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 WILSON'S 
 
 TALES OF THE BORDERS, 
 
 AND OF SCOTLAND.
 
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 WILSON'S 
 
 TALES OF THE BORDERS 
 
 AND OF SCOTLAND: 
 
 l^istoticnl, SratKitionnrij, anb jlmaafnatibc. 
 
 WITH A GLOSSARY. 
 
 ALEXANDER LEIGH TON, 
 
 ONE OF THE ORIGINAL EDITORS AND CONTKIBUTOKS. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 EDINBURniT: 
 WILLIAM P. NIMMO.

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 Thb Vacast Ciiaik {John Mackay Wilson), 1 
 
 The Faa's RE^^;^•GE (John Machay Wilson), 18 
 
 Kate Kennedy (Alexander Leighton), 50 
 
 Recollections of Ferguson (Hugh Miller), 83 
 
 The Disasters of Johnny As.-iisn:Royi(i ...(Alexander Campbell), 128 
 
 The Professor's Tales {Professor Thomas Gillespie)— 
 
 The Mountain Storm ^^^ 
 
 The Fair Maid of Cellardykes 172 
 
 Prescription; or itie 29th of September (Alexander Leighton'), 193 
 
 The Countess of Wistonbury (Alexander CampheU), 225 
 
 MiDsiDE Maggy ; or, The Bannock o' Tollishill (J. 31. Wilson), 257
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 This series of Tales, now so well kno^vn in this country 
 and also in America, was begun by John Mackay Wilson, 
 originally a printer, and who subsequently betook himself 
 to literature. In the beginning of the undertaldng he was 
 inspired by a success probably greater than he had ever 
 anticipated, and a sudden and wide-spread reputation 
 induced him to overtask his energies, in a manner incon- 
 sistent -with the care due to a delicate constitution. After 
 having carried on the work, almost single-handed, for a 
 period of more than a year — furnishing a tale every week — 
 he took ill, and died. Subsequently, the charge of con- 
 ducting the work devolved upon the present Editor, who was 
 fortunate enough to secure the assistance of certain -writers 
 well qualified to sustain the reputation which the first part 
 of the series had acquired. Among these were the late 
 Hugh Miller, the late Professor Thomas Gillespie of St. 
 Andrew's, Alexander Campbell, Alexander and John 
 Bethune, and John Howell, all of whom possessed those 
 natural gifts, enabhng them to succeed in a species of 
 literature which, while in one sense it may be called the 
 most easy, is, in another, perhaps among the most diillcult 
 of any.
 
 n PREFACK. 
 
 The only condition by which the natural promptings of 
 their genius might have been restrained was, that the 
 contributions should be genxiine stories, not the ordinary 
 mixture of narrative, didactic essay, and fanciful prolusion, 
 but tales in the proper every-day sense, with such an 
 objectiveness as would portray, graphically and natui-ally, 
 the men and women of the times, acting on the stage 
 where they were destined to perform their strange parts, 
 and would exclude all false colourings of a sentimental 
 fiction, belonging to mere subjective moods of the writer's 
 fancy or feeling. The greatest care was also taken 
 with the moral aspect of the Tales, with the view that 
 parents and guardians might feel a confidence that, in 
 committing them into the hands of their children and 
 wards, they would be imparting the means of instruction, 
 and at the same time securing a guarantee for the growth 
 of moral convictions. By such means, the Tales were 
 kept true to history, legend, morality, and man's nature, 
 and, at the same time, made acceptable to the great class 
 of readers who had declared their predilection in favour 
 of the manner of the early examples. 
 
 The Tales in this series have been carefully selected and 
 revised; and the reader will be pleased to be informed 
 that, in the course of the publication, there will, for the 
 purpose of imparting to it a fresh interest, be inserted 
 New Tales, written by authors deemed capable of attain- 
 ing the mark of the Orginal Series. 
 
 York Louoe, Tkinitt, 
 March, 1857.
 
 WILSON'S 
 TALES OF THE BORDERS, 
 
 AND OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 THE VACANT CHAIR.* 
 
 You have all lieard of the Cheviot mountains. They are 
 a rongh, rugged, majestic chain of hills, Avhich a poet 
 might term the Eoman Avail of nature; crowned with snow, 
 belted with storms, siirrounded by pastures and fruitfid 
 fields, and still dividing the northern portion of Great 
 Britain from the southern. AYith their proud summits 
 piercing the clouds, and their dark rocky decUvities fro^vn- 
 ing upon the glens below, they appear symbolical of the 
 wild and imtamable spirits of the Borderers who once in- 
 habited their sides. "SVe say, you have all heard of the 
 Cheviots, and know them to be very high hills, like a huge 
 clasp riveting England and Scotland together ; but we are 
 not aware that you may have heard of Llarchlaw, an old, 
 gray-looking farm-house, substantial as a modern fortress, 
 recently, and, for aught we know to the contrary, still in- 
 habited by Peter Elliot, the proprietor of some five hundred 
 surrounding acres. The boundaries of Peter's farm, indeed, 
 were defined neither by fields, hedges, nor stone walls. A 
 wooden stake here, and a stone there, at considerable dis- 
 tances from each other, were the general landmarks ; but 
 neither Peter nor his neighbours considered a few acres 
 
 * Our commencement with " The Vacant Chair' — the first written of the T&Ies 
 of the Hordcrs— is not inconsistent with our principle of selection in this edition, 
 which is to distribute the contributions of the authors, so as to secure variety 
 Without any view to an early exhaustion of the best of the Tales.— iTJ. 
 
 Vol. I. A.
 
 2 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 •worth quarrelling about ; and tlieir slieep frequently 
 visited eacli other's pastures in a friendly way, harmoniously 
 sharing a family dinner, in the same spirit as their masters 
 made themselves free at each other's tables. 
 
 Peter -was placed in very unpleasant circumstances, owing 
 to the situation of jNIarchlaAV House, -which, unfortunately, 
 was built immediately across the " ideal line," dividing the 
 two kingdoms ; and his misfortune was, that, being born 
 within it, he knew not whether he was an Englishman or a 
 Scotchman. lie could trace his ancestral hue no farther 
 back than his great-grandfather, who, it appeared from the 
 family Bible, had, together with his grandfather and father, 
 claimed IMarchlaw as their birth-place. They, however, 
 were not involved in the same perplexities as their descen- 
 dant. The parlour was distinctly acknowledged to be in 
 Scotland, and two-thirds of the kitchen were as certainly 
 allowed to be in England : his three ancestors were born 
 in the room over the parlour, and, therefore, were Scotch- 
 men beyond question ; but Peter, xmluckily, being brought 
 into the world before the death of his grandfather, liis 
 parents occupied a room immediately over the debatable 
 boundary line which crossed the Idtchen. The room, 
 though scarcely eight feet square, was evidently situated 
 between the two countries ; but, no one being able to 
 ascertain what portion belonged to each, Peter, after many 
 arguments a)id altercations upon the subject, was driven to 
 the disagreeable alternative of confessing he knew not what 
 coimtryman he was. AVliat rendered the confession the 
 more painful was, that it was Peter's highest ambition to 
 be thought a Scotchman. AU his arable land lay on the 
 Scotch side ; his mother was collaterally related to the 
 Stuarts ; and few families were more ancient or respectable 
 than the Elliots. Peter's speech, indeed, bewrayed him to 
 be a walking partition between the two kingdoms, a living 
 representation of the Union ; for in one word lio pronounced
 
 THE VACANT CUAIR. 3 
 
 the letter r witli the broad, masculine sound of the North 
 Briton, and in the next Avith the liquid liar of the Nor- 
 thumbrians. 
 
 Peter, or, if you prefer it, Peter Elliot, Esquire of March- 
 law, in the counties of Northumberland and Roxburgh, 
 ■was, for many years, the best runner, leaper, and -wrestler 
 betAveen Wooler and Jedbiu'gh. Whirled from his hand, 
 the ponderous bullet -whizzed through the air like a pigeon 
 on the -wing ; and the best putter on the Borders quailed 
 from competition. As a feather in his grasp, he seized the 
 un-s\'ieldy hammer, swept it roimd and roimd his head, ac- 
 companying with agile limb its evolutions, swiftly as swal- 
 lows play around a circle, and hm-led it from his hands like 
 a shot from a rifle, till antagonists shrunk back, and the 
 spectators burst into a shout. " "Well done. Squire ! the 
 Squire for ever !" once exclaimed a ser-vdle observer of titles. 
 " Squire ! wha are ye sqim-ing at ?" rctvu-ned Peter. 
 " Confound ye ! where Avas ye Avhen I Avas christened 
 Squire ? My name's Peter Elliot — your man, or onybody's 
 man, at Avhatever they like !" 
 
 Peter's soul Avas free, bounding, and buoyant, as the Avind 
 that carolled in a zephyr, or shouted in a hurricane, upon 
 his native hills ; and his body Avas thii'tecn stone of healthy 
 substantial flesh, steeped in the spirits of life. lie had been 
 long married, but marriage had Avrought no change upon 
 him. They who suppose that Avedlock transforms the lark 
 into an oAvl, offer an insult to the lovely beings Avho, 
 brightening our darkest hours Avith the smiles of affection, 
 teach us that that only is imbecoming in the husband 
 Avhich is disgraceful in the man. Nearly twenty years 
 had passed over thom ; but Janet Avas still as kind, and, in 
 his eyes, as beautiful as Avhen, bestoAving on him her hand, 
 she blushed her voavs at the altar ; and he Avas still as 
 happy, as generous, and as free. Nine fair children sat 
 around their domestic hearth, and one, the yoiuigling of
 
 4 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 tlie flock, smiled tipon its mother's knee. Peter liad nevef 
 kno'wn sorrow ; he was blest in his wife, in his children, in 
 his flocks. He had become richer than his fothers. lie 
 was beloved by his neighbours, the tillers of his ground, 
 and his herdsmen ; yea, no man envied his prosperity. 
 But a blight passed over the harvest of his joys, and gall 
 was rained into the cup of his felicity. 
 
 It was Christmas-day, and a more melancholy-looking 
 sun never rose on the 25th of December. One vast, sable 
 cloud, like a universal pall, overspread the heavens. For 
 weeks, the ground had been covered Avith clear, dazzling 
 snow ; and as, throughout the day, the rain continued its 
 unwearied and monotonous drizzle, the earth assumed a 
 character and appearance melancholy and troubled as the 
 heavens. Like a mastiff that has lost its owner, the Avind 
 howled dolefidly down the glens, and was re-echoed from 
 the caves of the mountains, as the lamentations of a legion 
 of invisible spirits. The frowning, snow-clad precipices 
 Avere instinct Avith motion, as avalanche upon avalanche, 
 the larger burying the less, croAvded doAvuAvard in their 
 tremendous journey to the plain. The simple mountain 
 rills had assumed the majesty of rivers; the broader streams 
 Avere swollen into the A\'ild torrent, and, gushing forth as 
 cataracts, in fury and in foam, enveloped the valleys in an 
 angry flood. But, at Marchlaw, the lire blazed blithely ; 
 the kitchen groaned beneath the load of preparations for a 
 joyful feast ; and glad faces glided from room to room. 
 
 Peter Elliot kept Christmas, not so much because it Avas 
 Christmas, as in honour of its being the birthday of Thomas, 
 liis first-born, Avho, that day, entered his nineteenth year. 
 "With a father's Ioa'C, his heart yearned for all his children ; 
 but Thomas Avas the pride of his eyes. Cards of apology 
 liad not then found their way among our Border hills ; and 
 as all kncAV that, although Peter admitted no spirits within 
 his t?»rcshold, nor a drunkard at lils table, he Avas, never-
 
 THE VACANT CHAIR. 5 
 
 tlielcss, no niggard In Tiis hospitality, lils invitations were 
 accepted without ceremony. The guests were assembled ; 
 and the kitchen being the only apartment in the building 
 large enough to contain them, the cloth was spread upon a 
 long, clear, oaken table, stretching from England into Scot- 
 laud. On the Enghsh end of the board were placed a 
 ponderous plum-pudding, studded with temptation, and a 
 smoking sirloin ; on Scotland, a savoury and well-seasoned 
 haggis, with a sheep's-head and trotters; while the inter- 
 mediate space was filled with the good things of this Hfe, 
 common to both kingdoms and to the season. 
 
 The guests from the north and from the south were 
 arranged promiscuously. Every seat w{.s filled— save one. 
 The chair by Peter's right hand remained imocciipied. He 
 had raised his hands before his eyes, and besought a bless- 
 ing on what was placed before them, and was preparing to 
 carve for his visitors, when his eyes fell upon the vacant 
 chair. The knife dropped upon the table. Anxiety flashed 
 across his countenance, like an arrow from an unseen hand. 
 
 " Janet, where is Thomas ?" he inquired ; " hae nane o' 
 ye seen him ?" and, -wdthout waiting an answer, he con- 
 tinued — " How is it possible he can be absent at a time 
 like this ? And on such a day, too ? Excuse me a minute, 
 friends, till I just step out and see if I can find him. Since 
 ever I kept this day, as mony o' ye ken, he has always 
 been at my right hand, in that very chair ; and I cauna 
 think o' beginning our dinner while I see it empt}'." 
 
