Robin," answered the 
 King. " The throne is like a lofty and barren 
 rock, upon which flower or shrub can never 
 take root. All kindly feelings, all tender affec- 
 tions, are denied to a monarch. A king must 
 not fold a brother to his heart — he dare not 
 give way to fondness for a son !" 
 
 " Such, in some respects, is the doom of 
 greatness, Sire," answered Albany ; " but Hea- 
 ven, who removed to some distance from your 
 Majesty's sphere the members of your own fa- 
 mily, has given you a whole people to be your 
 children." 
 
 " Alas ! Robert," answered the Monarch, 
 " your heart is better framed for the duties of 
 a sovereign than mine. I see from the height at 
 10
 
 255 
 
 which fate has placed me, that multitude whom 
 you call my children — I love them, I wish them 
 well — but they are many, and they are distant 
 from me. Alas ! even the meanest of them has 
 some beloved being whom he can clasp to his 
 heart, and upon whom he can lavish the fond- 
 ness of a father ! But all that a king can give 
 to a people is a smile, such as the sun bestows 
 on the snowy peaks of the Grampian moun- 
 tains, as distant and as ineffectual. Alas, Robin ! 
 our father used to caress us, and if he chid us 
 it was with a tone of kindness ; yet he was a 
 monarch as well as I, and wherefore should not 
 I be permitted, like him, to reclaim my poor 
 prodigal by affection as well as severity ?" 
 
 " Had affection never been tried, my liege," 
 replied Albany, in the tone of one who delivers 
 sentiments which he grieves to utter, " means 
 of gentleness ought assuredly to be first made 
 use of. Your Grace is best judge whether they 
 have been long enough persevered in, and whe- 
 ther those of discouragement and restraint may 
 not prove a more effectual corrective. It is ex- 
 clusively in your royal power to take what
 
 256 
 
 measures with the Duke of Rothsay you think 
 will be most available to his ultimate benefit, 
 and that of the kingdom." 
 
 " This is unkind, brother," said the King ; 
 M you indicate the painful path which you would 
 have me pursue, yet you offer me not your sup- 
 port in treading it." 
 
 " My support your Grace may ever com- 
 mand," replied Albany ; "but would it become 
 me, of all men on earth, to prompt to your 
 Grace severe measures against your son and 
 heir ? Me — on whom, in case of failure — which 
 Heaven forefend— of your Grace's family, this 
 fatal crown might descend? Would it not be 
 thought and said by the fiery March and the 
 haughty Douglas, that Albany had sown dis- 
 sension between his royal brother and the heir 
 to the Scottish throne, perhaps to clear the way 
 for the succession of his own family ? — No, my 
 liege — I can sacrifice my life to your service, 
 but I must not place my honour in danger." 
 
 " You say true, Robin — you say very true," 
 replied the King, hastening to put his own in- 
 terpretation upon his brother's words. " Wo 
 S
 
 25? 
 
 must not suffer these powerful and dangerous 
 lords to perceive that there is aught like discord 
 in the royal family. That must be avoided of 
 all things ; and therefore we will still try indul- 
 gent measures, in hopes of correcting the follies 
 of Roth say. I behold sparks of hope in him, 
 Robin, from time to time, that are well worth 
 cherishing. He is young — very young — a prince, 
 and in the hey-day of his blood. We will have 
 patience with him, like a good rider with a hot- 
 tempered horse. Let him exhaust this idle hu- 
 mour, and no one will be better pleased with 
 him than yourself. You have censured me in 
 your kindness for being too gentle, too retired 
 — Rothsay has no such defects." 
 
 " I will pawn my life he has not," replied 
 Albany, drily. 
 
 " And he wants not reflection as well as 
 spirit," continued the poor King, pleading the 
 cause of his son to his brother. " I have sent 
 for him to attend council to-day, and we shall 
 see how he acquits himself of his devoir. You 
 yourself allow, Robin, that the Prince wants 
 
 VOL, I< B
 
 £58 
 
 neither shrewdness nor capacity for affairs, 
 when he is in the humour to consider them." 
 
 " Doubtless, he wants neither, my liege," re- 
 plied Albany, " when he is in the humour to 
 consider them." 
 
 " I say so," answered the King ; " and am 
 heartily glad that you agree with me, Robin, in 
 giving this poor hapless young man another 
 trial. He has no mother now to plead his cause 
 with an incensed father. That must be remem- 
 bered, Albany." 
 
 " I trust," said Albany, " the course which 
 is most agreeable to your Grace's feelings will 
 also prove the wisest and the best." 
 
 The Duke well saw the simple stratagem by 
 which the King was endeavouring to escape 
 from the conclusions of his reasoning, and to 
 adopt, under pretence of his sanction, a course 
 of proceeding the reverse of what it best suited 
 him to recommend. But though he saw he 
 could not guide his brother to the line of con- 
 duct he desired, he would not abandon the reins, 
 but resolved to watch for a fitter opportunity of 
 obtaining the sinister advantages to which new
 
 '59 
 
 quarrels betwixt the King and Prince were soou, 
 he thought, likely to give rise. 
 
 In the meantime, King Robert, afraid lest his 
 brother should resume the painful subject from 
 which he had just escaped, called aloud to the 
 Prior of the Dominicans, " I hear the trampling 
 of horse. Your station commands the court- 
 yard, reverend Father. Look from the Y/indow, 
 and tell us who alights — Rothsay, is it not ?" 
 
 " The noble Earl of March, with his fol- 
 lowers," said the Pripr. 
 
 " Is he strongly accompanied ?" said the 
 King. " Do his people enter the inner-gate ?" 
 
 At the same moment, Albany whispered the 
 King, " Fear nothing — the Brandanes* of your 
 household are under arms." 
 
 The King nodded thanks, while the Prior 
 from the window answered the question he had 
 put. " The Earl is attended by two pages, two 
 gentlemen, and four grooms. One page follows 
 him up the main stair-case, bearing his lord- 
 
 * The men of the Isle of Bute- were called Brandanes ; from 
 what derivation is uncertain. The island was the King's own 
 patrimony, and its natives his personal followers.
 
 260 
 
 ship's sword. The others halt in the court, and 
 — Benedicite, how is this? — Here is a strolling 
 glee-woman, with her viol, preparing to sing 
 beneath the royal windows, and in the cloister 
 of the Dominicans, as she might in the yard of 
 an hostelrie ! I will have her presently thrust 
 forth." 
 
 " Not so, Father," said the King. " Let me 
 implore grace for the poor wanderer. The joy- 
 ous science, as they call it, which they profess, 
 mingles sadly with the distresses to which wants 
 and calamity condemn a strolling race ; and in 
 that they resemble a King, to whom all men cry, 
 6 All hail !' while he lacks the homage and obe- 
 dient affection which the poorest yeoman re- 
 ceives from his family. Let the wanderer re- 
 main undisturbed, Father ; and let her sing if 
 6he will to the yeomen and troopers in the court 
 « — it will keep them from quarrelling with each 
 other, belonging, as they do, to such unruly and 
 hostile masters." 
 
 So spoke the well-meaning and feeble-mind- 
 ed Prince, and the Prior bowed in acquiescence. 
 As he spoke, the Earl of March entered the hall
 
 L >Gl 
 
 of audience, dressed in the ordinary riding- garb 
 of the time, and wearing his poniard. He had 
 left in the antiroom the page of honour who 
 carried his sword. The Earl was a well-built* 
 handsome man, fair-complexioned, with a con- 
 siderable profusion of light-coloured hair, and 
 bright blue eyes, which gleamed like those of a 
 falcon. He exhibited in his countenance, other- 
 wise pleasing, the marks of a hasty and irri- 
 table temper, which his situation as a high and 
 powerful feudal lord had given him but too 
 many opportunities of indulging. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, my Lord of March," 
 said the King, with a gracious inclination of his 
 person. {k You have been long absent from our 
 councils." 
 
 M My liege," answered March, with a deep 
 reverence to the King, and a haughty and for- 
 mal inclination to the Duke of Albany, " if I 
 have been absent from your Grace's councils, 
 it is because my place has been supplied by more 
 acceptable, and, I doubt not, abler counsellors, 
 And now I come but to say to your Highness, 
 that the news from the English frontier make 
 it necessary that I should return without delai
 
 262 
 
 to my own estates. Your Grace has your wise 
 and politic brother, my Lord of Albany, with 
 whom to consult, and the mighty and warlike 
 Earl of Douglas to carry your councils into ef- 
 fect. I am of no use save in my own country ; 
 and thither, with your Highness's permission, 
 I am purposed instantly to return, to attend my 
 charge, as Warden of the Eastern Marches. ,, 
 
 " You will not deal so unkindly with us, 
 cousin," replied the gentle Monarch. " Here 
 are evil tidings on the wind. These unhappy 
 Highland clans are again breaking into gene- 
 ral commotion, and the tranquillity even of our 
 own court requires the best of our council to 
 advise, and the bravest of our barons to exe- 
 cute what may be resolved upon. The de- 
 scendant of Thomas Randolph will not surely 
 abandon the grandson of Robert Bruce at such 
 a period as this ?" 
 
 " I leave with him the descendant of the far- 
 famed James of Douglas,'' answered March. 
 " It is his lordship's boast, that he never puts 
 foot in stirrup but a thousand horse mount with 
 him as his daily lifeguard, and I believe the 
 monks of Aberbrothock will swear to the fact,
 
 '263 
 
 Surely, with all the Douglas's chivalry, they 
 are fitter to restrain a disorderly swarm of 
 Highland kerne, than I can be to withstand the 
 archery of England, and power of Henry Hot- 
 spur ? And then, here is his Grace of Albany, 
 so jealous in his care of your Highness's person, 
 that he calls your Brandanes to take arms, when 
 a dutiful subject like myself approaches the 
 court with a poor half-score of horse, the reti- 
 nue of the meanest of the petty barons who own 
 a tower and a thousand acres of barren heath. 
 When such precautions are taken where there 
 is not the slightest chance of peril — since I trust 
 none was to be apprehended from me — your 
 royal person will surely be suitably guarded in 
 real danger." 
 
 " My Lord of March," said the Duke of Al- 
 bany, " the meanest of the barons of whom you 
 speak put their followers in arms, even when 
 they receive their dearest and nearest friends 
 within the iron gate of their castle ; and, if it 
 please Our Lady, I will not care less for the 
 King's person than they do for their own. The 
 Brandanes are the King's immediate retainers 
 and household servants, and an hundred of them
 
 £64 
 
 is but a small guard round his Grace, when 
 yourself, my lord, as well as the Earl of Dou- 
 glas, often ride with ten times the number." 
 
 " My lord duke," replied March, " when 
 the service of the King requires it, I can ride 
 with ten times as many horse as your grace has 
 named ; but I have never done so either trait- 
 orously to entrap the King, nor boastfully to 
 overawe other nobles." 
 