 "If the fiUing of the chair be all," said a pert young 
 sheep-farmer, named Johnson, " I will step into it till 
 blaster Thomas arrive." 
 
 " Yc're not a falther, young man," said Peter, and walked 
 out of the room. 
 
 Minute succeeded minute, but Peter returned not. Tlie 
 guests became hungry, peevish, and gloomy, Avliilo an ex- 
 cellent dinner continued spoiling before them, Mrs. Elliot,
 
 6 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 whose good-nature was tlie most prominent feature in her 
 character, strove, by every possible effort, to beguile the 
 unpleasant impressions she pei'ceived gathering ixpon their 
 countenances. 
 
 " Peter is just as bad as him," she remarked, " to hae 
 gane to seek him when he kenned the dinner wouldna keep. 
 And I'm sure Thomas kenned it would be ready at one 
 *'clock to a minute. It's sae unthinking and unfriendly 
 like to keep folk waiting." And, endeavouring to smile 
 upon a beautiful black-haired girl of ssventeen, who sat by 
 her elbow, she continued in an anxious whisper — " Did ye 
 see naething o' him, EUzabeth, hinny ?" 
 
 The maiden blushed deeply ; the question evidently gave 
 freedom to a tear, which had, for some time, been an un- 
 wiUing prisoner in the brightest eyes in the room ; and the 
 monosyllable, " No," that trembled from her lips, was 
 audible only to the ear of the inquirer. In vain ^Irs. Elliot 
 despatched one of her children after another, in quest of 
 their father and brother ; they came and went, but brought 
 no tidings more cheering than the moaning of the hollow 
 wind. ^Minutes rolled into hours, yet neither came. She 
 perceived the prouder of her guests preparing to -withdraw, 
 and, observing that "Thomas's absence Avas so singiilar 
 and unaccoimtable, and so unlike either him or his father, 
 she didna ken what apology to make to her friends for such 
 treatment ; but it was needless Avaiting, and begged they 
 would use no ceremony, but just begin." 
 
 No second invitation was necessary. Good humour ap- 
 peared to be restored, and sirloins, pies, pasties, and moor- 
 fowl began to disappear like the lost son. For a moment, 
 ^^rs. Elliot apparently partook in the restoration of cheer- 
 ful ness ; but a low sigh at her elbow again drove the colour 
 from her rosy checks. Her eye wandered to the farther 
 end of the table, and rested on the unoccupied seat of her 
 husband, and the vacant chair of her first-born. Her heart
 
 THE VAdNT CHAIR. 7 
 
 fell lieaAolj witliin her ; all the mother gushed into her 
 bosom ; and, rismg from the table, " "What in the wcrld 
 can be the meaning o' this?"' said she, as she hurried, Avith 
 a troubled countenance, towards the door. Her husband 
 met her on the threshold. 
 
 "Where hae ye been, Peter?" said she, eagerly ; " hae 
 ye seen naething o' him ?" 
 
 "Naething ! naething !" replied he ; " is he no cast up 
 yet ?" And, with a melancholy glance, Ids eyes sought an 
 answer in the deserted chair. His lips quivered, his tongue 
 foltered. 
 
 " Gude forgie me !" said he ; " and such a day for even 
 an enemy to be out in ! I've been up and doim every way 
 that I can think on, but not a living creature has seen or 
 heard teU o' him. Ye'U excuse me, neebors," he added, 
 leaving the house ; " I must awa again, for I canna rest." 
 
 " I ken by mysel', friends," said Adam Bell, a decent- 
 looking Northumbrian, " that a faither's heart is as sensi- 
 tive as the apple o' his e'e ; and I think we would show a 
 want o' natural sjinpathy and respect for oiir worthy neigh- 
 bour, if we didna every one get his foot into the stirrup 
 without loss o' time, and assist him in his search. For, in 
 my rough, coimtry way o' thinking, it must be something 
 particularly out o' the common that would tempt Thomas 
 to be amissing. Indeed, I needna say tempt, for there could 
 be no inclination in the way. And our hills," he concluded, 
 in a lower tone, " are not ower chancy in other respects, 
 besides the breaking up o' the storm." 
 
 "Oh!" said Mrs. EUiot, ^^Tinging her hands, "I have 
 -lad the coming o' this about me for days and days. IMy 
 head was growing dizzy with happiness, but thoughts came 
 ctcaling upon me like ghosts, and I felt a lonely soughing 
 about my heart, Avithout being able to tell the cause ; but 
 the cause is come at last ! And my dear Thomas — the very 
 pride and staff o' my life — is lost 1 — lost to me for ever !"
 
 8 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " I ken, Mrs. Elliot," replied the Northumbrian, " it is 
 an easy matter to say compose yourself, for them that dinna 
 ken what it is to feel. But, at the same time, in our plain, 
 country way o' thinking, we are always ready to believe 
 the worst. I've often heard my father say, and I've as 
 often remarked it myself, that, before anything happens to 
 a body, there is a something comes ower them, like a cloud 
 before the face o' the sun ; a sort o' dumb whispering 
 about the breast from the other world. And though I 
 trust there is naething o' the kind in your case, yet, as you 
 observe, when I find myself growing dizzy, as it were, with 
 happiness, it makes good a saying o' my mother's, poor 
 body! 'Bairns, bairns,' she used to say, 'there is ower 
 muckle singing in your heads to-night ; we will have a 
 shower before bedtime.' And I never, in my born days, 
 saw it fail." 
 
 At any other period, Mr. Bell's dissertation on presenti- 
 ments would have been found a fitting text on which to 
 hang all the dreams, A\Taiths, warnings, and marvellous 
 ch'cumstances, tliat had been handed down to the com- 
 pany from the days of their grandfathers; but, in the 
 present instance, they were too much occupied in con- 
 Eidtation regarding the different routes to be taken in their 
 searcli. 
 
 Twelve horsemen, and some half-dozen pedestrians, were 
 seen hurrying in divers directions from Marchlaw, as the 
 last faint lights of a melancholy day were yielding to the 
 lieavy darkness which appeared pressing in solid masses 
 down the sides of the mountains. The wives and daugh- 
 ters of tlic party were alone loft with the disconsolate 
 mother, who altern.^tely pressed her weeping children to 
 her heart, and told tliem to weep not, for their brother 
 would soon return ; while the tears stole down her own 
 checks, and the infant in her arms wept because its mother 
 wept. Iler friends strove with each other to inspire hope,
 
 THE VACANT CHAUl. 9 
 
 and poui'ed upon her ear their mingled and loquacious 
 consolation. But one remained silent. The daucrhter ol 
 Adam Bell, who sat by Mrs. Elliot's elbow at table, had 
 shrimk into an obscure corner of the room. Before her 
 face she held a handkerchief wet with tears. Her bosom 
 throbbed convulsively; and, as occasionally her broken 
 sighs burst from their prison-house, a significant whisper 
 passed among the younger part of the company. 
 
 Mrs. Elliot approached her, and taking her hand ten- 
 derly within both of hers — " hinny ! hinny ! " said she, 
 " yer sighs gae through my heart like a knife ! An' Avhat 
 can I do to comfort ye ? Come, Elizabeth, my bonny love, 
 let us hope for the best. Ye see before ye a sorrowin' 
 mother! — a mother that fondly hoped to see you an' — I 
 canna say it ! — an' am ill qualified to gie comfort, when my 
 own heart is like a furnace ! But, oh ! let us try and 
 remember the blessed portion, ' Wliom the Lord loveth 
 He chasteneth,' an' inwardly pray for strength to say, ' His 
 will be done ! ' " 
 
 Time stole on towards midnight, and one by one the 
 unsuccessful party returned. As foot after foot ap- 
 proached, every breath was held to listen. " No, no, no ! " 
 Vried the mother again and again, \\'ith increasing anguish, 
 *' it's no the foot o' my ain bairn ; " while her keen gaze 
 still remained riveted upon the door, and Avas not with- 
 dra^^m, nor the hope of despair relinquished, till the indi- 
 vidual entered, and, with a silent and ominous shake of 
 his head, betokened his fruitless efforts. The clock had 
 struck twelve ; all Averc returned save the father. The 
 wind howled more wildly ; the rain poured iipon the 
 windows in ceaseless torrents ; and the roaring of the 
 mountain rivers gave a character of deeper ghostllness to 
 their sepiilchral silence ; for they sat, each wrapt in fore- 
 bodings, listening to the storm; and no soimds were heard, 
 save the groans of the mother, the weeping of her children,
 
 10 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 and tlie bitter and broken sobs of the bereaved maiden, 
 ■\vlio leaned her head upon her father's bosom, refusing to 
 be comforted. 
 
 At length the barking of the farm-dog announced foot- 
 steps at a distance. Every ear was raised to hsten, every 
 eye turned to the door; but, before the tread was yet audi- 
 ble to the hsteners — " Oh ! it is only Peter's foot ! " said 
 the miserable mother, and, Aveeping, rose to meet him. 
 
 " Janet, Janet ! " he exclaimed, as he entered, and 
 threw his arms arovmd her neck, " what's this come upon 
 us at last ? " 
 
 He cast an inquisitive glance around his dwelhng, and 
 a convulsive shiver passed over his manly frame, as his 
 eye again fell on the vacant chair, which no one had ven- 
 tured to occupy. Hour succeeded hour, but the company 
 separated not; and low, sorroAvful whispers mingled mth 
 the lamentations of the parents. 
 
 "Neighbours," said Adam Bell, " the mom is a new 
 day, and we will wait to see what it may bring forth ; but, 
 in the meantime, let us read a portion o' the Divine word, 
 an' kneel together in prayer, that, Avhether or not the day- 
 dawn cause light to shine upon this singular bereavement, 
 the Sun o' Righteousness may arise wi' healing on liis 
 wings, upon the hearts o' this afflicted family, an' upon the 
 hearts o' all present." 
 
 "Amen!" responded Peter, AVTinging his hands; and 
 his friend, taking down the Ha' Bible, read the chapter 
 wlicrcin it is -vvritten — " It is better to be in the liouse of 
 mourning than in the house of feasting;" and again the 
 portion whicli sayeth — "It is well for me tliat I have been 
 afllic'ted, for before I was afflicted I went astray." 
 
 Tlie mor.ning came, but brought no tidings of the lost 
 son. Allor a solemn farewell, all the visitants, save Adam 
 Bell and his daughter, returned every one to their own 
 house: and the disconsolate father, with liis servants, nuam
 
 THE VACANT CHAIK. 11 
 
 i 
 
 renewed their search among the hills and sxirroiincling 
 villages. 
 
 Days, weeks, months, and years rolled on. Time had 
 subdued the anguish of the parents into a holy calm ; but 
 their lost first-born was not forgotten, although no trace 
 of his fate had been discovered. The general behef was, 
 that he had perished on the breaking up of the snow ; and 
 the few in whose remembrance he still lived, merely spoke 
 of his death as a " very extraordinary circumstance," re- 
 marking that " he was a wild, venturesome sort o' lad." 
 
 Christmas had succeeded Christmas, and Peter EUiot 
 still kept it in commemoration of the birthday of him who 
 was not. For the first few years after the loss of their son, 
 sadness and silence characterized the party who sat down 
 to dinner at Marchlaw, and stUl at Peter's right hand was 
 placed the vacant chair. But, as the yoimger branches of 
 the family advanced in years, the remembrance of their 
 brother became less poignant. Christmas was, with all 
 around them, a day of rejoicing, and they began to make 
 merry with their friends ; while their parents partook in 
 their enjoj-ment, with a snule, half of approval and half of 
 sorrow. 
 
 Twelve years had passed away ; Christmas had again 
 come. It was the counterpart of its fatal predecessor. 
 The hills had not yet cast off their summer verdure ; the 
 sun, although shorn of its heat, had lost none of its bright- 
 ness or glory, and looked doAvn upon the earth as though 
 participating in its gladness ; and the clear blue sky was 
 tranquil as the sea sleeping beneath the moon. Many 
 visitors had again assembled at Marchlaw. The sons of 
 Mv. Elliot, and the young men of the party, were assem- 
 bled upon a level gi-cen near the house, amusing them- 
 selves with throwing the hammer, and other Border 
 games, wliUe himself and the elder giicsts stood by as 
 spectators, recounting the deeds of their youth. Johnsoi',
 
 12 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 tlie slieep-farmer, whom we have already juentioned, now 
 a brawny and gigantic fellow of two-and-tliirty, bore away 
 iu every game the palm from all com^ietitors. !More than 
 once, as Peter beheld his sons defeated, he felt the spirit 
 of youth glowing in his veins, and, " Oh ! " muttered he, 
 in bitterness, "had my Thomas been spared to me, he 
 wonld hae throA\Ti his heart's bkiid after the hammer, 
 before he would hae been beat by e'er a Johnson in the 
 country !" 
 