 " Brother Robert," said the King, ever an- 
 xious to be a peace-maker, " you do wrong 
 even to intimate a suspicion of my Lord of 
 March. And you, cousin of March, miscon- 
 strue my brother's caution. — But hark — to 
 divert this angry parley — I hear no unplea- 
 sing touch of minstrelsy. You know the gay 
 vscience, my Lord of March, and love it well — 
 Step to yonder window, beside the holy Prior, 
 at whom we make no question touching secular 
 pleasures, and you will tell us if the music and 
 lay be worth listening to. The notes are of 
 France, I think — My brother of Albany's judg- 
 ment is not worth a cockle-shell in such mat- 
 ters — so you, cousin, must report your opinion
 
 265 
 
 whether the poor glee-maiden deserves recom- 
 pense. Our son and the Douglas will present- 
 ly be here, and then, when our council is as- 
 sembled, we will treat of graver matters." 
 
 With something like a smile on his proud 
 brow, March withdrew into the recess of the 
 window, and stood there in silence beside the 
 Prior, like one who, while he obeyed the King's 
 command, saw through and despised the timid 
 precaution which it implied, as an attempt to 
 prevent the dispute betwixt Albany and him- 
 self. The tune, which was played upon a viol, 
 was gay and sprightly in the commencement, 
 with a touch of the wildness of the Trouba- 
 dour music. But as it proceeded, the faltering 
 tones of the instrument, and of the female voice 
 which accompanied it, became plaintive and in- 
 terrupted, a3 if choked by the painful feelings 
 of the minstrel. 
 
 The offended Earl, whatever might be his 
 judgment in such matters on which the King 
 had complimented him, paid, it may be suppo- 
 sed, little attention to the music of the female 
 minstrel. His proud heart was struggling be-
 
 266 
 
 tween the allegiance he owed his Sovereign, as 
 well as the love he still found lurking in his 
 bosom for the person of his well-natured King, 
 and a desire of vengeance arising out of his 
 disappointed ambition, and the disgrace done 
 to him by the substitution of Marjory Douglas 
 to be bride of the heir-apparent, instead of his 
 betrothed daughter. March had the vices and 
 virtues of a hasty and uncertain character, and 
 even now, when he came to bid the King adieu, 
 with the purpose of renouncing his allegiance as 
 soon as he reached his own feudal territories, he 
 felt unwilling, and almost unable, to resolve 
 upon a step so criminal and so full of peril. It 
 was with such dangerous cogitations that he 
 was occupied during the beginning of the glee- 
 maiden's lay; but objects which called his at- 
 tention powerfully, as the songstress proceeded, 
 affected the current of his thoughts, and rivet- 
 ed them on what was passing in the court-yard 
 of the monastery. The song was in the Proven- 
 cal dialect, well understood as the language of 
 poetry in all the courts of Europe, and parti- 
 cularly in Scotland. It was more simply turn-
 
 267 
 
 ed, however, than was the general caste of the 
 Sirventes, and rather resembled the lai of a 
 Norman Minstrel. It may be translated thus : 
 
 Cfie 2ta# of goor 2loufee. 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! The live-long day 
 She roams from cot to castle gay ; 
 And still her voice and viol say, 
 Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, 
 
 Think on Louise ' 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! The sun was high, 
 It smirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye, 
 The woodland walk was cool and nigh, 
 Where birds with chiming streamlets vie 
 
 To cheer Louise. 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 
 Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; 
 The wolves molest not paths so fair — 
 But better far had such been there 
 
 For poor Louise. 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold 
 She met a huntsman fair and bold ; 
 His baldrick was of silk and gold, 
 And many a witching tale he told 
 
 To poor Louise. 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine 
 Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; 
 For peace of mind, that gift divine, 
 And spotless innocence, were thine, 
 
 Ah, poor Louise !
 
 268 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! Thy treasure's reft ! 
 I know not if by force or theft, 
 Or part by violence, part by gift ; 
 But misery is all that's left 
 
 To poor Louise. 
 
 Let poor Louise some succour have ! 
 She will not long your bounty crave, 
 Or tire the gay with warning stave — 
 For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave 
 
 For poor Louise. 
 
 The song was no sooner finished, than, an- 
 xious lest the dispute should be revived be- 
 twixt his brother and the Earl of March, King 
 Robert called to the latter, " What think you 
 of the minstrelsy, my lord ? — Methinks, as I 
 heard it even at this distance, it was a wild and 
 pleasing lay." 
 
 " My judgment is not deep, my lord; but 
 the singer may dispense with my approbation, 
 since she seems to have received that of his 
 Grace of Rothsay — the first judge in Scot- 
 land." 
 
 " How !" said the King in alarm ; " is my 
 son below ?" 
 
 " He is sitting on horseback by the glec- 
 maiden," said March, with a malicious smile
 
 269 
 
 on his cheek, ft apparently as much interested 
 by her conversation as her music." 
 
 " How is this, Father Prior ?" said the King. 
 But the Prior drew back from the lattice. 
 
 " I have no will to see, my lord, things 
 which it would pain me to repeat." 
 
 " How is all this ?" said the King, who co- 
 loured deeply, and seemed about to rise from his 
 chair ; but changed his mind, as if unwilling, 
 perhaps, to look upon some unbecoming prank 
 of the wild young Prince, which he might not 
 have had heart to punish with necessary seve- 
 rity. The Earl of March seemed to have a plea- 
 sure in informing him of that, of which doubt- 
 less he desired to remain ignorant. 
 
 61 My liege," he cried, " this is better and 
 better. The glee-maiden has not only engaged 
 the ear of the Prince of Scotland, as well as of 
 every groom and trooper in the court-yard, but 
 she has riveted the attention of the Black Dou- 
 glas, whom we have not known as a passion- 
 ate admirer of the Gay Science. But truly, I 
 
 do not wonder at his astonishment, for the Prince 
 14
 
 ! J70 
 
 has honoured the fair professor of song and viol 
 with a kiss of approbation." 
 
 " How ?" cried the King, " is Rothsay tri- 
 fling with a glee-maiden, and his wife's father 
 in presence ? — Go, my good Father Abbot, call 
 the Prince here instantly — Go, my dearest bro- 
 ther " — And when they had both left the 
 
 room, the King continued, " Go, good cousin of 
 March — there will be mischief, I am assured of 
 it. I pray you go, cousin, and second my Lord 
 Prior's prayers with my commands." 
 
 " You forget, my liege," said March, with 
 the voice of a deeply offended person ; " the fa- 
 ther of Elizabeth of Dunbar were but an unfit 
 intercessor between the Douglas and his royal 
 son-in-law." 
 
 " I crave your pardon, cousin," said the gen- 
 tle old man. " I own you have had some wrong 
 — but my Rothsay will be murdered — I must 
 go myself." 
 
 But as he arose precipitately from his chair, 
 the poor King missed a footstep, stumbled, and 
 fell heavily to the ground, in such a manner, 
 that his head striking the corner of the seat
 
 271 
 
 from which he had risen, he became for a mi- 
 nute insensible. The sight of the accident at 
 once overcame March's resentment, and melt- 
 ed his heart. He ran to the fallen Monarch, 
 and replaced him in his seat, using, in the ten- 
 derest and most respectful manner, such means 
 as seemed most fit to recall animation. Robert 
 opened his eyes, and gazed around with uncer- 
 tainty. 
 
 " What has happened?— are we alone ? — who 
 is with us ?" 
 
 " Your dutiful subject, March," replied the 
 Earl. 
 
 " Alone with the Earl of March !" repeated 
 the King, his still disturbed intellects receiving 
 some alarm from the name of a powerful chief, 
 whom he had reasou to believe he had mortal- 
 ly offended. 
 
 " Yes, my gracious liege, with poor George 
 of Dunbar ; of whom many have wished your 
 Majesty to think ill, though he will be found 
 truer to your royal person at the last than they 
 will." 
 
 " Indeed, cousin, you have had too much 
 13
 
 272 
 
 wrong ; and believe me, we shall strive to re- 
 dress — " 
 
 " If your Grace thinks so, it may yet be 
 righted," interrupted the Earl ; " the Prince and 
 Marjory Douglas are nearly related — the dis- 
 pensation from Rome was informally granted 
 — their marriage cannot be lawful — the Pope, 
 who will do much for so godly a Prince, can set 
 aside this unchristian union, in respect of the 
 pre-contract. Bethink you well, my liege," con- 
 tinued the Earl, kindling with a new train of 
 ambitious thoughts, to which the unexpected op- 
 portunity of pleading his cause personally had 
 given rise, — " bethink you how you choose be- 
 twixt the Douglas and me. He is powerful and 
 mighty, I grant. But George of Dunbar wears 
 the keys of Scotland at his belt, and could bring 
 an English army to the gates of Edinburgh, ere 
 Douglas could leave the skirts of Cairntable to 
 oppose them. Your royal son loves my poor de- 
 serted girl, and hates the haughty Marjory of 
 Douglas. Your Grace may judge the small ac- 
 count in which he holds her, by his toying with 
 a common glee-maiden even in the presence of 
 her father."
 
 273 
 
 The King had hitherto listened to the Earl's 
 argument with the bewildered feelings of a 
 timid horseman, borne away by an impetuous 
 steed, whose course he can neither arrest nor 
 direct. But the last words awakened in his re- 
 collection the sense of his son's immediate dan- 
 ger. 
 
 " Oh, ay, most true — my son — the Douglas 
 — Oh, my dear cousin, prevent blood, and all 
 shall be as you will. — Hark, there is a tumult — 
 that was the clash of arms!" 
 
 " By my coronet — by my knightly faith, it 
 is true !" said the Earl, looking from the win- 
 dow upon the inner square of the convent, now 
 filled with armed men and brandished wea- 
 pons, and resounding with the clash of armour. 
 The deep-vaulted entrance was crowded with 
 warriors at its farthest extremity, and blows 
 seemed to be in the act of being exchanged 
 betwixt some who were endeavouring to shut 
 the gate, and others who contended to press in. 
 
 " I will go instantly," said the Earl of March, 
 " and soon quell this sudden broil — Humbly, 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 274 
 
 I pray your Majesty to think on what I have 
 had the boldness to propose." 
 
 " I will — I will, fair cousin," said the King, 
 scarce knowing to what he pledged himself — 
 " Do but prevent tumult and bloodshed !"
 
 275 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 We must here trace, a little more correctly, 
 the events which had been indistinctly seen 
 from the window of the royal apartments, and 
 yet more indistinctly reported by those who 
 witnessed them. The glee-maiden, already men- 
 tioned, had planted herself, where a rise of two 
 large broad steps, giving access to the main 
 gateway of the royal apartments, gained her 
 an advantage of a foot and a half in height 
 over those in the court, of whom she hoped to 
 form an audience. She wore the dress of her 
 calling, which was more gaudy than rich, and 
 showed the person more than did the garb of 
 other females. She had laid aside an upper
 
 276 
 
 mantle, and a small basket which contained her 
 slender stock of necessaries, and a little French 
 spaniel dog sat beside them, as their protector. 
 An azure-blue jacket, embroidered with silver, 
 and sitting close to the person, was open in 
 front, and showed several waistcoats of differ en t- 
 coloured silks, calculated to set off the symme- 
 try of the shoulders and bosom, and remaining 
 open at the throat. A small silver chain worn 
 around her neck, involved itself amongst these 
 brilliant -coloured waistcoats, and was again 
 produced from them, to display a medal of the 
 same metal, which intimated, in the name of 
 some court or guild of minstrels, the degree 
 she had taken in the Gay or Joyous Science. 
 A small scrip, suspended over her shoulders by 
 a blue silk ribband, hung on her left side. 
 
 Her sunny complexion, snow-white teeth, 
 brilliant black eyes, and raven locks, mark- 
 ed her country lying far in the south of France, 
 and the arch smile and dimpled chin bore 
 the same character. Her luxuriant locks, twist- 
 ed around a small gold bodkin, were kept 
 in their position by a net of silk and gold.
 
 277 
 
 Short petticoats, deep-laced with silver, to cor- 
 respond with the jacket, red stockings which 
 were visible to near the calf of the leg, and 
 buskins of Spanish leather, completed her ad- 
 justment, which, though far from new, had been 
 saved as an untarnished holiday suit, which much 
 care had kept in good order. She seemed about 
 twenty-five years old; but perhaps fatigue and 
 wandering had anticipated the touch of time, 
 in obliterating the freshness of early youth. 
 
 We have said the glee-maiden's manner was 
 lively, and we may add, that her smile and re- 
 partee were ready. But her gaiety was assu- 
 med, as a quality essentially necessary to her 
 trade, of which it was one of the miseries, that 
 the professors were obliged frequently to cover 
 an aching heart with a compelled smile. This 
 seemed to be the case with Louise, who, whe- 
 ther she was actually the heroine of her own 
 song, or whatever other cause she might have 
 for sadness, showed at times a strain of deep 
 melancholy thought, which interfered with and 
 controlled the natural flow of lively spirits, 
 which the practice of the Joyous Science espe-
 
 278 
 
 cially required. She lacked also, even in her 
 gayest sallies, the decided boldness and effron- 
 tery of her sisterhood, who were seldom at a 
 loss to retort a saucy jest, or turn the laugh 
 against any who interrupted or interfered with ■ 
 them. 
 
 It may be here remarked, that it was impos- 
 sible that this class of women, very numerous 
 in that age, could bear a character generally 
 respectable. They were, however, protected 
 by the manners of the time ; and such were the 
 immunities they possessed by the rights of chi- 
 valry, that nothing was more rare than to hear 
 of such errant damsels sustaining injury or 
 wrong, and they passed and repassed safely 
 where armed travellers would probably have en- 
 countered a bloody opposition. But though 
 licensed and protected in honour of their tune- 
 ful art, the wandering minstrels, male or fe- 
 male, like similar ministers to the public amuse- 
 ment, the itinerant musicians, for instance, 
 and strolling comedians of our own day, led a 
 life too irregular and precarious, to be account- 
 ed a creditable part of society. Indeed among
 
 279 
 
 the stricter Catholics the profession was consi- 
 dered as unlawful. 
 
 Such was the damsel, who, with viol in 
 hand, and stationed on the slight elevation we 
 have mentioned, stepped forward to the by- 
 standers, and announced herself as a mistress 
 of the gay science, duly qualified by a brief from 
 a Court of Love and Music held at Aix, in 
 Provence, under the countenance of the flower 
 of chivalry, the gallant Count Aymer ; who now 
 prayed that the cavaliers of merry Scotland, who 
 were known over the wide world for bravery and 
 courtesy, would permit a poor stranger to try 
 whether she could afford them any amusement 
 by her art. The love of song was like the love 
 of fight, a common passion of the age, which 
 all at least affected, whether they actually pos- 
 sessed it or no ; therefore the acquiescence in 
 Louise's proposal was universal. At the same 
 time, an aged, dark-browed monk who was 
 among the by-standers, thought it necessary to 
 remind the glee-maiden, that, since she was to- 
 lerated within these precincts, which was an 
 unusual grace, he trusted nothing would be sunjr
 
 280 
 
 or said inconsistent with the holy character of 
 the place. 
 
 The glee-maiden bent her head low, shook 
 her sable locks, and crossed herself reverential- 
 ly, as if she disclaimed the possibility of such a 
 transgression, and then began the song of Poor 
 Louise, which we gave at length in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 Just as she commenced, she was stopped by 
 a cry for " Room — room — place for the Duke 
 of Rothsay !" 
 
 " Nay, hurry no man on my score,'* said a 
 gallant young cavalier, who entered on a noble 
 Arabian horse, which he managed with exqui- 
 site grace, though by such slight handling of the 
 reins, such imperceptible pressure of the limbs 
 and sway of the body, that to any eye save that 
 of an experienced horseman, the animal seemed 
 to be putting forth his paces for his own amuse- 
 ment, and thus gracefully bearing forward a 
 rider who was too indolent to give himself any 
 trouble about the matter. 
 
 The Prince's apparel, which was very rich, 
 was put on with slovenly carelessness. His
 
 281 
 
 form, though his stature was low, and his 
 limbs extremely slight, was elegant in the ex- 
 treme; and his features no less handsome. But 
 there was on his brow a haggard paleness, which 
 seemed the effect of care or of dissipation, or 
 of both these wasting causes combined. His 
 eyes were sunk and dim, as from late indulgence 
 in revelry on the preceding evening, while his 
 cheek was inflamed with unnatural red, as if 
 either the effect of the Bacchanalian orgies had 
 not passed away from the constitution, or a 
 morning draught had been resorted to, in order 
 to remove the effects of the night's debauchery. 
 Such was the Duke of Roth say, and heir of 
 the Scottish crown, a sight at once of interest 
 and compassion. All unbonneted, and made 
 way for him, while he kept repeating carelessly, 
 " No haste — no haste — I shall arrive soon enough 
 at the place I am bound for. — How's this — a 
 damsel of the joyous science ? Ay, by St Giles ! 
 and a comely wench to boot. Stand still, my 
 merry men ; never was minstrelsy marred for 
 me. — A good voice, by the mass ! Begin me 
 that lay again, sweetheart."
 
 282 
 
 Louise did not know the person who address- 
 ed her; but the general respect paid by all 
 around, and the easy and indifferent manner in 
 which it was received, showed her she was ad- 
 dressed by a man of the highest quality. She 
 recommenced her lay, and sung her best accord- 
 ingly ;' while the young Duke seemed thought- 
 ful and rather affected towards the close of the 
 ditty. But it was not his habit to cherish such 
 melancholy affections. "This is a plaintive ditty, 
 my nut-brown maid," said he, chucking the 
 retreating glee-maiden under the chin, and de- 
 taining her by the collar of her dress, which was 
 not difficult, as he sat on horseback so close to 
 the steps on which she stood. " But I warrant 
 me you have livelier notes at will, ma bella te- 
 nebrosa ; ay, and canst sing in bower as well as 
 wold, and by night as well as day." 
 
 " I am no nightingale, my lord," said Louise, 
 endeavouring to escape a species of gallantry 
 which ill-suited the place and circumstances, a 
 discrepancy to which he who addressed it to 
 her seemed contemptuously indifferent.
 
 288 
 
 " What hast thou there, darling ?" he added, 
 removing his hold from her collar, to the scrip 
 which she carried. 
 
 Glad was Louise to escape his grasp, by slip- 
 ping the knot of the ribband, and leaving the 
 little bag in the Prince's hand, as, retiring back 
 beyond his reach, she answered, " Nuts, my 
 lord, of the last season." 
 
 The Prince pulled out a handful of nuts ac- 
 cordingly. " Nuts, child ! — they will break 
 thine ivory teeth — hurt thy pretty voice," said 
 Rothsay, cracking one with his teeth, like a 
 village schoolboy. 
 
 " They are not the walnuts of my own 
 sunny clime, my lord," said Louise ; "but they 
 hang low, and are within the reach of the 
 poor." 
 
 " You shall have something to give you bet- 
 ter fare, poor wandering ape," said the Duke, 
 in a tone in which feeling predominated more 
 than in the aifected and contemptuous gallantry 
 of his first address to the glee- maiden. 
 
 At this moment, as he turned to ask an at-
 
 284 
 
 tendant for his purse, the Prince encountered 
 the stern and piercing look of a tall black man, 
 seated on a powerful iron-grey horse, who had 
 entered with attendants while the Duke of 
 Rothsay was engaged with Louise, and now re- 
 mained stupified and almost turned to stone by 
 his surprise and anger, at this unseemly spec- 
 tacle. Even one who had never seen the Black 
 Douglas, must have known him by his swart 
 complexion, his gigantic frame, his buff-coat of 
 bull's-hide, and his air of courage, firmness, and 
 sagacity, mixed with the most indomitable pride. 
 The loss of an eye in battle, though not per- 
 ceptible at first sight, as the ball of the inj ured 
 organ remained similar to the other, gave yet 
 a stern immovable glare to the whole aspect. 
 
 The meeting of the royal son-in-law with his 
 terrible step- father, was in circumstances which 
 arrested the attention of all present; and the 
 by-standers waited the issue with silence and 
 suppressed breath, lest they should lose any part 
 of what was to ensue. 
 
 When the Duke of Rothsay saw the expres- 
 sion which occupied the stern features of Dou-
 
 285 
 
 glas, and remarked that the Earl did not make 
 the least motion towards respectful, or even 
 civil salutation, he seemed determined to show 
 him how little respect he was disposed to pay to 
 his displeased looks. He took his purse from 
 his chamberlain. 
 
 " Here, pretty one," he said, " I give thee 
 one gold piece for the song thou hast sung 
 me, another for the nuts I have stolen from 
 thee, and a third for the kiss thou art about to 
 give me. For know, my pretty one, that when 
 fair lips (and thine for fault of better may be 
 called so) make sweet music for my pleasure, 
 I am sworn to St Valentine to press them to 
 mine." 
 
 "My song is recompensed nobly— " said Louise, 
 shrinking back ; " my nuts are sold to a good 
 market — farther traffic, my lord, were neither 
 befitting you nor beseeming me." 
 
 " What ! you coy it, my nymph of the high- 
 way?" said the Prince, contemptuously. "Know, 
 damsel, that one asks you a grace who is unused 
 to denial." 
 