 While he thus soliloquized, and with difficulty re- 
 strained an impulse to compete with the victor himself, a 
 dark, foreign-looking, strong-built seaman, unceremoni- 
 ously approached, and, with his arms folded, cast a look of 
 contempt upon the boasting conqueror. Every eye was 
 turned with a scrutinizing glance upon the stranger. In 
 height he could not exceed five feet nine, but his whole 
 frame was the model of muscular strength ; his features 
 open and manly, but deeply sunburnt and weather-beaten; 
 his long, glossy, black hair, curled into ringlets by the 
 breeze and the billow, fell thickly over his temples and 
 forehead; and whiskers of a similar hue, more conspicuous 
 for size than elegance, gave a character of fierceness to a 
 countenance otherwise possessing a striking impress of 
 manly beauty. AVithout asking permission, he stepped 
 forward, lifted the hammer, and, swinging it around his 
 head, hurled it upwards of five yards beyond Johnson's 
 most successful throw. "Well done!" shouted the aston- 
 ished spectators; The heart of Peter Elliot warmed 
 within hiiu, and he was hurrying forward to grasp the 
 stranger by tlie h.-uid, when the words groaned in his 
 throat, " It was just such a throw as my Thomas would 
 have made ! — my own lost 'J'homas ! " The tears burst 
 into his eyes, and, without sj^eaking, he turned back, and 
 hurried towards the house to conceal his emotion. 
 
 Successively, at every game, the stranger had defeated
 
 THE VACANT CIIAIH. 13 
 
 all who ventured to oppose him, -when a messenger an- 
 nounced that dmner waited their arrival. Some of the 
 guests were already seated, others entering ; and, as here- 
 tofore, placed beside Mrs. EUiot was Elizabeth Bell, still 
 in the noontide of her beauty; but sorrow had passed 
 over her features, like a veil before the countenance of an 
 "angel. Johnson, crest-fallen and out of humour at his 
 defeat, seated himself by her side. In early life he had 
 regarded Thomas EUiot as a rival for her affections ; and, 
 stimulated by the knowledge that Adam Bell would be 
 able to bestow several thousands upon his daughter for a 
 dowry, he yet prosecuted his attentions mth luiabated 
 assiduity, in despite of the daughter's aversion and the 
 coldness of her father. Peter had taken his place at the 
 table ; and still by his side, unoccupied and sacred, 
 appeared the vacant chair, the chair of his first-born, 
 whereon none had sat since his mysterious death or dis- 
 appearance. 
 
 " Bairns," said he, " did nane o' ye ask the sailor to 
 come up and tak a bit o' dinner ^^i' us ? " 
 
 " We were afraid it might lead to a 'quarrel with Mr. 
 Johnson," whispered one of the sons. 
 
 " lie is come without asking," replied the stranger, 
 entering ; " and the wind shall blow from a new point if I 
 destroy the mirth or happiness of the company." 
 
 " Ye're a stranger, young man," said Peter, " or ye 
 would ken this is no a meeting o' mirth-makers. But, I 
 assure ye, ye are welcome, heartily welcome. Haste ye, 
 lasses," he added to the servants; "some o' ye get a chair 
 for the gentleman." 
 
 " Gentleman, indeed ! " muttered Johnson between his 
 teeth. 
 
 " Never mind about a chair, my hearties," said the sea- 
 man ; " this Avill do ! " And, before Peter could speak to 
 •withhold him, he had tbroAvn himself carclossly into the
 
 14 TALES OF THE BOllDEUS. 
 
 hallowed, the venerated, the twelve-years-unoccupied chair! 
 The spirit of sacrilege uttering blasphemies from a pulpit 
 could not have smitten a congregation of pious worship- 
 pers with deeper horror and consternation, than did this 
 filling of the vacant chair the inhabitants of ^larchlaw. 
 
 •'Excuse me, sir! excuse me, sir!" said Peter, the 
 words trembling upon his tongue ; " but ye cannot — ^ye 
 cannot sit there ! " 
 
 "Oman! man!" cried Mrs. EUiot, "get out o' that! 
 get out o' that ! — take my chair ! — take ony chair i' the 
 house ! — but dinna, dinna sit there ! It has never been sat 
 in by mortal being since the death o' my dear bairn ! — and 
 to see it filled by another is a thing I cauna endure ! " 
 
 "Sii'! sir!" continued the father, "ye have done it 
 through ignorance, and we excuse ye. But that Avas my 
 Thomas's seat! Twelve years this very day — his birth- 
 day — he perished. Heaven kens how! He went out from 
 our sight, lilce the cloud that passes over the hills — never 
 — never to return. And, sir, spare a fathers feelings ! 
 for to see it fiUed Amngs the blood from my heart ! " 
 
 " Give me your hand, my worthy soul ! " exclaimed the 
 seaman ; "I revere — nay, hang it ! I would die for your 
 feelings ! But Tom Elliot was my friend, and I cast an- 
 chor in this chair by special commission. I know that a 
 sudden broadside of joy is a bad thing ; but, as I don't 
 know how to preach a sermon before telling you, all I 
 Lave to say is — that Tom an't dead." 
 
 "Not dead!" said Peter, grasping the hand of the 
 stranger, and speaking Avith an eagcrne33 that almost 
 choked his utterance : " O sir ! sir ! tell me how ! — how I 
 — Did ye say, living? — Is my ain Thomas living? " 
 
 " Not dead, do ye say ? " cried ilrs. Elliot, hurrying to- 
 wards him and grasping his other hand — "not dead 1 
 And shall I see my bairn again ? Oh ! may the blessing 
 o' Heaven, and the blessing o' a broken-hearted mother
 
 TIIK VACANT CUAIR. 15 
 
 be upon the bearer o' the gracious tiduigs! But tell me — 
 tell me, how is it possible ! As ye would expect happiness 
 here or hereafter, dinua, dinna deceive me ! " 
 
 " Deceive you ! " returned the stranger, grasping, with 
 impassioned earnestness, their hands in his — "NcA'er! — 
 never ! and all I can say is — Tom Elliot is aUve and 
 hearty." 
 
 " No, no ! " said Elizabeth, rising from her seat, " he 
 does not deceive us ; there is that in his countenance 
 which bespeaks a falsehood impossible." And she also 
 endeavoured to move towards him, when Johnson threw 
 his arm around her to Avithhold her. 
 
 " Hands off, you land-lubber ! " exclaimed the seaman, 
 springing towards them, " or, shiver me ! I'll show day- 
 light through your timbers in the tiu-ning of a hand- 
 spike ! " And, clasping the lovely girl in his arms, 
 "Betty! Betty, my love!" he cried, "don't you know 
 your own Tom? Father, mother, don't you know me? 
 Have you really forgot your o^ra son? If twelve years 
 have made some change on his face, his heart is sound as 
 ever." 
 
 His father, his mother, and his brothers, climg. aroimd 
 him, weeping, smiling, and minghng a Inindred questions 
 together. He threw his arms around the neck of each, 
 and in answer to their inquiries, replied — "Well! well! 
 there is time enough to answer qtiestions, but not to-day 
 — not to-day ! " 
 
 " No, my bairn," said his mother, " we'll ask you no 
 questions — nobody shall ask you any ! But how — how 
 wore ye torn away from us, my love ? And, liinny 1 
 where — where hae you been ? " 
 
 " It's a long story, mother," said he, " and would take 
 a week to tell it. But, howsoever, to make a long story 
 short, you remember when the smugglers were pursued, 
 and wished to conceal their brandy in our house, my
 
 16 TALES OF THE BORDKRS. 
 
 flitlier prevented tliem ; tliey left muttering revenge — and 
 they have been revenged. This day twelve years, I went 
 out with the intention of meeting Elizabeth and her father, 
 v.'hen I came upon a party of the gang concealed in Hell's 
 Hole. In a moment half a dozen pistols were held to my 
 breast, and, tying* my hands to my sides, they dragged me 
 into the cavern. Here I had not been long their prisoner, 
 when the snow, rolling down the mountains, almost totally 
 blocked up its mouth. On the second night they cut 
 through the snow. And, hurrying me along -with them, I 
 was bound to a horse between two, and, before daylight, 
 found myself stowed, like a piece of old junk, in the hold 
 of a smuggling lugger. Within a Aveek I was shipped on 
 board a Dutch man-of-war, and for six years Avas kept 
 dodging about on different stations, till our old yawning 
 hulk received orders to join the fleet, which Avas to fight 
 against the gallant Duncan at Camperdown. To think of 
 fighting against my OAvn countrymen, my own flesh and 
 blood, was worse than to be cut to pieces by a cat-o'-nine 
 tails ; and, under cover of the smoke of the first broadside, 
 I sprang upon the gunwale, plunged into the sea, and 
 swam for the English fleet. Never, never shall I forget 
 the moment that my feet first trode upon the deck of a 
 British frigate 1 My nerves felt as firm as her oak, and 
 my heart free as the pennant that waved defiance from 
 lier masthead ! I Avas as active as any one during the 
 battle ; and Avhen it Avas over, and I found myself again 
 among my OAvn countrymen, and all speaking my own 
 language, I fancied — nay, hang it ! I almost believed— I 
 should meet my father, my mother, or my dear Bess, on 
 board of the British frigate. I expected to see you all 
 again in a few Aveeks at farthest ; but, instead of returning 
 to Old England, ]>efore I Avas aAA^are, I found it Atas holm 
 about Avith us. As to Avriting, I never had an opportunity 
 but once. We Avere anchored before a Fiench fort ; a
 
 THE VACANT .CIIAIK. 1 7 
 
 packet was lying alongside ready to sail ; I liad half a sida 
 written, and was scratcliing my head to think how I should 
 come over -writing about you, Bess, my love, when, as bad 
 luck would have it, our lieutenant comes to me, and says 
 he, ' Elhot,' says he, ' I know you like a little smart 
 service ; come, my lad, take the head oar, Avhile we board 
 some of those French bumb-boats under the batteries!'. 
 I couldn't say no. We pulled ashore, made a bonfire of 
 one of their craft, and were setting fire to a second, 
 when a deadly shower of small shot from the cfirrison 
 scuttled our boat, killed our commanding officer -with half 
 of the crew, and the few who were left of us were 
 made prisoners. It is of no use bothering you by teUing 
 how Ave escaped from French prison. AVe did escape ; 
 and Tom vnll once more fill his vacant chair." 
 
 Should any of our readers wish farther acquaintance 
 with our friends, all we can say is, the new year was still 
 young when Adam Bell bestowed his daughter's hand 
 upon the heir of Marchlaw, and Peter beheld the once 
 vacant chair again occupied, and a namesake of the tlurd 
 generation prattling on his knee.
 
 1^' TALES OF TUE BORDERS. 
 
 THE FAA'S EEVENGE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE BORDER GIPSIES. 
 
 Brown October was drawing to a close — the breeze had 
 acquired a degree of sharpness too strong to be merely 
 termed bracing — and the fire, as the saving is, was becom- 
 ing the best flower in the garden — for the hardiest and the 
 latest plants had either shed their leaves, or their flowers 
 had shrivelled at the breath of approaching winter — when 
 a stranger drew Ms seat towards the parlovir fire of the 
 Three-Half-^Ioons inn, in Rothbiiry. He had sat for the 
 space of half an hour when a party entered, who, like him- 
 self (as appeared from their conversation), were strangers, 
 or rather visitors of the scenery, curiosities, and antiquities 
 in the vicinity. One of them having ordered the waiter to 
 bring each of them a glass of brandy and warm Avater, 
 without appearing to notice the presence of the first men- 
 tioned stranger, after a few remarks on the objects of in- 
 terest in the neighbourhood, the following conversation 
 took place amongst them: — 
 
 "Why," said one, "but even Eothbury here, secluded as 
 it IS from the world, and shut out from the daily intercourse 
 of men, is a noted place. It was here that the ancient and 
 famous northern bard and unrivalled ballad writer, Ber- 
 nard Rumnoy, was bora, bred, and died. Here, toe, \fi\s 
 born Dr. Brown, who, like Young and Home, united the 
 characters of divine and dramatist, and was the author of 
 ^ IlarOarossa,' ' The Cure of Sent I,' and other works, of which 
 posterity and his coimtry are proud. The immediate 
 neighbourhood, also, was the birth-place of the inspired
 
 TUB faa's revenge. 19 
 
 boy, the Leaven-tauglit matliematician, George Couglii'an, 
 who knew no rival, and who bade fair to eclipse the glory 
 of Newton, but whom death struck down ere he had reached 
 the years of manhood." 
 
 "Why, I can't tell," said another; "I don't know mucli 
 about what you've been talking of; but I know, for one 
 thing, that Eothbuiy was a famous place for every sort of 
 games; and, at Fastren's E'en times, the rxxle was, every 
 male inhabitant above eight years of age to pay a shUliug, 
 or out to the foot-ball. It was noted for its game-cocks, too 
 — they were the best breed on the Borders." 
 
 " May be so," said the first speaker; " but though I should 
 be loath to see the foot-ball, or any other innocent game 
 which keeps up a manly spiiit, put do^\^l, yet I do trust 
 that the brutal practice of cock-fighting Avill be abolished, 
 not only on the Borders, but throughout every country 
 which professes the name of Christian; and I rejoice that 
 the practice is falling into disrepute. But, although my 
 Iiairs are not yet honoiu'ed with the sdver tints of age, I am 
 old enough to remember, that, wdien a boy at school on the 
 Scottish side of the Border, at every Fastren's E'en which 
 you have spoken of, every schoolboy yvas expected to pro- 
 vide a cock for the battle, or main, and the teacher or his 
 deputy presided as umpire. The same practice prevailed 
 on the southern Border. It is a very old, savage amuse- 
 ment, even in this country ; and perhaps the preceptors of 
 youth, in former days, considered it classical, and that it 
 would instil into their pupils sentiments of emulation; in- 
 asmuch as the practice is said to have taken rise from 
 Themistocles perceiving two cocks tearing at and fighting 
 with each other, while marching his army against the Per- 
 sians, when he called upon his soldiers to observe them, 
 ■and remarked that they neither fought for temtory, defence 
 of country, nor for glory, but they fought because the one 
 would not }'icld to, or be defeated by the other; and ho
 
 L'O TALES OF THK BORDERS. 
 
 desired his soldiers to take a moral lesson I'rom tLo barn- 
 door fowls. Cock-fighting thus became among the heathen 
 Greeks a pohtical piecept and a rehgious observance — and 
 the Christian inhabitants of Britain, disregarding the reli- 
 gious and political moral, kept up the practice, adding to it 
 more disgusting barbarity, for t/ieir amusement." 
 
 " Coom," said a third, Avho, fi'om his tongue, appeared to 
 be a thorough Northumbrian, " we wur talking about Roth- 
 bury, but you are goin' to give us a regular sarmin on 
 cock-fighting. Let's hae none o' that. You Avas saying 
 what clever chaps had been born here — but none o' ye 
 mentioned Jamie Allan, the gipsy and Northumberland 
 piper, who was born here as weel as the best o' them. But I 
 hae heard that Eothbury, as weel as Yetholm and Tweed- 
 mouth Moor, was a great resort for the Faa or gipsy gangs 
 in fomier times. Now, I understand that thae folk were a 
 sort o' bastard Eg}q3tians ; and though I am nae scholar, it 
 strikes me forcibly that the meaning o' the word gipsies, 
 is just Egiipts, or Gypiies — a contraction and cori'uption o' 
 Guptianr 
 
 "Gipsies," said he who spoke of Rumney and Brown, 
 and abused the practice of cock-fighting, " still do in some 
 degree, and formerly did in great numbers, infest this 
 coimty; and I will tell you a story concerning them." 
 
 "Do so," said the thorough Northumlnian; " I like a 
 story when it's weel put thegither. The gipsies wei'e queer 
 folk. I've heard my faitluu- tell many a funny tiling about 
 them, when he used to whistle 'Felton Loanin,' wdiich was 
 made by awd piper Allan— Jamie's faither." And here the 
 speaker struck up a lively air, which, to the stranger by 
 the fire, seemed a sort of parody on the well-known tunc 
 cf " Johnny Cope." 
 
 'J'lic other then proceeded with his tale, thus: — 
 
 You have all heard of the celebrated Johnny Faa, tli . 
 Lord and Earl of Little Egypt, who penetrated into Scot-
 
 THE faa's kevenge. 21 
 
 land in the reign of James IV., and with Avhom that gallant 
 monarcli was glad to conclude a treaty. Johnny was not 
 only the king, but the first of the Faa gang of whom we 
 have mention. I am not aware that gipsies get the name 
 of Faas anywhere but upon the Borders ; and though it is 
 difficult to account for the name satisfactorily, it is said to 
 have had its origin from a family of the name of Fall or Fa\ 
 who resided here (in Eothbury), and that their superiority 
 in their cunning and desperate profession, gave the same 
 cognomen to all and sundry Avho followed the same mode 
 of life upon the Borders. One thing is certain, that the 
 name Faa not only Avas given to individuals whose surname 
 might be Fall^hut to the Winters and Clarices — id genus omne 
 —gipsy families well known on the Borders. Since waste 
 lands, which were their hiding-places and resorts, began 
 to be cultivated, and especially since the sun of knowledge 
 «iuiffed out the taper of superstition and credulity, most of 
 them are beginning to form a part of society, to learn trades 
 of industry, and live with men. Those who still prefer 
 their fathers' vagabond mode of life — finding that, in the 
 northern coimties, their old trade of fortune-telling is at a 
 discount, and that thieving has thinned their tribe and is 
 dangerous — now follow the more useful and respectable 
 callings of muggers, bosom-makers, and tinkers. I do 
 not know whether, in etiquette, I ought to give pre- 
 cedence to the besom-maker or tinker; though, as com- 
 l)ared with them, I should certainly suppose that the 
 "muggers" of the present day belong to the Faa aristo- 
 cracy; if it be not that they, like others, derive their no- 
 bility from descent of blood rather than weight of pocket 
 —and that, after all, the mugger with his encampment, his 
 caravans, horses, crystal, and crockery, is but a more 
 wealthy plebeian or bourgeois in the vagrant community. 
 — But to my talc. 
 
 On a dark and tempestuous night in the December of
 
 22 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 1C28, a Faa gang requested shelter in the otit-hotises of 
 the laird of Clennel. The laird himself had retired to rest ; 
 and his domestics being fewer in number than the Faas, 
 feared to refuse them their request. 
 
 " Ye shall have up-putting for the night, good neigh- 
 bours," said Andrew Smith, who was a sort of major-domo 
 in the laird's household, and he spoke in a tone of mingled 
 authority and terror. " But, sir," added he, addressing the 
 chief of the tribe — " I ^y\l\ trust to your honour that ye will 
 allow none o' your folk to be making free with the kye, or 
 the sheep, or the potiltry — that is, that ye will not allow them 
 to mistake ony o' them for your o-wn, lest it bring me into 
 trouble. For the laird has been in a fearful rage at some 
 o' your people lately; and if onything were to be amissing 
 in the morning, or he kenned that ye had been here, it 
 might be as meikle as my life is worth." 
 
 " Tush, man!" said Willie Faa, the king of the tribe, "ye 
 dree the death ye'U never die. Wilhe Faa and his folk 
 maun live as weel as the laird o' Clennel. But, there's my 
 thumb, not a four-footed thing, nor the feather o' a bird, 
 shall be touched by me or mine. But I see the light is out 
 in the laird's chamber window — he is asleep and high wp 
 amang the turrets — and wherefore should ye set human 
 bodies in byres and stables in a night like this, when your Ila' 
 fire is bleezing bonnily, and there is room enough around it 
 for us a' ? Gie us a seat by the cheek o' your hearth, and ye 
 shall be nac loser; and I promise ye that we shall be off, 
 bag and baggage, before the skreigh o' day, or the laird 
 kens where his head lies." 
 
 Andrew would fain have refused this request, but he 
 knew that it amounted to a command; and, moreover, 
 while he had been speaking with the chief of the tribe, the 
 maid-servants of the household, who had followed him and 
 the other men-servants to the door, had divers of them 
 been solicited by the females of the gang to have futurity
 
 THE faa's revenge. 23 
 
 revealed to them. And whether it indeed be that cnriosity 
 is more powerful in woman than in man (as it is generally 
 said to be), I do not profess to determine; but certain it is, 
 that the lau'd of Clennel's maid-servants, immediately on 
 the hint being given by the gipsies, felt a very ardent de- 
 sire to have a page or two from the sybUline leaves read 
 to them — at least that part of them which related to their 
 future husbands, and the time when they should obtain 
 them. Therefore, they backed the petition or command of 
 King Willie, and said to Andrew — 
 
 " Really, Mr. Smith, it would be very unchristian-like 
 to put poor wandering folk into cauld out-houses on a 
 night like this; and, as Willie says, there is room enough 
 in the Ha'." 
 
 "That maybe a' very true, lasses," returned Andrew, 
 " but only ye think what a dirdum there would be if the 
 laird were to waken or get wit o't !" 
 
 " Feai-na the laird," said Elspeth, the wife ot King Willie 
 — " I will lay a spell on him that he canna be roused frao 
 sleep, till I, at sunrise, wash my hands in Darden Lough." 
 
 The sybil then raised her arms and waved them fantas- 
 tically in the air, uttermg, as she waved them, the follow- 
 ing uncouth rhymes by way of incantation — 
 
 "Bonny Queen Jfab, bonny Queen 3Iab, 
 "Wave ye your wee bits o' poppj' win^ 
 Ower Clennel's laird, that he may sleep 
 Till I hae washed where Darden springs." 
 
 Tlius assured, Andrew yielded to his fears and the •wi^h.'^T 
 of his fellow-servants, and ushered the Faas into his master's 
 hall for the night. But scarce had they taken their scats 
 upon the oaken forms around the fire, when — 
 
 *' Come," said the Faa king, " the night is cold, pinching 
 cold, Mr. Smith: and, while the fire warms Avithout, is 
 there naething in the cellar that vn.\\ w'arm within ? See 
 to it, Andrew, man -than art no churl, or thy face is fause."
 
 24 TALES OF Tllfc- BOllDEUS. 
 
 " Really, sir," replied Andrew — and, in spile of all his 
 efforts to appear at ease, his tongue faidtered as he spoke 
 — " I'm not altogether certain -what to say npon that sub- 
 ject; for ye observe that our laird is really a very singular 
 man; ye might as weel put your head in the fire there as 
 displease him in the smallest; and though Heaven kens 
 that I would gie to you just as freely as I would tak to 
 mysel, yet ye'll observe that the liquor in the cellars is not 
 mine, but his — and they are never sae weel plenished but 
 I believe he would miss a thimblefa'. But there is some 
 excellent cold beef in the pantry, if ye could put up wi' 
 the like o' it, and the home-brewed which we servants 
 use." 
 
 "Andrew," returned the Faa king, proudly — "castle 
 have I none, flocks and herds have I none, neither have I 
 haughs where the Avheat, and the oats, and the barley 
 grow — but, like Ishmael, my great forefather, every man's 
 hand is against me, and mine against them — yet, when I 
 am hungry, I never lack the flesh-pots o' my native land, 
 where the moorfowl and the venison make bro^\^l broo 
 together. Cauld meat agrees nae wi' my stomach, and ser- 
 vants' drink was never brewed for the lord o' Little Egypt. 
 Ye comprehend me, Andrew?" 
 
 " Oh, I daresay I do, sir," said the chief domestic of the 
 house of Clennel ; " l)ut only, as I have said, ye will recol- 
 lect that the drink is not mine to give; and if I venture 
 upon a jug, I liope ye winna think o' asking for another." 
 " Wc shall try it," said the royal vagrant. 
 Andrew, with trembling and reluctance, proceeded to the 
 cellar, and returned with a large earthen vessel filled with 
 the choicest home-brewed, which he placed upon a tabic 
 in the midst of them. 
 
 " Then each took a smnck 
 Of the old black jack, 
 While the fire burned in tlif hall." .
 
 THE faa's revenge. 25 
 
 The Faa king pronounced the liquor to be palatable, 
 and drank to his better acquaintance uith the cellars of 
 the hiird of Clennel; and his gang followed his example. 
 
 Now, I should remark that WiUie Faa, the chief of his 
 tribe, was a man of gigantic stature; the colour of his skin 
 was the dingy broA\Ti peculiar to his race; his arms were of 
 remarkable length, and his limbs a union of strength and 
 lightness; his raven hair was mingled with grey; while, in 
 his dark eyes, the impetuosity of youth and the cunning of 
 age seemed blended together. It is in vain to speak of his 
 dress, for it was changed daily as his circumstances or avo- 
 cations directed. He was ever ready to assume all char- 
 acters, from the courtier doA\Ti to the mendicant. Like 
 his wife, he was skilled in the reading of no book but the 
 book of fate. Now, Elspeth was a less agreeable personage 
 to look \xpon than even her husband. The hue of her skin 
 was as dark as his. She was also of his age— a woman of 
 full fifty. She was the tallest female in her tribe; but her 
 stoutness took away from her stature. Her eyes Avere small 
 and piercing, her nose aquiline, and her upper lip was 
 " bearded like the pard." 
 
 While her husband sat at his carousals, and handing the 
 beverage to his followers and the domestics of the house, 
 Elspeth sat examining the lines upon the palms of the hands 
 of the maid-servants — pursuing her calling as a spaewife. 
 And ever as she traced the lines of matrimony, the sybil 
 would pause and exclaim — 
 
 " Ha!— money !— money !— cross my loof again, hinny. 
 There is fortune before ye! Letmesee! A spur!— a sword!— 
 a shield !— a goA\den purse ! Heaven bless ye ! They are 
 there ! — there, as plain as a pikestaff; they are a' in your 
 path. But cross my loof again, hinny, for until siller again 
 cross it, I canna see whether they are to be yours or no." 
 Tlius did Elspeth go on until her "loof had been crossed" 
 by the last coin amongst the domestics of the house of Clen-
 
 2G TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 nel; and when these were exliausted, their trinkets were do 
 manded and given to assist the spell of the prophetess. Good 
 fortune was prognosticated to the most of them, and espe- 
 cially to those who crossed the loof of the reader of futnrity 
 most freely ; but to others, perils, and sudden deaths, and 
 disappointments in love, and gi-ief in wedlock, were hinted, 
 though to all and each of these forebodings, a something lUvO 
 hope — an undefined way of escape — was pended. 
 