 " It is the Prince of Scotland"—" the Duke 
 
 11
 
 28tf 
 
 of Rothsay," — said the courtiers around, to the 
 terrified Louise, pressing forward the trembling 
 young woman ; " you must not thwart his hu- 
 mour." 
 
 " But I cannot reach your lordship," she 
 said, " you sit so high on horseback." 
 
 " If I must alight," said Rothsay, " there 
 shall be the heavier penalty — What does the 
 wench tremble for ? Place thy foot on the toe 
 of my boot, give me hold of thy hand — Gallant- 
 ly done !" He kissed her as she stood thus sus- 
 pended in the air, perched upon his foot, and 
 supported by his hand ; saying, " There is thy 
 kiss, and there is my purse to pay it ; and to 
 grace thee farther, Rothsay will wear thy scrip 
 for the day." He suffered the frightened girl to 
 spring to the ground, and turned his looks from 
 her to bend them contemptuously on the Earl 
 of Douglas, as if he had said, " All this I do in 
 despite of you and of your daughter's claims." 
 
 " By St Bride of Douglas !" said the Earl, 
 pressing towards the Prince, " this is too much, 
 unmannered boy, as void of sense as honour ! 
 You know what considerations restrain the hand 
 of Douglas, else had you never dared M
 
 287 
 
 " Can you play at spang-cockle, my lord?" 
 said the Prince, placing a nut on the second 
 joint of his forefinger, and spinning it off by a 
 smart application of the thumb. The nut struck 
 on Douglas's broad breast, who burst out into 
 a dreadful exclamation of wrath, inarticulate, 
 but resembling the growl of a lion in depth and 
 sternness of expression. " I cry your pardon, 
 most mighty lord," said the Duke of Rothsay, 
 scornfully, while all around trembled; "I did 
 not conceive my pellet could have wounded you, 
 seeing you wear a buff-coat. Surely, I trust, it 
 did not hit your eye ?" 
 
 The Prior, dispatched by the King, as we 
 have seen in the last chapter, had by this time 
 made way through the crowd, and laying hold 
 on Douglas's rein, in a manner that made it im- 
 possible for him to advance, reminded him that 
 the Prince was the son of his Sovereign, and 
 the husband of his daughter. 
 
 " Fear not, Sir Prior," said Douglas. " I 
 despise the childish boy too much to raise a 
 finger against him. But I will return insult for 
 insult. — Here, any of you who love the Douglas,
 
 288 
 
 — spurn me this quean from the Monastery 
 gates ; and let her be so scourged that she may 
 bitterly remember to the last day of her life, 
 how she gave means to an unrespective boy to 
 affront the Douglas !" 
 
 Four or five retainers instantly stepped forth 
 to execute commands which were seldom ut- 
 tered in vain, and heavily would Louise have 
 atoned for an offence of which she was alike 
 the innocent, unconscious, and unwilling in- 
 strument, had not the Duke of Rothsay inter- 
 fered. 
 
 " Spurn the poor glee-woman ?" he said, in 
 high indignation; " scourge her for obeying 
 my commands? — Spurn thine own oppressed 
 vassals, rude Earl — scourge thine own faulty 
 hounds — but beware how you touch so much 
 as a dog that Rothsay hath patted on the head, 
 far less a female whose lips he hath kissed !" 
 
 Before Douglas could give an answer, which 
 would certainly have been in defiance, there 
 arose that great tumult at the outward gate of 
 the Monastery, already noticed, and men both 
 on horseback and on foot began to rush head-
 
 289 
 
 long in, not actually fighting with each other, 
 but certainly in no peaceable manner. 
 
 The contending parties, seemingly, were par- 
 tizans of Douglas, known by the cognizance 
 of the Bloody Heart, and citizens of the town 
 of Perth. It appeared they had been skirmishing 
 in earnest when without the gates, but, out of 
 respect to the sanctified ground, they lowered 
 their weapons when they entered, and confined 
 their strife to a war of words and mutual abuse. 
 
 The tumult had this good effect, that it for- 
 ced asunder, by the weight and press of num- 
 bers, the Prince and Douglas, at a moment 
 when the levity of the former, and the pride of 
 the latter, were urging them to the utmost extre- 
 mity. But now peace-makers interfered on all 
 sides. The Prior and the monks threw them- 
 selves among the multitude, and commanded 
 peace in the name of Heaven, and reverence to 
 their sacred walls, under penalty of excommu- 
 nication ; and their expostulations began to be 
 listened to. Albany, who was dispatched by his 
 royal brother at the beginning of the fray, had 
 not arrived till now on the scene of action. He 
 vol. I. T
 
 390 
 
 instantly applied himself to Douglas, and in his 
 ear conjured him to temper his passion. 
 
 " By St Bride of Douglas, I will be avenged !" 
 said the Earl. " No man shall brook life after 
 he has passed an affront on Douglas." 
 
 " Why so you may be avenged in fitting 
 time," said Albany; " bullet it not be said, 
 that, like a peevish woman, the Great Douglas 
 could choose neither time nor place for his ven- 
 geance. Bethink you, all that we have labour- 
 ed at is like to be upset by an accident. George 
 of Dunbar hath had the advantage of an audi- 
 ence with the old man ; and though it lasted but 
 five minutes, I fear it may endanger the disso- 
 lution of your family match, which we brought 
 about with so much difficulty. The authority 
 from Rome has not yet been obtained." 
 
 " A toy !" answered Douglas, haughtily, — 
 M they dare not dissolve it." 
 
 " Not while Douglas is at large, and in pos- 
 session of his power," answered Albany. " But, 
 noble Earl, come with me, and I will show you 
 at what disadvantage you stand." 
 
 Douglas dismounted, and followed his wily 
 accomplice in silence. In a lower hall they saw
 
 !9l 
 
 tlie ranks of the Brandanes drawn up, well- 
 armed in caps of steel and shirts of maiL 
 Their captain, making an obeisance to Albany, 
 seemed to desire to address him. 
 
 u What now, MacLouis ?" said the Duke. 
 
 " We are informed the Duke of Rothsay has 
 been insulted, and I can scarce keep the Bran* 
 danes within door." 
 
 u Gallant MacLouis," said Albany, " and 
 you, my trusty Brandanes, the Duke of Roth- 
 say, my princely nephew, is as well as a hopeful 
 gentleman can be. Some scuffle there has been, 
 but all is appeased." He continued to draw 
 the Earl of Douglas forward. M You see, my 
 lord," he said in his ear, " that if the word ar* 
 rest was to be once spoken, it would be soon 
 obeyed, and you are aware your attendants are 
 few for resistance." 
 
 Douglas seemed to acquiesce in the necessity 
 of patience for the time. " If my teeth," he 
 said, " should bite through my lips, I will b8 
 silent till it is the hour to speak out." 
 
 George of March, in the meanwhile, had a 
 more easy task of pacifying the Prince. <; Mv
 
 292 
 
 Lord of Rothsay," be said, approaching him 
 with grave ceremony, " I need not tell you that 
 you owe me something for reparation of ho- 
 nour, though I blame not you personally for the 
 breach of contract which has destroyed the peace 
 of my family. Let me conjure you by what ob- 
 servance your Highness may owe an injured 
 man, to forego for the present this scandalous 
 dispute." 
 
 " My lord, I owe you much," replied Roth- 
 say ; " but this haughty and all- controlling lord 
 has wounded mine honour." 
 
 " My lord, I can but add, your royal father 
 is ill — hath swooned with terror for your High- 
 ness's safety." 
 
 " Rl ! — the kind, good old man — swooned, 
 said you, my Lord of March ? — I am with him 
 in an instant." 
 
 The Duke of Rothsay sprung from his saddle 
 to the ground, and was dashing into the palace 
 like a greyhound, when a feeble grasp was laid 
 on his cloak, and the faint voice of a kneel- 
 ing female exclaimed, " Protection, my noble 
 Prince ! — Protection for a helpless 6tranger !"
 
 293 
 
 « Hands off, stroller !" said the Earl of March, 
 thrusting the suppliant glee-maiden aside. 
 
 But the gentler Prince paused. " It is true," 
 he said, " I have brought the vengeance of an 
 unforgiving devil upon this helpless creature. 
 O heaven ! what a life is mine, so fatal to all 
 who approach me ! — What to do in the hurry ? 
 — She must not go to my apartments — And all 
 my men are such born reprobates. — Ha ! thou 
 at mine elbow, honest Harry Smith? What 
 dost thou here ?" 
 
 " There has been something of a fight, my 
 lord," answered our acquaintance the Smith, 
 " between the townsmen and the Southland 
 loons who ride with the Douglas ; and we have 
 swinged them as far as the Abbey-Gate." 
 
 "lam glad of it — I am glad of it. And you 
 beat the knaves fairly ?" 
 
 " Fairly, does your Highness ask?" said 
 Henry. " Why, ay ! We were stronger in num- 
 bers, to be sure ; but no men ride better armed 
 than those who follow the Bloody Heart. And 
 so in a sense we beat them fairly ; for as your 
 Highness knows, it is the Smith who makes the
 
 294 
 
 men-at-arms, and men with good weapons are 
 a match for great odds." 
 
 While they thus talked, the Earl of March, 
 ivho had spoken with some one near the palace 
 gate, returned in anxious haste. " My Lord 
 Duke ! — My Lord Duke ! — Your father is re- 
 covered, and if you haste not speedily, my Lord 
 of Albany and the Douglas will have possession 
 of his royal ear," 
 
 £? And if my royal father is recovered," said 
 the thoughtless Prince, " and is holding, or 
 about to hold, council with my gracious uncle 
 and the Earl of Douglas, it befits neither your 
 lordship nor me to intrude till we are summon- 
 ed. So there is time for me to speak of my 
 little business with mine honest armourer here." 
 
 " Does your Highness take it so ?" said the 
 Earl, whose sanguine hopes of a change of fa- 
 vour at court had been too hastily excited, and 
 were as speedily checked, — " Then so let it be 
 for George of Dunbar." 
 
 He glided away with a gloomy and displeased 
 aspect ; and thus out of the two most powerful 
 noblemen in Scotland, at a time when the aristo-
 
 295 
 
 cracy so closely controlled the throne, the reck- 
 less heir-apparent had made two enemies ; the 
 one by scornful defiance, and the other by care- 
 less neglect. He heeded not the Earl of March's 
 departure, however, or rather he felt relieved 
 from his importunity. 
 
 The Prince went on in indolent conversa- 
 tion with our armourer, whose skill in his art 
 had made him known to many of the great lords 
 about the court. 
 
 " I had something to say to thee, Smith- 
 Canst thou take up a fallen link in my Milan 
 hauberk ?" 
 
 " As well, please your Highness, as my mo- 
 ther could take up a stitch in the nets she wove 
 — The Milaner shall not know my work from 
 his own." 
 