 Now, as the voice of Elspeth rose in solemn tones, and as 
 the mystery of her manner increased, not only were the 
 maid-servants stricken -wdth awe and reverence for the won- 
 drous woman, but the men-servants also began to inquire 
 into their fate. And as they extended their hands, and 
 Elspeth traced the lines of the past upon them, ever and 
 anon she spoke strange words, which intimated secret facts; 
 and she spoke also of love-makings and lildngs; and ever, as 
 she spoke, she would raise her head and grin a ghastly smile, 
 now at the individiial whose hand she was examining, and 
 again at a maid-servant whose fortune she had read; while 
 the former would smile and the latter blush, and their fel- 
 low domestics exclaira- — 
 
 "That'j wondcrfu'!- that dings a'! — ye are queer folk' - 
 hoo in the world do yc ken?" 
 
 Even the curiosity of Mr. Andrew Smith was raised, anil 
 his wonder excited; and, after he had quaffed his third cup 
 with the gipsy king, he, too, reverentially approached the 
 bearded princess, extending his hand, and begging to know 
 ivhat futurity had in store for him. 
 
 She raised it before her eyes, she rubbed hers over it. 
 
 "It is a dark and a difhcult hand," muttered she: "here 
 are ships and the sea, and crossing the sea, and great danger, 
 and a way to avoid it — but the gowd ! — the gowd that's 
 there! And yet ye may lose it a'! Cross my loof, sir — youis 
 is an ill hand to spae— for it's set wi' fortune, and dangei i 
 and adventure."
 
 THE faa's revenge. 27 
 
 Andrew gave lier all tlie money in liis possession. Now 
 it was understood that she was to return the money and the 
 trinkets mth which her loof had been crossed; and Andrew's 
 curiosity overcoming his fears, he ventured to intrust his 
 property in her keepmg; for, as he thought, it was not every 
 day that people could have everything that was to happen 
 unto them revealed. But when she had again looked upon 
 his hand— 
 
 " It -ttdnna do," said she — " I canna see ower the danger 
 ye hae to encounter, the seas ye hae to cross, and the moun- 
 tains o' gowd. that lie before ye yet — ye maun cross my 
 loof again." And when, -with a woful countenance, he 
 stated that he had crossed it Avith his last coin — 
 
 " Ye hae a chronometer, man," said she— "it tells you the 
 minutes now, it may enable me to show ye those that are to 
 come ! " 
 
 Andrew hesitated, and, mth doubt and unwillingness, 
 placed the chronometer in her hand. 
 
 Elspcth wore a short cloak of faded crimson; and in a sort 
 of pouch in it, every coin, trinket, and other article of value 
 which was put into her hands were deposited, in order, as 
 she stated, to forward her mystic operations. Now, the chro- 
 nometer had just disappeared in the general receptacle of 
 oiferings to the oracle, when heavy footsteps Avere heard 
 dosccnding the staircase leading to the hall. Poor Andrew, 
 the ruler of the household, gasped — the blood forsook liis 
 cheeks, his knees involuntarily knocked one against another, 
 and he stammered out — 
 
 ''For Heaven's sake, gie me my chronometer! — Oh, gie 
 ms it! — vre are a' ruined!" 
 
 "It canna be returned till the spell's completed," rejoined 
 Elspeth, in a solemn and determined tone — and her counte- 
 nance betrayed nothing of her dupe's uneasiness; while her 
 husband deUberately placed his right hand upon a sort ol 
 dagger which he wore beneath a large coarse jacket that
 
 28 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 was loosely flting over his shoulders. Tlic males in his 
 retinue, who were eight in number, followed his example. 
 
 In another moment, the laird, with wrath upon his coun- 
 tenance, burst into the hall. 
 
 " Andrew Smith," cried he, sternly, and stamping his foot 
 fiercely on the floor, "what scene is this I see? Answer 
 me, ye robber, answer me ; — ye shall hang for it!" 
 
 "0 sir! sir!" groaned Andrew, "mercy! — mercy! — O 
 sir !" and he"v\T:ung his hands together and shook exceedingly. 
 
 "Ye fause knave !" continued the laird, grasping him by 
 the neck — and dashing him from him, AndreAV fell Hat upon 
 the floor, and his terror had almost shook him from his feet 
 before — "Speak, ye fause knave!" resumed the laird; "what 
 means your carousin' wi' sic a gang? Ye robber, speak!" 
 And he kicked him with his foot as he lay upon the ground. 
 
 " O sir ! — mercy, sir !" vociferated Andrew, in the stupor 
 and wildness of terror; "I canna speak! — ye hae killed me 
 outright! I am dead— stone dead ! But it wasna my blame 
 — they'U a' say that, if they speak the truth." 
 
 " Out ! out, ye thieves ! — ye gang o' plunderers, born to 
 the gallows ! — out o' my liouse !" added the laird, addressing 
 Willie Faa and his followers. 
 
 "Thieves! ye acred loon!" exclaimed the Faa king, start- 
 ing to his feet, and drawing himself up to his full height — ■ 
 " wlia does the worm that burrows in the lands o' Clennel ca' 
 thieves? Thieves, say ye! — speak such words to your equals, 
 but no to me. Your forebears came ower wi' the Norman, 
 invaded the nation, and seized upon land — mine invaded it 
 also, and only laid a tax upon the flocks, the cattle, and the 
 poultry — and wha ca' ye thieves ? — or m' what grace do ye 
 speak the word?" 
 
 "Away, ye audacious vagrant!" continued the laird; "ken 
 yenot that the king's authorityis in my hands? — and for your 
 former plunderings, if I ogain find you setting foot upon 
 ground o' mine, on the nearest tree ye shall find a gibbet."
 
 THE paa's retexge. 29 
 
 "Boast awa — boast awa, man," said Willie; "ye are safe 
 here, for me and mine \vinna hann ye; and it is a foiigie cock 
 indeed that darena craw in its ain barn-yard. Bnt wait until 
 the day when we may meet upon the wide moor, vrC only 
 twa bits o' steel between us, and see wha shall brag then." 
 
 "Away! — instantly away!" exclaimed Clennel, drawing 
 his sword, and Avaving it threateningly over the head of the 
 
 gipsy. 
 
 " Proud, cauld-hearted, and unfeeling mortal,'' said El- 
 speth, " win ye turn fellow-beings from beneath your roof 
 in a night like this, when the fox darena creep frae its hole, 
 and the raven trembles on the tree?" 
 
 "Out! out! ye witch!" rejoined the laird. 
 
 " Farewell, Clennel," said the Faa king ; " we vnH leave 
 your roof, and seek the shelter o' the hill-side. But ye shaU 
 rue ! As I speak, man, ye shall rue it ! " 
 
 "Eue it!" screamed Elspeth, rising — and her small dark 
 eyes flashed -nith indignation — " he shall rue it — the bairn 
 unborn shall rue it — and the bann o' Elspeth Faa shall be on 
 Clennel and his kin, until his hearth be desolate and his spirit 
 howl -\nthin him like the tempest which this night rages 
 in the heavens!" 
 
 The servants shrank together into a corner of the hall, to 
 avoid the rage of their master; and they shook the more at 
 the threatening words of the weird woman, lest she should 
 involve them in his doom; but he laughed A\-ith scorn at her 
 words. 
 
 "Proud, pitiless fool," resumed Elspeth, more bitterly 
 than before, " repress your scorn. Whom, think ye, }e 
 treat wi' contempt ? Ken ye not that the humble adder 
 which ye tread upon can destroy ye — that the very wasp 
 can sting ye, and there is poison in its sting? Ye laugh, 
 but for your want of hiunanity this night, sorrow shall 
 turn your head grey, lang before age sit down upon your 
 brow."
 
 30 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Off! off! ye wretches!" added tlie laird; "vent your 
 threats on the wind, if it \vill hear ye, for I regard them as 
 httle as it -vvill. But keep out o' my way for the future, as 
 ye would escape the honours o' a hempen cravat, and the 
 hereditary exaltation o' your race." 
 
 Willie Faa made a sign to his followers, and without 
 spealdng they instantly rose and departed ; but, as he him- 
 self reached the door, he turned round, and significant] y 
 striking the liilt of his dagger, exclaimed — 
 
 " Clennel ! ye shall rue it !" 
 
 And the hoarse voice of Elspeth without, as the sound 
 was borne away on the storm, was heard crying — "He shall 
 rue it!" and repeating her imprecations. 
 
 Until now, poor Andrew Smith had lain groaning upon 
 the floor more dead than alive, though not exactly "stone 
 dead" as he expressed it; and ever, as he heard his master's 
 angry voice, he groaned the more, until in his agony he 
 doubted his existence. When, therefore, on the departure 
 of the Faas, the laird dragged him to his feet, and feeling 
 some pity for his terror, spoke to him more mildly, Andrew 
 gazed vacantly around him, his teeth chattering together, 
 and he first placed his hands upon his sides, to feel whether 
 he was still indeed the identical flesh, blood, and bones of 
 Airlrew Smith, or his disembodied spiiit; and being assured 
 tha< he was still a man, he put do^vn his hand to teA stt his 
 cnronometer, and again he groaned bitterly— and although 
 hn now knew he was not dead, he almost wished he were 
 so. The other servants thought also of their money and 
 their trinkets, which, as well as poor Andrew's chrono- 
 meter, Elspeth, in the hurry in wliich she was rudely 
 c'iiven from the house, had, by a slip of memory, neglected 
 to return to their lawful owners. 
 
 It is unnecessary to dwell upon the laird's anger at his 
 domestics, or farther to describe Andrew's agitation; but I 
 may say that the laird was not wroth against the Ffta gang
 
 THE FAA'S revenge. 31 
 
 II Itliout reason. They had committed ravages on his flocks 
 "-they had carried off the choicest of his oxen — they 
 destroyed his deer — they plundered him of his poultry — - 
 and they even made free "with the grain that he reared, 
 and -which he could spare least of all. But WiUie Faa 
 considered every landed proprietor as his enemy, and 
 thought it his duty to quarter on them. ^Moreover, it was 
 his boisterous laugh, as he pushed round the tankard, 
 which aroused the laird from his slumbers, and broke 
 Elspeth's speU. And the destruction of the charm, by the 
 appearance of their master, before she had Avashed her 
 hands in Darden Lough, caused those "who had parted with 
 their money and trinkets to grieve for them the more, and 
 to doubt the promises of the prophetess, or to 
 " Take all for gospel that the spaefolk say." 
 Many weeks, however, had not passed until the laird of 
 Clennel found that Elspeth the gipsy's threat, that he should 
 "rwe zY," meant more than idle words. His cattle sickened 
 nnd died in their stalls, or the choicest of them disappeared; 
 his favourite horses were foimd maimed in the mornings, 
 Wounded and bleeding in the fields ; and, notwithstanding 
 the vigilance of his shepherds, the depredations on his 
 Hocks augmented tenfold. He doubted not but that "WiUie 
 Faa a-ciJ his tribe were the authors of aU the evUs v.liich 
 weiR oe.setilng liim : but he knew also their power and 
 thcii' matchless craft, which rendered it almost impocr^ible 
 either to detect orpiinish them. He had a favom-ite sceitd, 
 which had borne him in boyhood, and in battle when he 
 served in foreign wars, and one morning when he went int«i 
 his park, he found it lying bleeding upon the ground 
 Grief and indignation strove together in arousing revenge 
 within his bosom. He ordered his sKithhound to be 
 brought, and his dependants to be sununoned together, 
 and to bring arms Avith them. He had previously observed 
 foot-prints on the ground, and he exclaimed —
 
 32 T.\XES OF THE BOKDEUS. 
 
 "Now the fiend take the Faas, they shall find whose 
 turn it is to rue before the sun gae down." 
 
 The gong was pealed on the turrets of Clennel Hall, and 
 the kempers with their poles bounded in every direction, 
 with the fleetness of mountain stags, to summon all capable 
 of bearing arms to the presence of the laird. The mandate 
 was readily obeyed; and within two hours thirty armed men 
 appeared in the park. The sltithhound was led to the foot- 
 print ; and after following it for many a weary mile over 
 moss, moor, and mountain, it stood and howled, and lashed 
 its lips with its tongue, and again ran as though its prey 
 were at hand, as it approached what might be called a gap 
 in the wilderness between Keyheugh and Clovencrag. 
 
 Now, in the space between these desolate crags stood 
 8ome score of peels, or rather half hovels, half encampments 
 — and tliis primitive city in the "wilderness was the capital 
 of the Faa king's people. 
 
 "Now for vengeance !" exclaimed Clennel; and his desire 
 of revenge Av^as excited the more from perceiving several of 
 the choicest of his cattle, which had disappeared, grazin^j 
 before the doors or holes of the gipsy village. 
 
 "Bring whins and heather," he continued — "pile them 
 around it, and burn the den of thieves to the ground." 
 
 His order was speedily obeyed, and when he commanded 
 the trumpet to be sounded, that the inmates might defend 
 themselves if they dared, only two or tliree men and women 
 of extreme age, and some half-dozen children, crawled upon 
 their hands and knees from the huts — for it was impossible 
 to stand upright in them. 
 
 The aged men and women howled when they beheld the 
 work of destruction that Avas in preparation, and the chil- 
 dren screamed when they heard tliem howl. But the laird 
 of Clennel had been injured, and lie turned a deaf ear to 
 their misery. A light was struck, and a dozen torches ap- 
 plied at once. The whins crackled, the heather blazed, and
 
 THE faa's revenge. 83 
 
 tlie flames overtopped the hovels which they surroimdcd, 
 and which Avithin an hour became a heap of smotddering 
 ashes. 
 
 Clennel and his dependants returned home, driving the 
 cattle Avhich had been stolen from him before them, and 
 rejoicing in what they had done. On the following day, 
 Willie Faa and a part of his tribe returned to the place of 
 rendezvous — their city and home in the mountains — and 
 they found it a heap of smoking ruins, and the old men and 
 the old women of the tribe — their fathers and their mothers 
 — sitting wailing upon the ruins, and warming over them 
 their shivering limbs, while the children wept around them 
 for food. 
 
 "Whose work is this ?" inquired Willie, while anxiety 
 and anger flashed in his eyes. 
 
 "The Laird o' Clennel! — the Laird o' Clennel!" answered 
 every voice at the same instant. 
 
 "By this I swear!" exclaimed the king of the Fans, 
 drawing his dagger from beneath his coat, "from this night 
 henceforth he is laird nor man nae langer." And he 
 turned hastily from the ruins, as if to put his threat in 
 execution. 
 
 " Stay, ye madcap !" cried Elspeth, following him, "Avoidd 
 ye fling away revenge for half a minute's satisfaction?" 
 
 "No, wife," cried he, "nae mair than I Avould sacrifice 
 living a free and a fu' life for half an hour's hangin'." 
 
 " Stop, then," returned she, " and let our vengeance fa' 
 upon him, so that it may wring his life away, drap by drap, 
 until his heart be dry ; and grief, shame, and sorrow burn 
 him up, as he has here burned house and home o' Elspeth 
 Faa and her kindred." 
 
 " What mean ye, woman ?" said Willie, hastily ; " if I 
 thought ye would come between mc and my revenge, I 
 would drive this bit steel through you wi' as goodwill as 
 I shall drive it through him." 
 
 Vofc. I. ^
 
 84 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 " And ye shall be welcome," said Elspeth. She drew 
 him aside, and whispered a few minutes in his ear. He 
 listened attentively. At times he seemed to start, and at 
 length, sheathing his dagger and grasping her hand, he ex- 
 claimed — " Excellent, Elspeth ! — ye have it ! — ye have it !" 
 
 At this period, the laird of Clennel was al30iit thirty years 
 of age, and two years before he had been married to Eleanor 
 de Vere, a lady alike distinguished for her beauty and ac- 
 complishments. They had an infant son, who was the de- 
 light of his mother, and his father's pride. Now, for two 
 years after the conflagration of their little toAvn, Clennel 
 heard nothing of his old enemies the Faas, neither did they 
 molest him, nor had they been seen in the neighbourhood, 
 and he rejoiced in having cleared his estate of such dan- 
 gerous visitors. But the Faa king, listening to the advice 
 of his wife, only " nursed his -wrath to keep it warm," and 
 retired from the neighbourhood, that he might accomplish, 
 in its proper season, his design of vengeance more effec- 
 tually, and with greater cruelty. 
 
 The inflmt heir of the house of Clennel had been named 
 Henry, and he was about completing his third year — an 
 age at which childi-en are, perhaps, most interesting, and 
 when theii' fondling and their prattling sink deepest into a 
 parent's heart— for all is then beheld on childhood's sunny 
 side, and all is innocence and love. Now, it was in a lovely 
 day in April, Avhen every bird had begun its annual song, 
 and flowers were bursting into beauty, buds into leaves, 
 and the earth resuming its green mantle, when Lady Clen- 
 nel and her infant son, who then, as I have said, was about 
 three years of age, went forth to enjoy the loveliness and 
 the luxuries of nature, in the woods Avhich surrounded 
 their mansion, and Andrew Smith accompanied them as 
 their guide and protector. They had proceeded somewhat 
 more than a mile from the house, and the child, at inter- 
 vals breaking away from them, sometimes ran before his
 
 THE faa's revenge. 35 
 
 motlier, and at others sauntered behind her, pulling tlieAv-ild 
 flowers that strewed their path, when a man, springing 
 from a dark thicket, seized the child in liis arms, and again 
 darted into the wood. Lady Clennel screamed aloud, and 
 rushed after him. Andrew, who was coming dreaming 
 behind, got but a glance of the ruffian stranger — but that 
 glance was enough to reveal to him the tall, terrible figure 
 of WiUie Faa, the Gipsy king. 
 
 There are moments when, and circumstances under which 
 even cowards become courageous, and this was one of those 
 moments and circumstances which suddenly uaspu-ed Andrew 
 (who was naturally no hero) -udth courage. He, indeed, 
 loved the child as though he had been his own ; and fol- 
 lo^ving the example of Lady Clennel, he drew his sword 
 and rushed into the wood. He possessed considerable speed 
 of foot, and he soon passed the A\Tetched mother, and came 
 in sight of the pursued. The unhappy lady, who ran 
 panting and screaming as she rushed along, unable to keep 
 pace Avith them, lost all trace of where the robber of her 
 child had fled, and her cries of agony and bereavement 
 rang through the woods. 
 
 Andrew, hoAvever, though he did not gain ground upon 
 the gipsy, still kept within sight of him, and shouted to 
 him as he ran, saving that all the dependants of Clennel 
 woidd soon be on horseback at his heels, and trusting 
 that every moment he would drop the child upon the 
 ground. Still Faa flew forward, bearing the boy in hia 
 arm, and disregarding the cries and threats of his pursuer. 
 He knew that Andrew's was not what could be called a 
 heart of steel, but he was aware that he had a powerful 
 arm, and could use a sword as well as a better man; and 
 he knew also that cowards vdU fight as desperately, when 
 their life is at stake, as the brave. 
 
 The desperate chase continued for four hours, and till 
 after the sun had set, and the gloaming was foiling thick on
 
 36 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 the liills. Andrew, being younger and uncncuniLered, had 
 at length gained ground upon the gipsy, and was within 
 ten yards of him when he reached the Coquet side, about a 
 mile below this to^vn, at the hideous Thrumb, where the 
 deep river, for many yards, rushes through a mere chasm 
 in the roclc. The Faa, with the child beneath his arm, 
 leaped across the fearful gulf, and the dark flood giished 
 between him and his pursuer. He turned round, and, with 
 a horrid laugh, looked towards Andrew and unsheathed his 
 dagger. But even at this moment the unwonted courage 
 of the chief servant of Clennel did not fail him, and as he 
 rushed up and do'WTi upon one side of the gulf, that he 
 might spring across and avoid the dagger of the gipsy, the 
 other ran in like manner on the other side ; and when 
 Andrew stood as if ready to leap, the Faa king, pointing 
 with his dagger to the dark flood that rolled between them, 
 cried — 
 
 *' See, fool ! eternity divides us I" 
 
 ** And for that bairn's sake, ye wretch, I'll brave it !" 
 exclaimed Andrew, while his teeth gnashed together ; and 
 he stepped back, in order that he might spring across with 
 the greater force and safety. 
 
 " Hold man !" cried the Faa ; " attem.pt to cross to me, 
 and I ^vill plunge this bonny heir o' Clennel into the fliood 
 below." 
 
 " Oh, gracious ! gracious!" cried Andrew, and his resolu- 
 tion and courage forsook him; "ye monster! — ye bar- 
 barian! — oh, what shall I do now!" 
 
 *' Go back whence you came," said the gipsy, or follow 
 me another step and the child dies." 
 
 " Oh, ye butcher ! — ye murderer !" continued the other 
 — and he tore his hair in agony — " hae ye nae mercy ?" 
 
 " Sic mercy as your maister had," returned the Faa, 
 " when he burned our dweUings about the cars o' the aged 
 and infirm, and o' my helpless bairns ! Ye shall find in mo
 
 TILE FAA's revenge. o7 
 
 tlie mercy o' tlie fasting wolf, o' tlie tiger wlaen it laps 
 blood !" 
 
 Andrew perceived tliat to rescue the child was now im- 
 possible, and with a heavy heart he returned to his master's 
 house, in which there was no sound save that of lamenta- 
 tion. 
 
 For many weeks, yea months, the laird of Clennel, his 
 friends and his servants, sought anxiously throughout 
 every part of the country to obtain tidings of his child, but 
 their search was vain. It Avas long ere his lady was ex- 
 pected to recover the shock, and the affliction sat heavy 
 on his soul, AvhUe in his misery he vowed revenge upon all 
 of the gipsy race. But neither Willie Faa nor any of his 
 tribe were again seen upon his estates, or heard of in their 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Four years were passed from the time that their son was 
 stolen from them, and an infant daughter smiled upon the 
 knee of Lady Clennel ; and oft as it smiled in her face, and 
 stretched its little hands towards her, she would burst into 
 tears, as the smile and the infantine fondness of her little 
 daughter reminded her of her lost Henry. They had had 
 other children, but they had died while but a few Aveeks 
 old. 
 
 For two years there had been a maiden in the household 
 named Susan, and to her care, Avhen the child Avas not in 
 her OAVQ arms. Lady Clennel intrusted her infant daughter; 
 for every one loved Susan, because of her affectionate na- 
 ture and docile manners — she Avas, moreoA'er, an orphan, 
 and they pitied AvhUe they loved her. But one evening, 
 Avhen Lady Clennel desired that her daughter might be 
 brought her in order that she might present her to a com- 
 pany Avho had come to visit them (an excusable, thougli 
 not ahvays a pleasant A'anity in mothers), neither Susan nor 
 Ihe child Avere to be found. Wild fears seized the bosom of 
 the already bereaved mother, and her husband felt his
 
 38 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 heart throb within him. They sought the woods, the hills, 
 the cottages around ; they Avandered by the sides of the 
 rivers and the mountain burns, but no one had seen, no 
 trace could be discovered of either the girl or the child. 
 
 I will not, because I cannot, describe the overwhelming 
 misery of the afihcted parents. Lady Clennel spent her 
 days in tears and her nights in dreams of her children, 
 and her husband sank into a settled melancholy, while his 
 hatred of the Faa race became more implacable, and he 
 burst into frequent exclamations of vengeance against them. 
 
 More than fifteen years had passed, and though the poig- 
 nancy of their grief had abated, yet their sadness Avas not 
 removed, for they had been able to hear nothing that could 
 throw hght upon the Me of their children. About this 
 period, sheep were again missed from the flocks, and, in 
 one night, the hen-roosts were emptied. There needed no 
 other proof that a Faa gang was again in the neighbour- 
 hood. Now, Northumberland at that period was still 
 thickly covered Avith Avood, and abounded Avith places 
 Avhcre thieves might conceal themselves in seciu'ity. 
 Partly from a desire of vengeance, and partly from the 
 hope of being able to extort from some of the tribe infor- 
 mation respecting his children, Clennel armed his servants, 
 and taking his hounds Avith him, set out in quest of the 
 plunderers. 
 
 For tAvo days their search Avas unsuccessful, but on the 
 third the dogs raised their savage cry, and rushed into a 
 thicket in a deep glen amongst the mountains. Clennel 
 and his folloAvers hurried forward, and in a fcAV minutes 
 perceived" the fires of the Faa encampment. The hounds 
 had already alarmed ihe vagrant colony, they had sprung 
 npon many of them and torn their flesh Avith their tusks ; 
 but the Faas defended themselves against them Avith their 
 poniards, and, before Clenncl's approach, more than half 
 his hounds lay dead upon the ground, and his enemies fled.
 
 THE FAA'S revenge. 3& 
 
 Yet there was one poor girl amongst them, who had been 
 attacked by a fierce hound, and Avhom no one attempted 
 to rescue, as she strove to defend herself against it with her 
 bare hands. Her screams for assistance rose louder and 
 more loud ; and as Clennel and his followers drew near, 
 and her companions fled, they tm-ned round, and, with a 
 fiendish laugh, cried — 
 
 " Eue It now !" 
 
 Maddened more keenly by the words, he was foUomng 
 on in pursuit, without rescuing the screaming girl from the 
 teeth of the hound, or seeming to perceive her, when a 
 woman, suddenly turmng round from amongst the flying 
 gypsies, exclaimed — 
 
 "For your sake! — for Heaven's sake! Laird Clennel 1 
 save my bairn 1" 
 
 He turned hastily aside, and, seizing the hound by the 
 throat, tore it from the lacerated gii-1, who sank, bleed- 
 ing, terrified, and exliausted, upon the ground. Her fea- 
 tures were beautiful, and her yellow hair contrasted ill 
 with the tawny hue of her countenance and the snoAvy 
 whiteness of her bosom, which in the struggle had been 
 revealed. The elder gipsy woman approached. She knelt 
 by the side of the wounded girl. 
 
 " my bauTi ! " she exclaimed, " what has this day 
 brought upon me ! — they have murdered you ! This is 
 rueing, indeed ; and I rue too ! " 
 
 " Susan ! " exclaimed Clennel, as he listened to her 
 words, and his eyes had been for several seconds fixed 
 upon her countenance. 
 
 " Yes ! — Svisan ! — guilty Susan ! " cried the gipsy. 
 
 " "Wretch ! " he exclaimed, " my child ! — where is my 
 
 child? — is this" and he gazed on the poor girl, his voice 
 
 failed him, and he burst into tears. 
 
 " Yes ! — yes ! " replied she bitterly, " it is her — there 
 lies your daughter — look \;pon her faco."
 