 " Well, but that was not what I wished of 
 thee just now," said the Prince, recollecting 
 himself; " this poor glee- woman, good Smith, 
 she must be placed in safety. Thou art man 
 enough to be any woman's champion, and thou 
 must conduct her to some place of safety." 
 
 Henry Smith was, as we have seen, suffici-
 
 296 
 
 ently rash and daring when weapons were in 
 question. But he had also the pride of a decent 
 burgher, and was unwilling to place himself in 
 what might be thought equivocal circumstances 
 by the sober part of his fellow-citizens. 
 
 " May it please your Highness," he said, u I 
 am but a poor craftsman. But though my arm 
 and sword are at the King's service, and your 
 Highness's, I am, with reverence, no squire of 
 dames. Your Highness will find, among your 
 own retinue, knights and lords willing enough 
 to play Sir Pandarus of Troy — it is too knight- 
 ly a part for poor Hal of the Wynd." 
 
 " Umph — hah !" — said the Prince. " My 
 purse, Edgar — (his attendant whispered him) 
 — True, true, I gave it to the poor wench. — I 
 know enough of your craft, and of craftsmen in 
 general, to be aware that men lure not hawks 
 with empty hands ; but I suppose my word 
 may pass for the price of a good armour, and 
 I will pay it thee with thanks to boot, for this 
 slight service." 
 
 " Your Highness may know other crafts- 
 men," said the Smith ; « but, with reverence.
 
 297 
 
 you know not Henry Gow. He will obey you 
 in making a weapon, or in welding one, but he 
 knows nothing of this petticoat service." 
 
 " Hark thee, thou Perthshire mule, ,, said 
 the Prince, yet smiling, while he spoke, at the 
 sturdy punctilio of the honest burgher, — " the 
 wench is as little to me as she is to thee. But 
 in an idle moment, as you may learn from those 
 about thee, if thou sawest it not thyself, I did 
 her a passing grace, which is likely to cost the 
 poor wretch her life. There is no one here whom 
 I can trust to protect her against the discipline 
 of belt and bowstring, with which the Border 
 brutes who follow Douglas will beat her to 
 death, since such is his pleasure." 
 
 " If such be the case, my liege, she has a 
 right to every honest man's protection ; and 
 since she wears a petticoat, — though I would it 
 were longer, and of a less fanciful fashion,— I 
 will answer for her protection as well as a sin- 
 gle man may. But where am I to bestow 
 her ?" 
 
 " Good faith, I cannot tell," said the Prince, 
 " Take her to Sir John Ramorny's lodging—
 
 298 
 
 But, no — no — he is ill at ease, and besides, there 
 are reasons — take her to the devil if thou wilt, 
 but place her in safety, and oblige Robin of 
 Rothsay." 
 
 " My noble Prince," said the Smith, " I think 
 ■ — always with reverence — that I would rather 
 give a defenceless woman to the care of the devil 
 than of Sir John Ramorny. But though the 
 devil be a worker in fire like myself, yet I know 
 not his haunts, and with aid of Holy Church 
 hope to keep him on terms of defiance. And, 
 moreover, how I am to convey her out of this 
 crowd, or through the streets, in such a mum- 
 ming habit, may be well made a question." 
 
 " For the leaving the convent," said the 
 Prince, " this good monk (seizing upon the 
 nearest by his cowl,) Father Nicholas or Boni- 
 face " 
 
 " Poor brother Cyprian, at your Highness' s 
 command," said the father. 
 
 " Ay, ay, brother Cyprian," continued the 
 Prince, " yes. Brother Cyprian shall let you 
 out at some secret passage which he knows of, 
 and I will see him again to pay a Prince's 
 thanks for it."
 
 299 
 
 The churchman bowed in acquiescence, and 
 poor Louise, who, during this debate, had look- 
 ed from the one speaker to the other, hastily- 
 said, " I will not scandalize this good man with 
 my foolish garb — I have a mantle for ordinary 
 wear." 
 
 " Why, there, Smith, thou hast a friars hood 
 and a woman's mantle to shroud thee under. I 
 would all my frailties were as well shrouded ! 
 Farewell, honest fellow ; I will thank thee here- 
 after," 
 
 Then, as if afraid of farther objection on the 
 Smith's part, he hastened into the palace. 
 
 Henry Gow remained stupified at what had 
 passed, and at finding himself involved in a 
 charge at once inferring much danger, and an 
 equal risk of scandal, both which, joined to a 
 principal share which he had taken, with his 
 usual forwardness, in the fray, might, he saw, 
 do him no small injury in the suit he pursued 
 most anxiously. At the same time, to leave a 
 defenceless creature to the ill usage of the bar- 
 barous Galwegians, and licentious followers of 
 the Douglas, was a thought which his manly 
 heart could not brook for an instant,
 
 300 
 
 He was roused from his reverie by the voice 
 of the Monk, who, sliding out his words with 
 the indifference which the holy fathers enter- 
 tained, or affected, towards all temporal matters, 
 desired them to follow him. The Smith put 
 himself in motion, with a sigh much resembling 
 a groan, and, without appearing exactly con- 
 nected with the Monk's motions, he followed 
 him into a cloister, and through a postern door, 
 which, after looking once behind him, the priest 
 left ajar. Behind them followed Louise, who 
 had hastily assumed her small bundle, and, call- 
 ing her little four-legged companion, had eager- 
 ly followed in the path which opened an escape 
 from what had shortly before seemed a great 
 and inevitable danger.
 
 301 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The party were now, by a secret passage, 
 admitted within the church, the outward doors 
 of which, usually left open, had been closed 
 against every one in consequence of the recent 
 tumult, when the rioters of both parties had 
 endeavoured to rush into it for other purposes 
 than those of devotion. They traversed the 
 gloomy aisles, whose arched roof resounded 
 to the heavy tread of the armourer, but was 
 silent under the sandaPd foot of the Monk, and 
 the light step of poor Louise, who trembled 
 excessively, as much from fear as cold. She 
 saw that neither her spiritual nor temporal con- 
 ductor looked kindly upon her. The former 
 was an austere man, whose aspect seemed to
 
 302 
 
 hold the luckless wanderer in some degree of 
 horror, as well as contempt ; while the latter, 
 though, as we have seen, one of the best na- 
 tured men living, was at present grave to the 
 pitch of sternness, and not a little displeased 
 with having the part he was playing forced 
 upon him, without, as he was constrained to 
 feel, a possibility of his declining it. 
 
 His dislike at his task extended itself to 
 the innocent object of his protection, and he 
 internally said to himself, as he surveyed her 
 scornfully, — " A proper queen of beggars to 
 walk the streets of Perth with, and I a decent 
 burgher ! This tawdry minion must have as 
 ragged a reputation as the rest of her sister- 
 hood, and I am finely sped if my chivalry in 
 her behalf comes to Catharine's ears. I had 
 better have slain a man, were he the best in 
 Perth ; and, by hammer and nails ! I would have 
 done it on provocation, rather than convoy this 
 baggage through the city." 
 
 Perhaps Louise suspected the cause of her 
 conductor's anxiety, for she said, timidly and 
 
 13
 
 303 
 
 with hesitation, " Worthy sir, were it not bet- 
 ter I should stop one instant in that chapel, 
 and don my mantle ?" 
 
 " Umph, sweetheart, well proposed," said 
 the armourer ; hut the Monk interfered, raising 
 at the same time, the finger of interdiction. 
 
 " The Chapel of Holy St Madox is no tyring 
 room for vile jugglers and strollers to shift 
 their trappings in. I will presently show thee 
 a vestiary more suited to thy condition." 
 
 The poor young woman hung down her 
 humbled head, and turned from the chapel 
 door which she had approached, with the deep 
 sense of self-abasement. Her little spaniel 
 seemed to gather from his mistress's looks and 
 manner, that they were unauthorized intruders 
 on the holy ground which they trode, and hung 
 his ears, and swept the pavement with his tail, 
 as he trotted slowly and close to Louise's 
 heels. 
 
 The Monk moved on without a pause. They 
 descended a broad flight of steps, and proceed- 
 ed through a labyrinth of subterranean pas-
 
 ;i04 
 
 sages, dimly lighted. As they passed a low- 
 arched door, the Monk turned, and said to 
 Louise, with the same stern voice as before, — 
 " There, daughter of folly, there is a robing- 
 room, where many before you have deposited 
 their vestments !" 
 
 Obeying the least signal with ready and ti- 
 morous acquiescence, she pushed the door open, 
 but instantly recoiled with terror. It was a 
 charnel-house, half filled with dry skulls and 
 bones. 
 
 " I fear to change my dress there, and alone 
 — But if you, father, command it, be it as you 
 will." 
 
 M Why, thou child of vanity, the remains on 
 which thou lookest are but the earthly attire of 
 those who, in their day, led or followed in the 
 pursuit of worldly pleasure. And such shalt 
 thou be, for all thy mincing and ambling, thy 
 piping and thy harping ; thou, and all such mi- 
 nisters of frivolous and worldly pleasure, must 
 become like these poor bones, whom thy idle 
 nicety fears and loaths to look upon." 
 12
 
 •'* Say not with idle nicety, reverend fa- 
 ther," answered the glee-maiden, " for Heaven 
 knows, I covet the repose of these poor bleach- 
 ed relics ; and if by stretching my body upon 
 them, I could, without sin, bring my state to 
 theirs, I would choose that charnel heap for my 
 place of rest, beyond the fairest and softest 
 couch in Scotland." 
 
 " Be patient, and come on," said the Monk, in 
 a milder tone ; " the reaper must not leave the 
 harvest-work till the sunset gives the signal." 
 
 They walked forward. Brother Cyprian, at 
 the end of a long gallery, opened the door of a 
 small apartment, or perhaps a chapel, for it was 
 decorated with a crucifix, before which burned 
 four lamps. All bent and crossed themselves ; 
 and the priest said to the minstrel maiden, point- 
 ing to the crucifix, " What says that emblem ?" 
 
 " That He invites the sinner as well as the 
 righteous to approach." 
 
 " Ay, if the sinner put from him his sin," 
 said the Monk, whose tone of voice was evi- 
 dently milder. " Prepare thyself here for thy 
 journey." 
 
 vol. i. V
 
 ;ii)0 
 
 Louise remained an instant or two in the cha- 
 pel, and presently reappeared in a mantle of 
 coarse grey cloth, in which she had closely muf- 
 fled herself, having put such of her more gawdy 
 habiliments as she had time to take off, in the 
 little basket which had before held her ordinary 
 attire. 
 
 The Monk presently afterwards unlocked a 
 door which led to the open air. They found 
 themselves in the garden which surrounded the 
 monastery of the Dominicans. " The southern 
 gate is on the latch, and through it you can pass 
 unnoticed," said the Monk. " Bless thee, my 
 son ; and bless thee too, unhappy child. Re- 
 membering where you put off your idle trinkets, 
 may you take care how you again resume them !" 
 