 40 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 He needed, indeed, but to look upon her countenance— 
 disfigiired as it Avas, and dyed Avitli Avecds to give it a 
 sallow line — to behold in it every lineament of her 
 mother's, lovely as when they first met his eye and 
 entered his heart. He flung himself on the ground by 
 her side, he raised lier head, he kissed her cheek, he 
 exclaimed, " My child ! — my child ! — my lost one ! I have 
 destroyed thee ! " 
 
 He bound up her lacerated arms, and applied a flask 
 of wine, wliich he carried Avith him, to her lips, and he 
 supported her on his knee, and again kissing her cheek, 
 sobbed, " ]\Iy child ! — my own ! " 
 
 Andrew Smith also bent over her and said, " Oh, it is 
 her ! there isna the smallest doubt o' tliat. I could swear 
 to her among a thousand. She's her mother's very pic- 
 ture." And, turning to Susan, he added, "O Susan, 
 woman, but ye hae been a terrible hypocrite ! " 
 
 Clennel having placed his daughter on horseback be- 
 fore him, supporting her with his arm, Susan Avas set 
 between two of his folloAvers, and conducted to the Ilall. 
 
 Before the tidings were made known to Lady Clennel, 
 the Avounds of her dai;ghter Avere carefully dressed, the 
 dye that changed the colour of her countenance Avas 
 removed, and her gipsy garb Avas exchanged for more 
 seemly apparel. 
 
 Clennel anxiously entered the apartment of his lady, 
 to reveal to her the tale of joy ; but Avhen he entered, he 
 Avist not hoAV to introduce it. He kncAV that excess of 
 sudden joy Avas not less dangerous than excess of grief, and 
 his countenance Avas troubled, though its expression Avas 
 less sad than it liad been for many years. 
 
 " Eleanor," he at length began, " cheer up." 
 
 " Wliy, I am not sadder than usual, dear," replied she, 
 in her wonted gentle manner ; " and to be more cheerful 
 would ill become one Avho has endured my sorroAVS."
 
 THE FAA'S revenge. 41 
 
 " True, true," said he, " but our affliction may not be so 
 severe as ^ve have thought — there may be hope— there 
 may be joy for us yet." 
 
 "\Vhat mean ye, husband?" inquired she, eagerly; 
 "have ye heard aught — aught of my children? — you 
 have ! — you have ! — your countenance speaks it." 
 
 "Yes, dear Eleanor," retui'ned he, "I have heard of our 
 daughter." 
 
 " And she lives ? — she lives ? — tell me that she lives ! " 
 
 " Yes, she lives." 
 
 "And I shall see her — I shall embrace my child again?" 
 
 " Yes, love, yes," replied he, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Allien — oh, when ? " she exclaimed, " can you take me 
 to her now?" 
 
 "Be calm, my sweet one. You shall see our child 
 — our long-lost chiid. You shall see her now — she is 
 here." 
 
 "Here! — my child!" she exclaimed, and sank back 
 upon her scat. 
 
 Words wovild fail to paint the tender mtervicw — the 
 mother's joy — the daughter's wonder — the long, the pas- 
 sionate embrace — the tears of all — the looks — the words — 
 the moments of unutterable feeling. 
 
 I shall next notice the confession of Susan. Clennel 
 promised her forgiveness if she Avould confess the Avhole 
 truth ; and he doubted not, that from her he would also 
 obtain tidings of his son, and learn where he might find 
 him, if he yet lived. I shall give her story in her ovra 
 words. 
 
 " When I came amongst you," she began, "I said that I 
 was an orphan, and I told ye truly, so fir as I knew myself. 
 I have been reared amongst the people ye call gipsies from 
 infancy. They fed mc before I could provide for myself. 
 I have wandered mth them through many lands. They 
 taught me many things ; and, while young, sent me as a
 
 42 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 servant into families, that I might gather information to 
 assist them in upholding their mysteries of fortune-telling, 
 I dared not to disobey them— they kept me as their slave 
 — and I knew that they would destroy my life for an act of 
 disobedience. I was in London when ye cruelly burned 
 doAvia the bit town between the Keyheugh and Clovencrag. 
 That night would have been your last, but Elspeth Faa 
 vowed more cruel vengeance than death on you and youi's. 
 After our king had carried away your son, I was ordered 
 from London to assist in the plot o' revenge. I at length 
 succeeded in getting into your family, and the rest ye know. 
 When ye were a' busy wi' your company, I slipped into 
 the woods wi' the bairn in my arms, where others were 
 ready to meet us ; and long before ye missed us, Ave were 
 miles across the hills, and frae that day to this your daughter 
 has passed as mine." 
 
 " But tell me all, woman," cried Clennel, "as you hope 
 for either pardon or protection— where is my son, my little 
 Harry? Doei; he live? — where shall I find him?" 
 
 "As I live," replied Susan, "I cannot teU. There are 
 but two know concerning him — and that is the king and 
 liis wife Elspeth; and there is but one way of discover- 
 ing anything respecting him, which is by crossing Elspeth's 
 loof, that she may betray her husband : and she would do 
 it for revenge's sake, for an ill husband has he been to her, 
 and in her old days he has discarded her for another." 
 
 "And where may she be found?" inquired Clennel, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "That," added Susan, "is a question I cannot answer. 
 She was with the people in the glen to-day, and was first 
 to raise the laugh when your dog fastened its teeth in the 
 flesh of your ain baii-n. But she may be far to seek and 
 ill to find now — for she is wi' those that travel fast and far, 
 and that will not see her hindmost." 
 
 Deep was the disappointment of the laird when he found
 
 THE faa's kevenge. 43 
 
 lie could obtain no tidings of his son. But, at the inter- 
 cession of Ids daughter (whose untutored mind her fond 
 mother had begun to instruct), Susan was freely pardoned, 
 promised protection from her tribe, and again admitted as 
 one of the household. 
 
 I might describe the anxious care of the fond mother, as, 
 day by day, she sat by her new-found and lovely daughter's 
 side, teaching her, and telling her of a hundred things of 
 which she had never heard before, while her father sat 
 gazing and listening near them, rejoicing over bo1;h. 
 
 But the ray of sunshine which had penetrated the house 
 of Clennel was not destined to be of long duration. At 
 that period a fearful cloud overhung the whole land, and 
 the fury of civil war seemed about to burst forth. 
 
 The threatening storm did explode; a bigoted king over- 
 stepped his prerogative, set at nought the rights and tlie 
 liberties of the subject, and an indignant people stained their 
 hands with blood. A political convulsion shook the empire 
 to its centre. Families and individuals became involved in 
 the general catastrophe; and the house of Clennel did not 
 escape. In common Avith the majority of the EugUsh gentry 
 of that period, Clennel was a stanch loyalist, and if not 
 exactly a lover of the king, or an ardent admirer of his acts, 
 yet one who would fight for the crown though it should (as 
 it was expressed about the time) " hang by a bush." AVhen, 
 therefore, the parhament declared war against the king, 
 and the name of Cromwell spread awe throughout the 
 country, and when some said that a prophet and deliverer 
 had risen amongst them, and others an ambitious hypocrite 
 and a tyrant, Clennel armed a body of his dependants, and 
 hastened to the assistance of his sovereign, leaving his wife 
 and his newly-found daughter with the promise of a speedy 
 return. 
 
 It is unnecessary to describe all that he did or oncoim- 
 tered during the civil wars. He bad been a zealous partizaii
 
 44 TALES OP THE DORDERS. 
 
 of the first Charles, and he fought for the fortunes of his 
 son to the last. He was present at the battle of Worcester, 
 which Cromwell calls his " crowning mercy," in the Sep- 
 tember of 1G51, where the already dispirited royalists 
 were finally routed; and he fought by the side of the king 
 until the streets were heaped with dead; and when Charles 
 fled, he, with others, accompanied him to the borders of 
 Staffordshire. 
 
 Having bid the young prince an affectionate farewell, 
 Clennel turned back, with the intention of proceeding on 
 his journey, on the following day, to Northumberland, 
 though he was aware, that, from the part which he had 
 taken in the royal cause, even his person Avas in danger. 
 Yet the desire again to behold his wife and daughter over- 
 came his fears, and the thought of meeting them in some 
 degree consoled him for the fate of his prince, and the result 
 of the struggle in which he had been engaged. 
 
 But he had not proceeded far when he Avas met by two 
 men dressed as soldiers of the Parliamentary army — the 
 one a veteran with grey hairs, and the other a youth. The 
 shades of night had set in; but the latter he instantly recog- 
 nized as a young soldier whom he had that day wounded 
 in the streets of Worcester. 
 
 "Stand!" said the old man, as they met him; and the 
 younger drew his sword. 
 
 "If I stand!" exclaimed Clennol, "it shall not be when 
 an old man and a boy command me." And, following 
 their example, he unsheathed his sword. 
 
 "Boy!" exclaimed the youth; "whom call ye boy? — 
 think ye, because ye wounded me this morn, that fortune 
 shall aye sit on your arm ? — yield or try." 
 
 Tliey made several thrusts at each other, and the old 
 man, as an indifferent spectator, stood looking on. But the 
 youth, by a dexterous blow, shivered the sword in Clenncl's 
 liand, and left liim at his mercy.
 
 THE faa's revenge. 45 
 
 "NoAV yield ye," he exclaimed; "the chance is mine 
 now — in the morning it was thine." 
 
 " Ye seem a fair foe," replied Clennel, " and loath am I 
 to yield, but that I am weaponless." 
 
 " Despatch him at once !" growled the old man, " If he 
 spilled your blood in the morning, there can be no harm 
 in spilling his the night— and especially after giein' him a 
 fair chance." 
 
 " Father," returned the youth, " would ye have me to 
 kill a man in cold blood ? " 
 
 " Let him submit to be bound then, hands and eyes, or 
 I will," cried the senior. 
 
 'J'lie younger obeyed, and Clennel, finding himself dis- 
 armed, submitted to his fate; and his hands were bound, 
 and his eyes tied up, so that he knew not where they led him. 
 
 After wandering many miles, and having lain upon what 
 appeared the cold earth for a lodging, he was aroused from 
 a comfortless and troubled sleep, by a person tearing the 
 bandage from his eyes, and ordering him to prepare for his 
 trial. He started to his feet. He looked around, and be- 
 held that he stood in the midst of a gipsy encampment. He 
 was not a man given to fear, but a sickness came over his 
 heart when he thought of his wife and daughter, and that, 
 knowing the character of the people in whose power he was, 
 he should never behold them again. 
 
 The males of the Faa tribe began to assemble in a sort of 
 half cii-cle in the area of the encampment, and in the midst 
 of them, towering over the heads of all, he immediately dis- 
 tinguished the tall figure of Willie Faa, in whom he also 
 discovered the grey-haired Parliamentary soldier of the 
 previous night. But the youth with whom he had twice 
 contended and once wounded, and by Avhom he had been 
 made prisoner, he was unable to single out amongst them. 
 
 lie was rudely dragged before them, and Willie Faa 
 cried — "Ken ye the culprit?"
 
 46 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " Clcnnel o' Northumberland! — our enemy!" exclaimed 
 twonty voices. 
 
 "Yes," continued Willie, " Clennel our enemy — the 
 burner o' our humble habitations — that left the auld, the 
 sick, the infirm, and the helpless, and the infants o' our 
 kindred, to perish in the flaming ruins. Had we burned 
 his house, the pimishment would have been death; and 
 shall we do less to him than he would do to us?" 
 
 "No! no!" they exclaimed mth one voice. 
 
 "But," added WilUe, "though he would have disgi-aced 
 us w' a gallows, as he has been a soldier, I propose that he 
 hae the honour o' a soldier's death, and that Harry Faa be 
 appointed to shoot him." 
 
 "AU! all! all!" was the cry. 
 
 "He shall die with the setting sun," said "Willie, and 
 again they cried, "Agreed!" 
 
 Such was the form of trial which Clennel underwent, 
 when he was again rudely dragged away, and placed in a 
 tent round which four strong Faas kept guard. He had 
 not been alone an hour, Avhen his judge, the Faa king, 
 entered, and addressed him — 
 
 "Now, Laird Clennel, say ye that I haena lived to see 
 day about wi' ye ? When ye turned me frae beneath your 
 roof, when the drift was fierce and the wind howled in the 
 moors, was it not tauld to ye that ye looidd rue it! — but ye 
 mocked the admonition and the threat, and, after tliat, 
 cruelly burned us out o' house and ha'. When I came hamc, 
 I saw my auld mother, that was within three years o' a 
 liunder, couring ower the reeking ruins, without a wa' to 
 shelter her, and crooning curses on the doer o' the black 
 deed. There were my youngest bairns, too, crouching by 
 their granny's side, starving wi' hunger as weel as wi' cauld, 
 fur yc had burned a', and haudin' their bits o' hands before 
 the burnin' ruins o' the house that they were born in, to 
 warm them! That night 1 vowed vengeance on you; and 
 Mven on that night I would have executed it, but I was
 
 TUE faa's revenge. 47 
 
 prevented ; and glad am I now that I was prevented, for my 
 vengeance has been complete — or a' but complete. Wi' my 
 ain hand I snatched your son and heir from his mother's 
 side, and a terrible chase I had for it; but revenge lent me 
 baith strength and speed. And when ye had anither bairn 
 that was like to live, I forced a lassie, that some o' our folk 
 had stolen when an influit, to bring it to us. Ye have got 
 your daughter back again, but no before she has cost ye 
 mony a sad heart andmony asaut tear; and that was some 
 revenge. But the substance o' my satisfaction and revenge 
 lies in what I hae to tell ye. Ye die this night as the sun 
 gaes do"\vn ; and, hearken to me now — the young soldier 
 whom ye woimded on the streets o' Worcester, and who 
 last night made you prisoner, was your son — your heir — 
 your lost son ! Ha ! ha ! — Clennel, am I revenged ?" 
 