 " Alas, father !" said Louise, " if the poor 
 foreigner could supply the mere wants of life 
 by any more creditable occupation, she has 
 small wish to profess her idle art. But " 
 
 But the Monk had vanished, nay, the very 
 door through which she had just passed appear- 
 ed to have vanished also, so curiously was it 
 concealed beneath a flying buttress, and among 
 the profuse ornaments of Gothic architecture.
 
 307 
 
 " Here is a woman let out by this private pos- 
 tern, sure enough," was Henry's reflection, 
 " Pray Heaven the good fathers never let any 
 in ! The place seems convenient for such games 
 at bo-peep. — But, benedicite, what is to be done 
 next? I must get rid of this quean as fast as 1 
 can ; and I must see her safe. For let her be 
 at heart what she may, she looks too modest, 
 now she is in decent dress, to deserve the usage 
 which the wild Scot of Galloway, or the Devil's 
 legion from the Liddell, are like to afford her." 
 
 Louise stood as if she waited his pleasure 
 which way to go. Her little dog, relieved by 
 the exchange of the dark subterranean vault for 
 the open air, sprung in wild gambols through 
 the walks, and jumped upon its mistress; and 
 even, though more timidly, circled close round 
 the Smith's feet, to express its satisfaction to 
 him also, and conciliate his favour. 
 
 " Down, Chariot, down !" said the glee- 
 maiden. " You are glad to get* into the bless- 
 ed sunshine ; but where shall we rest at night, 
 my poor Chariot ?" 
 
 " And now, mistress," said the Smith, — not 
 churlishly, for it was not in his nature, but
 
 308 
 
 bluntly, as one who is desirous to finish a dis- 
 agreeable employment, — " which way lies your 
 road ?" 
 
 Louise looked on the ground, and was silent. 
 On being again urged to say which way she de- 
 sired to be conducted, she again looked down, 
 and said, she could not tell. 
 
 " Come, come," said Henry, " I understand 
 all that— I have been agalliard—a reveller in my 
 day — but it's best to be plain. As matters are 
 with me now, I am an altered man for these 
 many, many months ; and so, my quean, you 
 and I must part sooner than perhaps a light o' 
 love such as you expected to part with — a likely 
 young fellow." 
 
 Louise wept silently, with her eyes still cast 
 on the ground, as one who felt an insult which 
 she had not a right to complain of. At length, 
 perceiving that her conductor was grown im- 
 patient, she faltered out, " Noble sir — " 
 
 " Sir is for a knight," said the impatient 
 burgher, " and noble is for a baron. I am Harry 
 of the Wynd, an honest mechanic, and free of 
 my guild."
 
 309 
 
 " Good craftsman, then/' said the minstrel 
 woman, " you judge me harshly, but not with- 
 out seeming cause. I would relieve you imme- 
 diately of my company, which, it may be, brings 
 little credit to good men, did I but know which 
 way to go." 
 
 " To the next wake or fair, to be sure," said 
 Henry, roughly, having no doubt that this dis- 
 tress was affected for the purpose of palming 
 herself upon him, and perhaps dreading to 
 throw himself into the way of temptation ; " and 
 that is the feast of St Madox, at Auchterarder. 
 I warrant thou wilt find the way thither well 
 enough." 
 
 " Aftr — Auchter — " repeated the glee- maid- 
 en, her southern tongue in vain attempting the 
 Celtic accentuation. " I am told my poor lays 
 will not be understood if I go nearer to yon 
 dreadful range of mountains." 
 
 « Will you abide, then, in Perth ?" 
 
 " But where to lodge ?" said the wanderer. 
 
 " Why, where lodged you last night ?" replied 
 the Smith. " You know where you came from 
 surely, though you seem doubtful where you 
 are going ?"
 
 310 
 
 " I slept in the hospital of the Convent. 
 But I was only admitted upon great importu- 
 nity, and I was commanded not to return." 
 
 " Nay, they will never take you in with the 
 brand of the Douglas upon you, that is even 
 too true. But the Prince mentioned Sir John 
 Ramorny's — I can take you to his lodgings 
 through by-streets — though it is short of an 
 honest burgher's office, and my time presses." 
 
 " I will go anywhere — I know I am a scan- 
 dal and incumbrance. There was a time when 
 it was otherwise — But this Ramorny, who is 
 he ?" 
 
 " A courtly knight, who lives a jolly bache- 
 lor's life, and is Master of the Horse, and pri- 
 vado, as they say, to the young Prince." 
 
 " What ! to the wild, scornful young man who 
 gave occasion to yonder scandal ? — Oh, take me 
 not thither, good friend ! Is there no Christian 
 woman, who would give a poor creature rest in 
 her cow-house, or barn, for one night ? I will 
 be gone with early daybreak. I will repay her 
 richly. I have gold — and I will repay you too, 
 if you will take me where I may be safe from
 
 311 
 
 that wild reveller, and from the followers 6i 
 that dark Baron, in whose eye was death." 
 
 " Keep your gold for those who lack it, mis- 
 tress," said Henry, " and do not offer to ho- 
 nest hands the money that is won by violing, 
 and tabouring, and toe-tripping, and perhaps 
 worse pastimes. I tell you plainly, mistress, 
 I am not to be fooled. I am ready to take you 
 to any place of safety you can name, for my 
 promise is as strong as an iron shackle. But 
 you cannot persuade me that you do not know 
 what earth to make for. You are not so young 
 in your trade as not to know there are hostel- 
 ries in every town, much more in a city like 
 Perth, where such as you may be harboured 
 for your money, if you cannot find some gulls, 
 more or fewer, to pay your lawing. If you have 
 money, mistress, my care about you need be 
 the less ; and truly I see little but pretence in 
 all that excessive grief, and fear of being left 
 alone, in one of your occupation." 
 
 Having thus, as he conceived, signified that 
 he was not to be deceived by the ordinary arts 
 of a glee-maiden, Henry walked a few paces
 
 312 
 
 bturdily, endeavouring to think he was doing 
 the wisest and most prudent thing in the world. 
 Yet he could not help looking back to see how 
 Louise bore his departure, and was shocked to 
 observe that she had sunk upon a bank, with her 
 arms resting on her knees, and her head on her 
 arms, in a situation expressive of the utmost 
 desolation. 
 
 The Smith tried to harden his heart. " It is 
 all a sham," he said ; " the gouge* knows her 
 trade — I'll be sworn, by Saint Ringan." 
 
 At the instant, something pulled the skirts 
 of his cloak ; and, looking round, he saw the 
 little spaniel, who immediately, as if to plead 
 his mistress's cause, got on his hind legs and 
 began to dance, whimpering at the same time, 
 and looking back to Louise, as if to solicit com- 
 passion for his forsaken owner. 
 
 " Poor thing," said the Smith, " there may 
 be a trick in this too, for thou dost but as thou 
 art taught. — Yet, as I promised to protect this 
 
 Gouge, in old French, is almost equivalent to wench.
 
 SI 3 
 
 poor creature, I must not leave her in a swoon, 
 if it be one, were it but for manhood's sake." 
 
 Returning and approaching his troublesome 
 charge, he was at once assured, from the change 
 of her complexion, either that she was actually 
 in the deepest distress, or had a power of dis- 
 simulation beyond the comprehension of man — 
 or woman either. 
 
 " Young woman," he said, with more of 
 kindness than he had hitherto been able even to 
 assume, " I will tell you frankly how I am 
 placed. This is St Valentine's Day, and by cus- 
 tom, I was to spend it with my fair Valentine. 
 But blows and quarrels have occupied all the 
 morning, save one poor half hour. Now, you 
 may well understand where my heart and my 
 thoughts are, and where, were it only in mere 
 courtesy, my body ought to be." 
 
 The glee-maiden listened, and appeared to 
 comprehend him. 
 
 " If you are a true lover, and have to wait 
 upon a chaste Valentine, God forbid that one 
 like me should make a disturbance between 
 vou ! Think about me no more. I will ask of
 
 that great river to be my guide to where it 
 meets the ocean, where I think they said there 
 was a seaport ; I will sail from thence to La 
 Belle France, and will find myself once more in 
 a country, in which the roughest peasant would 
 not wrong the poorest female.' , 
 
 " You cannot go to Dundee to-day," said the 
 Smith. " The Douglas's people are in motion 
 on both sides of the river, for the alarm of the 
 morning has reached them ere now ; and all this 
 day, and the next, and the whole night which 
 is between, they will gather to their leader's 
 standard, like Highlandmen at the fiery cross. 
 Do you see yonder five or six men, who are 
 riding so wildly on the other side of the 
 river? These are Annandale men; I know 
 them by the length of their lances, and by the 
 way they hold them. An Annandale man never 
 slopes his spear backwards, but always keeps 
 the point upright, or pointed forward." 
 
 " And what of them?" said the glee-maiden. 
 "They are men-at-arms and soldiers — They 
 would respect me for my viol and my helpless-
 
 " I will say them no scandal," answered the 
 Smith. " If you were in their own glens, they 
 would use you hospitably, and you would have 
 nothing to fear ; but they are now on an expe- 
 dition. All is fish that comes to their net. There 
 are amongst them who would take your life for 
 the value of your gold ear-rings. Their whole 
 soul is settled in their eyes to see prey, and in 
 their hands to grasp it. They have no ears 
 either to hear lays of music, or listen to prayers 
 for mercy. Besides, their leader's order is gone 
 forth concerning you, and it is of a kind sure t6 
 be obeyed. Ay, great lords are sooner listened 
 to if they say, i Burn a church,' than if they 
 say, * Build one.' " 
 
 " Then," said the glee- worn an, " I were best 
 sit down and die." 
 
 " Do not say so," replied the Smith. " If I 
 could but get you a lodging for the night, I 
 would carry yeu the next morning to Our 
 Lady's Stairs, from whence the vessels go down 
 the river for Dundee, and would put you on 
 board with some one bound that way, who 
 should see you safely lodged where you would 
 have fair entertainment and kind usage."
 
 316 
 
 " Good— excellent — generous man!" said the 
 glee-maiden, " do this, and if the prayers and 
 blessings of a poor unfortunate should ever reach 
 Heaven, they will rise thither in thy behalf. We 
 will meet at yonder postern door, at whatever 
 time the boats take their departure." 
 
 " That is at six in the morning, when the 
 day is but young." 
 
 " Away with you, then, to your Valentine ; 
 — and if she loves you, oh, deceive her not !" 
 
 " Alas, poor damsel ! I fear it is deceit hath 
 brought thee to this pass. But I must not leave 
 you thus unprovided. I must know where you 
 are to pass the night." 
 
 " Care not for that," replied Louise — " the 
 heavens are clear — there are bushes and boskets 
 enough by the river side ; Chariot and I can 
 well make a sleeping room of a green arbour for 
 one night ; and to-morrow will, with your pro- 
 mised aid, see me out of reach of injury and 
 wrong. Oh, the night soon passes away when 
 there is hope for to-morrow ! — Do you still lin- 
 ger, with your Valentine waiting for you ? Nay, 
 I shall hold you but a loitering lover, and you 
 know what belongs to a minstrel's reproaches."
 
 317 
 
 " I cannot leave you, damsel," answered the 
 armourer, now completely melted. " It were 
 mere murder to suffer you to pass the night ex- 
 posed to the keenness of a Scottish night in Fe- 
 bruary. No, no — my word would be ill kept in 
 this manner ; and if I should incur some risk of 
 blame, it is but just penance for thinking of thee, 
 and using thee, more according to my own pre- 
 judices, as I now well believe, than thy merits. 
 Come with me, damsel — thou shalt have a sure 
 and honest lodging for the night, whatsoever 
 may be the consequence. It would be an evil 
 compliment to my Catharine, were I to leave a 
 poor creature to be starved to death, that I might 
 enjoy her company an hour sooner." 
 
 So saying, and hardening himself against 
 all anticipations of the ill consequences or 
 scandal which might arise from such a mea- 
 sure, the manly-hearted Smith resolved to set 
 evil report at defiance, and give the wanderer a 
 night's refuge in his own house. It must be 
 added, that he did this with extreme reluctance, 
 and in a sort of enthusiasm of benevolence. 
 
 Ere our stout son of Vulcan had fixed his
 
 sis 
 
 worship on the Fair Maid of Perth, a certain 
 wildness of disposition had placed him under 
 the influence of Venus, as well as that of Mars ; 
 and it was only the effect of a sincere attach- 
 ment which had withdrawn him entirely from 
 such licentious pleasures. He was therefore 
 justly jealous of his newly-acquired reputation 
 for constancy, which his conduct to this poor 
 wanderer must expose to suspicion— a little 
 doubtful, perhaps, of exposing himself too ven- 
 turously to temptation — and moreover in de- 
 spair to lose so much of St Valentine's Day, 
 which custom not only permitted, but enjoined 
 him to pass beside his mate for the season. The 
 journey to Kinfauns, and the various transac- 
 tions which followed, had consumed the day, 
 and it was now nearly even-song time. 
 
 As if to make up by a speedy pace for the 
 time he was compelled to waste upon a subject 
 so foreign to that which he had most at heart, 
 he strode on through the Dominican's gardens, 
 entered the town, and casting his cloak around 
 the lower part of his face, and pulling down his 
 bonnet to conceal the upper, he continued the
 
 319 
 
 same celerity of movement through by-streets 
 and lanes, hoping to reach his own house in the 
 Wynd without being observed. But when he had 
 continued his rate of walking for ten minutes, he 
 began to be sensible it might be too rapid for 
 the young woman to keep up with him. He 
 accordingly looked behind him with a degree of 
 angry impatience, which soon turned into com- 
 punction, when he saw that she was almost 
 utterly exhausted by the speed which she had 
 exerted. 
 
 " Now, marry, hang me up for a brute," said 
 Henry to himself. " Was my own haste ever 
 so great, could it give that poor creature wings ? 
 And she loaded with baggage too ! I am an ill- 
 nurtured beast, that is certain, wherever women 
 are in question ; and always sure to do wrong 
 when I have the best will to act right. — Hark 
 thee, damsel ; let me carry these things for thee, 
 We shall make better speed that I do so." 
 
 Poor Louise would have objected, but her 
 breath was too much exhausted to express her- 
 self; and she permitted her good-natured guard- 
 ian to take her little basket, which when the 
 n
 
 320 
 
 dog beheld, he came straight before Henry, 
 stood up, and shook his fore-paws, whining gen- 
 tly, as if he too wanted to be carried. 
 
 " Nay, then, I must needs lend thee a lift too," 
 said the Smith, who saw the creature was tired. 
 
 " Fie, Chariot !" said Louise ; " thou know- 
 est I will carry thee myself." 
 
 She endeavoured to take up the little spaniel, 
 but it escaped from her ; and going to the other 
 side of the Smith, renewed itsjsupplications that 
 he would take it up. 
 
 « Chariot's right," said the Smith ; " he 
 knows best who is ablest to bear him. This lets 
 me know, my pretty one, that you have not 
 been always the bearer of your own mail — 
 Chariot can tell tales." 
 
 So deadly a hue came across the poor glee- 
 maiden's countenance as Henry spoke, that he 
 was obliged to support her, lest she should have 
 dropped to the ground. She recovered again, 
 however, in an instant or two, and with a fee- 
 ble voice, requested her guide would go on. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Henry, as they began to 
 move, " keep hold of my cloak, or my arm, if 
 
 15
 
 :JQ1 
 
 it helps you forward better. A fair sight wo 
 are ; and had I but a rebeck or guitar at my 
 back, and a jackanapes on my shoulder, we 
 should seem as joyous a brace of strollers as ever 
 touched string at a castle gate. — 'Snails !" he 
 ejaculated internally, " were any neighbour 
 to meet me with this little harlotry's basket at 
 my back, her dog under my arm, and herself 
 hanging on my cloak, what could they think but 
 that I had turned mumper in good earnest ? I 
 would not for the best harness I ever laid ham- 
 mer on, that any of our long-tongued neigh- 
 bours met me in this guise ; it were a jest would 
 last from St Valentine's Day to next Candle- 
 mas." 
 
 Stirred by these thoughts, the Smith, aU 
 though at the risk of making much longer a 
 route which he wished to traverse as swiftly as 
 possible, took the most indirect and private 
 course which he could find in order to avoid the 
 main streets, still crowded with people, owing to 
 the late scene of tumult and agitation. But un- 
 happily his policy availed him nothing ; for in 
 turning into an alley, he met a man with his 
 
 vol, i. x
 
 322 
 
 cloak muffled around his face, from a desire like 
 his own to pass unobserved, though the slight 
 insignificant figure, the spindle-shanks, which 
 showed themselves beneath the mantle, and the 
 small dull eye that blinked over its upper folds, 
 announced the Pottingar as distinctly as if he 
 had carried his sign in front of his bonnet. His 
 unexpected and most unwelcome presence over- 
 whelmed the Smith with confusion. Ready 
 evasion was not the property of his bold, blunt 
 temper ; and knowing this man to be a curious 
 observer, a malignant tale-bearer, and by no 
 means well disposed to himself in particular, no 
 better hope occurred to him than that the wor- 
 shipful apothecary would give him some pretext 
 to silence his testimony, and secure his discre- 
 tion, by twisting his neck round. 
 
 But far from doing or saying anything which 
 could warrant such extremities, the Pottingar, 
 seeing himself so* close upon his stalwart towns- 
 man that recognition was inevitable, seemed de- 
 termined it> should be as slight as possible ; and 
 without appearing to notice anything particular 
 in the company or circumstances in which they
 
 323 
 
 met, he barely slrd out these words as he pass- 
 ed him, without even a glance towards his com- 
 panion after the first instant of their meeting, 
 — " A merry holiday to you once more, stout 
 Smith. What ! thou art bringing thy cousin, 
 pretty Mistress Joan Letham, with her mail, 
 from the water- side — fresh from Dundee, I war- 
 rant ? I heard she was expected at the old cord- 
 wainer's." 
 
 As he spoke thus, he looked neither right nor 
 left, and exchanging a " Save you !" with a sa- 
 lute of the same kind which the Smith rather 
 muttered than uttered distinctly, he glided for- 
 ward on his way like a shadow. 
 
 " The foul fiend catch me, if I can swallow 
 that pill," said Henry Smith, " how well so- 
 ever it may be gilded. The knave has a shrewd 
 eye for a kirtle, and knows a wild-duck from 
 a tame, as well as e'er a man in Perth — He 
 were the last in the Fair City to take sour 
 plums for pears, or my round-about cousin 
 Joan for this piece of fantastic vanity* I fancy 
 his bearing was as much as to say, I will not 
 see what you might wish me blind to — and he is
 
 334 
 
 light to do so, as he might easily purchase him- 
 self a broken pate by meddling with my matters 
 — and so he will be silent for his own sake. But 
 whom have we next — By St Dunstan ! the 
 chattering, bragging, cowardly knave, Oliver 
 Proudfute !" 
 
 It was, indeed, the bold Bonnet-maker whom 
 they next encountered, who, with his cap on one 
 side, and trolling the ditty of 
 
 " Thou art over long at the pot, Tom, Tom," 
 
 gave plain intimation that he had made no dry 
 meal. 
 
 " Ha ! my jolly Smith," he said, " have I 
 caught thee in the manner? — What, can the true 
 steel bend ? — Can Vulcan, as the minstrel says, 
 pay Venus back in her own coin ? — Faith, thou 
 wilt be a gay Valentine before the year's out, 
 that begins with the holiday so jollily." 
 
 " Hark ye, Oliver," said the displeased 
 Smith, " shut your eyes and pass on, crony. 
 And hark ye again, stir not your tongue about 
 what concerns you not, as you value having an 
 entire tooth in your head."
 
 325 
 
 " I betray counsel ? — I bear tales, and that 
 against my brother martialist? — I scorn it — 
 I would not tell it even to my timber Soldan ! — 
 Why, I can be a wild galliard in a corner as well 
 as thou, man — And now I think on't, I will go 
 with thee somewhere, and we will have a rouse 
 together, and thy Dalilah shall give us a song. 
 Ha ! said I not well ?" 
 
 " Excellently," said Henry, longing the whole 
 time to knock his brother martialist down, but 
 wisely taking a more peaceful way to rid him- 
 self of the incumbrance of his presence — " Ex- 
 cellently well ! — I may want thy help too — for 
 here are five or six of the Douglasses before us 
 — they will not fail to try to take the wench from 
 a poor burgher like myself, so I will be glad of 
 the assistance of a tearer such as thou art." 
 
 " I thank ye — I thank ye," answered the 
 Bonnet-maker ; " but were I not better run, 
 and cause ring the common bell, and get my 
 great sword ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay — run home as fast as you can, and 
 say nothing of what you have seen,"
 
 326 
 
 M Who, I ? — Nay, fear mc not. Pah ! I scorn 
 a tale-bearer." 
 
 " Away with you, then ; — I hear the clash of 
 armour." 
 
 This put life and mettle into the heels of the 
 Bonnet-maker, who, turning his back on the 
 supposed danger, set o-ff at a pace which the 
 Smith never doubted would speedily bring him 
 to his own house. 
 
 " Here is another chattering jay to deal 
 with," thought the Smith ; " but I have a hank 
 over him too. The minstrels have a fabliau of 
 a daw with borrowed feathers, — why, this Oliver 
 is the very bird, and, by St Dunstan, if he lets 
 his chattering tongue run on at my expense, I 
 will so pluck him as never hawk plumed a par- 
 tridge. And this he knows." 
 
 As these reflections thronged on his mind, 
 he had nearly reached the end of his journey; 
 and, with the glee-maiden still hanging on his 
 cloak, exhausted, partly with fear, partly with 
 fatigue, he at length arrived at the middle of 
 the Wynd, which was honoured with his own 
 habitation, and from which, in the uncertain-
 
 327 
 
 ty that then attended the application of sur- 
 names, he derived one of his own appellatives. 
 Here, on ordinary days, his furnace was seen 
 to blaze, and four half- stripped knaves stunned 
 the neighbourhood with the clang of hammer 
 and 6tithy. But St Valentine's holiday was an 
 excuse for these men of steel having shut the 
 shop, and for the present being absent on their 
 own errands of devotion or pleasure. The 
 house which adjoined to the smithy called Hen- 
 ry its owner ; and though it was small, and 
 situated in a narrow street, yet, as there was 
 a large garden with fruit trees behind it, it 
 constituted upon the whole a pleasant dwell- 
 ing. The Smith, instead of knocking or call- 
 ing, which would have drawn neighbours to 
 doors and windows, drew out a pass-key of his 
 own fabrication, then a great and envied curi- 
 osity, and opening the door of his house, intro- 
 duced his companion into his habitation. 
 
 The apartment which received Henry and 
 the glee-maiden was the kitchen, which served 
 amongst. those of the Smith's station for the fa- 
 mily bitting-ioom, although one or two indivi°
 
 828 
 
 duals, like Simon Glover, had an eating-room 
 apart from that in which their victuals were 
 prepared. In the corner of this apartment, 
 which was arranged with an unusual attention 
 to cleanliness, sat an old woman, whose neat- 
 ness of attire, and the precision with which her 
 scarlet plaid was drawn over her head, so as to 
 descend to her shoulders on each side, might 
 have indicated a higher rank than that of Luckie 
 Shoolbred, the Smith's housekeeper. Yet such 
 and no other was her designation ; and not 
 having attended mass in the morning, she was 
 quietly reposing herself by the side of the fire, 
 her beads, half told, hanging over her left arm ; 
 her prayers, half said, loitering upon her tongue ; 
 her eyes, half closed, resigning themselves to 
 slumber, while she expected the return of her 
 foster-son, without being able to guess at what 
 hour it was likely to happen. She started up 
 at the sound of his entrance, and bent her eye 
 upon his companion, at first with a look of the 
 utmost surprise, which gradually was exchanged 
 for one expressive of great displeasure.
 
 " Now the Saints bless mine eye-sight, Henry 
 Smith ! — " she exclaimed, very devoutly. 
 
 " Amen, with all my heart. Get some food 
 ready presently, good nurse, for I fear me this 
 traveller hath dined but lightly." 
 
 M And again I pray that Our Lady would 
 preserve my eyesight from the wicked delusions 
 of Satan !" 
 
 " So be it, I tell you, good woman. But what 
 is the use of all this pattering and prayering ? 
 Do you not hear me ? or will you not do as I 
 bid you ?" 
 
 " It must be himself, then, whatever is of it ! 
 But oh ! it is more like the foul Fiend in his 
 likeness, to have such a baggage hanging upon 
 his cloak. — O Harry Smith, men called you a 
 wild lad for less things ! But who would ever 
 have thought that Harry would have brought a 
 light leman under the roof that sheltered his 
 worthy mother, and where his own nurse has 
 dwelt for thirty years !" 
 
 " Hold your peace, old woman, and be rea- 
 beiiiible," said the Smith, " This glee-woman
 
 is no leman of mine, nor of tiny other person 
 that I know of; but she is going off for Dun- 
 dee to-morrow by the boats, and we must give 
 her quarters till then.'* 
 
 " Quarters !" said tlie old woman. " You 
 may give quarters to such cattle if you like it 
 yourself, Harry Wynd ; but the 6ame house 
 shall not quarter that trumpery quean and me, 
 and of that you may assure yourself." 
 
 "Your mother is angry with me," said Louise, 
 misconstruing the connexion of the parties. 
 " I will not remain to give her any offence. If 
 there is a stable or a cowhouse, an empty stall 
 will be bed enough for Chariot and me." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; I am thinking it is the quarters you 
 arc best used to," said Dame Shoolbred. 
 
 " Hark ye, Nurse Shoolbred," said the Smith. 
 " You know I love you for your own sake, and 
 lor my mothers ; but by St Dunstan, who was 
 a saint of my own craft, I will have the com- 
 mand of my own house ; and if you leave me 
 without any better reason but your own non- 
 sensical suspicions, you must think how you 
 will have the door open to you when you re-
 
 331 
 
 turn ; for you shall have no help of mine, I pro- 
 mise you.'* 
 
 " Avveel, my bairn, and that will never make 
 me risk the honest name I have kept for sixty 
 years. It was never your mother's custom, and 
 it shall never be mine, to take up with ranters, 
 and jugglers, and singing women ; and I am not 
 so far to seek for a dwelling, that the same roof 
 should cover me and a tramping princess like 
 that." 
 
 With this the refractory gouvernante began 
 in great hurry to adjust her tartan mantle for 
 going abroad, by pulling it so far forwards as 
 to conceal the white linen cap, the edges of 
 which bordered her shrivelled but still fresh 
 and healthful countenance. This done, she sei- 
 zed upon a staff, the trusty companion of her 
 journeys, and was fairly trudging towards the 
 door, when the Smith stepped between her and 
 the passage. 
 
 " Wait at least, old woman, till we have 
 cleared scores. I owe you for fee and boun- 
 tith." 
 
 " An' that's e'en a dream of your own fool's
 
 332 
 
 head. What feo or bountith am I to take from 
 the son of your mother, that fed, clad, and 
 bielded me as if I had been a sister ?" 
 
 " And well you repay it, nurse, leaving her 
 only child at his utmost need/' 
 
 This seemed to strike the obstinate old wo- 
 man with compunction. She stopped and looked 
 at her master and the minstrel alternately ; then 
 shook her head, and seemed about to resume her 
 motion towards the door. 
 
 " I only receive this poor wanderer under 
 my roof," urged the Smith, " to save her from 
 the prison and the scourge." 
 
 " And why should you save her ?" said the 
 inexorable Dame Shoolbred. " I dare say she 
 has deserved them both as well as ever thief 
 deserved a hempen collar." 
 
 u For aught I know she may, or she may not. 
 But she cannot deserve to be scourged to death, 
 or imprisoned till she is starved to death ; and 
 that is the lot of them that the Black Douglas 
 bears maltalent against." 
 
 " And you are going to thraw the Black 
 Douglas, for the sake of a glee- woman ? Thh
 
 will be the worst of your feuds yet, — Oh, Hen- 
 ry Gow, there is as much iron in your head as 
 in your anvil !" 
 
 " I bave sometimes thought this myself, Mis- 
 tress Shoolbred ; but if I do get a cut or two on 
 this new argument, I wonder who is to cure 
 them, if you run away from me like a scared 
 wild-goose ? Ay, and moreover, who is to receive 
 my bonny bride, that I hope to bring up the 
 Wynd one of these days ?" 
 
 " Ah, Harry, Harry," said the old woman, 
 shaking her head, " this is not the way to pre- 
 pare an honest man's house for a young bride 
 — you should be guided by modesty and dis- 
 cretion, and not by chambering and wanton- 
 ness." 
 
 " I tell you again, this poor creature is no- 
 thing to me. I wish her only to be safely taken 
 care of; and I think the boldest Borderman in 
 Perth will respect the bar of my door as much 
 as the gate of Carlisle Castle. — I am going down 
 to Sim Glover's — I may stay there all night, for 
 the Highland cub is run back to the hills, like 
 a wolf- whelp as he is, and so there is a bed to
 
 334 
 
 spare, and father Simon will make me welcome 
 to the use of it. You will remain with this 
 poor creature, feed her, and protect her during 
 the night, and I will call on her before day ; and 
 thou mayst go with her to the boat thyself an 
 thou wilt, and so thou wilt set the last eyes on 
 her at the same time I shall," 
 
 " There is some reason in that," said Dame 
 Shoolbred ; " though why you should put your 
 reputation in risk for a creature that would find 
 a lodging for a silver twopence and less mat- 
 ter, is a mystery to me." 
 
 " Trust me with that, old woman, and be 
 kind to the girl." 
 
 " Kinder than she deserves, I warrant you ; 
 and truly, though I little like the company of 
 such cattle, yet I think I am less like to take 
 harm from her than you — unless she be a witch, 
 indeed, which may well come to be the case, as 
 the devil is very powerful with all this wayfa- 
 ring clanjamfray." 
 
 " No more a witch than I am a warlock," 
 said the honest Smith ; " a poor broken-heart- 
 ed thing, that, if she hath done evil, has dreed a
 
 335 
 
 sore weird for it. Be kind to her — And yon, 
 my musical damsel — I will call on you to-mor= 
 row morning, and carry you to the water-side, 
 This old woman will treat you kindly, if you 
 say nothing to her but what becomes honest 
 cars," 
 
 The poor minstrel had listened to this dia- 
 logue, without understanding more than its 
 general tendency ; for, though she spoke Eng- 
 lish well, she had acquired the language in 
 England itself, and the northern dialect was 
 then, as now, of a broader and harsher charac- 
 ter. She saw, however, that she was to remain 
 with the old lady, and meekly folding her arms 
 on her bosom, bent her head with humility. She 
 next looked towards the Smith with a strong ex- 
 pression of thankfulness, then raising her eyes to 
 heaven, took his passive hand, and seemed about 
 to kiss the sinewy fingers, in token of deep and 
 affectionate gratitude. But Dame Shoolbred 
 did not give license to the stranger's mode of 
 expressing her feelings. She thrust in between 
 them, and pushing poor Louise aside, said, 
 
 u No, no, I'll have none of that work, Go into 
 10
 
 336 
 
 the cliimney nook, mistress, and when Harry 
 Smith's gone, if you must have hands to kiss, 
 you shall kiss mine as long as you like. — And 
 you, Harry, away down to Sim Glover's, for if 
 pretty Mistress Catharine hears of the company 
 you have brought home, she may chance to 
 like them as little as I do. — What's the matter 
 now ? — is the man demented ? — are you going 
 out without your buckler, and the whole town 
 in misrule ?" 
 
 " You are right, dame," said the armourer ; 
 and throwing the buckler over his broad shoul- 
 ders, he departed from his house without nhl- 
 ding farther question. 
 
 F.ND OF VOT.VME FTRST 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 FBIWYES BY BaT.T.AVTYXE AND COi

 
 
 
 
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