 "]\Iy son !" screamed the prisoner — "monster, what is it 
 that ye say? Strike me dead, now I am in your power — 
 but torment me not!" 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" again laughed the grey-haii'ed savage — 
 *' man, ye are about to die, and ye know not ye are born. 
 Ye liave not heard half I have to tell. I heard that ye had 
 joined the standard o' King Charles. I, a king in my ain 
 right, care for neither your king nor parliament ; but I 
 resolved to wear, for a time, the cloth o' old Noll, and to 
 make your son do the same, that I might hae an oppor- 
 tunity o' meeting you as an enemy, and seeing him strike 
 you to the heart. That satisliiction I had not ; but I had 
 its equivalent. Yesterday, I saw you shed his blood on the 
 streets o' Worcester, and in the evening he gave you a 
 prisoner into my hands that desired you." 
 
 "Grey-haired monster!" exclaimed Clennel. "liavc ye 
 no feeling — no heart? Speak ye to torment me, or tell me 
 truly, have I seen my son?" 
 
 "Patience, man!" said the Faa, with a smile of sardonic 
 triumph — " my story is but half finished. It was the blood 
 o' your son ye shed yesterday at Worcester— it was your
 
 48 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 son who disarmed ye, and gave ye into my power; and, best 
 o' a' ! — now, hear me ! hear me ! lose not a word ! — it is 
 the hand o' your son that this night, at sunset, shall send 
 you to eternity! Now, teU me, Clcnnel, am I no revenged? 
 Do ye no rue it ? " 
 
 "Wretch! -svretch!" cried the miserable parent, "in 
 mercy strike me dead. If I have raised my sword against 
 my son, let that suffice ye! — but spare, oh, spare my child 
 from being an involuntary parricide ! " 
 
 "Hush, fool!" said the Faa; "I have waited for this 
 consummation o' my revenge for twenty years, and think 
 ye that I will be deprived o' it now by a few whining 
 words? Remember, sunset!" he added, and left the 
 tent. 
 
 Evening came, and the disk of the sun began to disap- 
 pear behind the western hills. Men and women, the old 
 and the young, amongst the Faas, came out from their 
 encampment to behold the death of their enemy. Clcnnel 
 was brought forth between two, his hands fastened to his 
 sides, and a bandage round his mouth, to prevent him 
 making himself known to his executioner. A rope was also 
 brouglit round his bod}--, and he was tied to the trunk ot 
 an old ash tree. The women of the tribe began a sort of 
 yell or coror.ach; and their king, stepping forward, and 
 smiling savagely in the face of his victim, cried aloud — 
 
 "Harry Faa! stand forth and perform the duty your 
 tribe have .imposed on you." 
 
 A young man, reluctantly, and with a slow and trembling 
 step, issued from one of tlie tents. lie carried a musket 
 in his hand, and placed himself in front of the prisoner, at 
 about twenty yards from him. 
 
 "Make ready!" cried Willie Faa, in a voice like thunder. 
 And the youth, though his hands shook, levelled the musket 
 at his victim. 
 
 But, at that moment, one who, to appearance, seemed a 
 maniac, sprang from a clump of whins behind the. a^h tree
 
 THE faa's revenge. 49 
 
 KV^liere the prisoner was bound, and, throwing herself before 
 him, she cried — "Hold! — would you murder your own 
 father? Harry Clennel! — would you mui'der your father ? 
 Mind ye not when ye was stolen frae your mother's side, as 
 ye gathered -wild flowers in the wood ? " 
 
 It was Elspeth Faa. 
 
 The musket dropped from the hands of the intended 
 executioner — a thousand recollections, that he had often 
 fancied dreams, rushed across his memory. He again 
 seized the musket, he rushed forward to his father, but, ere 
 he reached, Elspeth had cut the cords that bound the laird, 
 and placed a dagger in his hand for his defence, and, with 
 extended arms, he flew to meet the youth, crying — "My 
 son !— my son!" 
 
 The old Faa king shook with rage and disappointment, 
 and his first impulse was to poniard his wife — but he feared 
 to do so; for although he had injured her, and had not seen 
 her for years, her influence was greater with the tribe than 
 his. 
 
 " Now, "Willie," cried she, addressing him, " wha rues it 
 now? FarcAveel for ance and a' — and the bairn I brought 
 up will find a shelter for my auld head." 
 
 It were vam to tell how Clennel and his son Avcpt on each 
 other's neck, and how they exchanged forgiveness. But 
 such was the influence of Elspeth, that they departed from 
 the midst of the Faas unmolested, and she accompanied 
 them. 
 
 Imagination must picture the scene when the long-lost 
 son flung himself upon the bosom of his mother, and pressed 
 his sister's hand in his. Clennel Hall rang with the sounds 
 of joy for many days ; and, ere they were ended, Andrew 
 Smith placed a ring upon the finger of Susan, and they 
 became one flesh — she a respectable woman. And old 
 Elspeth lived to the age of ninety and seven years beneath 
 its roof. jj 2
 
 60 TALES OF THS BORDERS. 
 
 KATE KENNEDY; 
 OR, THE MAID OF INNERKEPPLE. 
 
 IxXERKEPPLE was, some three hundred years ago, as com- 
 plete a fortification as conld be seen along the Borders — 
 presenting its bastions, its turrets and donjon, and all the 
 appurtenances of a military strength, in the face of a 
 Border riever, Avith that solemn air of defiance that be- 
 longs to the style of the old castles. Many a blow of a 
 mangonel it had received; and Scotch and English en- 
 gines of war had, with equal force and address, poured 
 into its old grey ribs their destructive bolts ; every wound 
 was an acquisition of glory ; and, unless where a breach 
 demanded a repair for the sake of security, the scars on 
 the old warrior were allowed to remain as a proof of his 
 prowess. Indeed, these very wounds appearing on the 
 walls had their names— being christened after the leaders 
 of the sieges that had been in vain directed against it ; 
 and, among the number, the kings of England might have 
 been seen indicated by the futile instruments of vengeance 
 they had flung into the rough ribs of old Innerkepple. 
 But let us proceed. The proprietor, good Walter Ken- 
 nedy, better knoAvn by the appellative of Innerkepple, 
 was not unlike the old strength which he inhabited ; 
 being an old, rough, burly baron, on whose face Time had 
 succeeded in making many impressions, notwithstanding 
 of all the opposing energies of a soul that gloried, in all 
 manner of ways, of cheating the old greybeard of his 
 rights and clearing off his scores. As a good spirit is said 
 to be like good old wine, getting softer and more balmy
 
 KATE KEKNTIDY. 51 
 
 as it increases in age, old Innerkepple provecl, by his good 
 luimour and jovial manners, tlie sterling qualities of his 
 heart, Avhich seemed, as he progressed in years, to swell in 
 proportion as that organ in others shrivelled and de- 
 creased. He saw notlimg in age but the necessity it 
 imposes of having more frequent recourse to its great 
 enemy, the grape ; and that power he delighted to bow 
 to, as he bent his head to empty the flagon which hig 
 forebear, Kenneth, got from the first King James, as a 
 reward for his services agamst the house of Albany, Yet 
 the good humour of the old baron was not that of the 
 toper, which, produced by the bowl, would not exist but 
 for its inspiring draught ; the feeling of happiness and 
 universal good-will lay at the bottom of the heart itself, 
 and was only swelled into a state of glorious ebullition by 
 the charm of the magic of the vine branch — the true 
 I^Iercurial caduceus, the only true magic wand upon 
 earth. 
 
 Though the spirit of antiqiiarianism is seldom associated 
 with the swelling affections of the heart that is dedicated 
 to Momus, old Innerkepple had, notwithstanding, been 
 able to combine the two qualities or powers. Sitting in 
 his old wainscotted hall, over a goblet of spiced Tokay, 
 there were three old subjects he loved to speculate upon ; 
 and these were — his old castle, -with its chronicled wounds, 
 where the Genius of War sat alongside of the " auld carle" 
 Tinie, in grim companionship ; secondly, the flimily tree of 
 the Innerkepples — with himself, a good old branch, kept 
 green by good humour and Tokay, at the further verge ; 
 and a small green twig, as slender as a lily stalk, issuing 
 from the old branch— no other than the daughter of Inner- 
 kepple, the fair Kate Kennedy, a buxom damsel, of goodly 
 proportions, and as merry, with the aid of health and 
 young sparkling blood, as the old baron was Avith the spiced 
 wine of Tokay ; and, in the third place, there was the true
 
 52 I^ALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 legitimate study of the antiquary, the ancient vvine itself, 
 the mortal years of Avhich he counted with an eye as 
 bright as Cocker's over a* triumphant Solution. As this 
 last subject grew upon him, he became inspired, lilie the 
 old poet of Teos, and the rafters of Innerkepple rang to 
 the sound of his voice, tuned to the air of " The Guidwife 
 o' Tullybody," and fraught mth the deeds, active and 
 passive, of the barons of Innerkepple and their castle. 
 
 The fair Katherine Kennedy inherited her father's good 
 humour, and, maugre all the poHshing and freezing influ- 
 ences of high birth, retained her inborn freedom of thought 
 and action, heedless whether the contortion of the hucccc 
 in a broad laugh were consistent with the placidity ot 
 beauty, or the scream of the heart-excited risibility were 
 in accordance with the formula of high breeding. Buxom 
 in her person, and gay in her manners, she formed the 
 most enchanting baggage of all the care-killing damsels of 
 her day— the most exquisite ronion that ever chased Me- 
 lancholy from her yellow throne on the face of Hypochon- 
 dria, or threw the cracker of her persiflage into the midst 
 of the crew of blue devils that bind down care-worn mor- 
 tals by the bonds of ennui. She was no antiquary, even in 
 the limited sense of her father's study of the science of 
 cobwebs ; being rather given to neoterics, or the science 
 which teaches the qualities of things of to-day or yester- 
 day. Age in all things she hated -with a very good femi- 
 nine spirit of detestation ; and, following up her prin- 
 ciples, she arrived at the conclusion that youth and beauty 
 were two of the very best qualities that could be possessed 
 by a lover. Iler father's impassioned praises of the old 
 branches of the tree of the Innerkepples— comprehending 
 the brave Ludovick, who fell at Ilomildon, and the me- 
 morable Walter, who sold his life at the price of a score ot 
 fat Englishmen at the red Flodden — produced only her 
 best and loudest laugh, as she figured to herself the folly
 
 KATE KENNEDY. 53 
 
 of preferring the rugged trunk to the green branches that 
 suspend at their points the red-cheeked apple full of 
 sweetness and juice. Neither cared the hilarious damsel 
 much for the reverend turrets of Innerkepple. Hei 
 father's description, full of good humour as it was, of the 
 various perils they had passed, and the service they had 
 done their country, seemed to her, as she stood on the old 
 walls, hstening to the narrative, lilie the croak of the old 
 corbies that sat on the pinnacles ; and her laugh came 
 again full of glee through the loopholes, or echoed from 
 the battered curtain or recesses of the ballium. 
 
 That such a person as merry old Innerkepple should 
 have a bitter and relentless foe in the proprietor of the old 
 strength called Otterstonc, in the neighbourhood, is one of 
 the most instructive facts connected "with the system of 
 war and pillage that prevailed on the Borders, principally 
 during the reign of Henry VIII. of England and James V. 
 of Scotland, when the spirit of religion furnished a cause 
 of aggression that could not have been afforded by the 
 pugnacious tempcnnnents of the \dctims of attack. Mag- 
 nus Fotheringham of Otterstone had had a deadly feud 
 with Kenneth Kennedy, the father of the good old Inner- 
 kepple, and ever since had nourished against his neigh- 
 bour a deadly spite, which he had taken many means of 
 gratifying. Ills opponent had acted merely on the de- 
 fensive ; but his plea had been so well vindicated by his 
 retainers, who loved him with the affection of children, 
 that the splenetic aggressor had been twice repulsed Avitli 
 great slaughter. Most readily would tlie jovial baron, 
 who had never given any cause of offence, have seized 
 upon the demon of Enmity, and, ohtorto collo, forced the 
 fiend into the smoking flagon of spiced wine, while lie held 
 out the hand of friendship to his hereditary foe ; but such 
 was Otterstone's inveteracy, that he would not meet him 
 but with arms iu his hands, ao that all tho endeavours of
 
 54 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 tlie \Tarm -hearted and jolly Innerlvepple to overcome tlie 
 hostility of his neighbour, were looked upon as secret 
 modes of wishing to entrap him, and take vengeance on 
 him for his repeated attacks upon the old castle. 
 
 Some short time previous to the period about which we 
 shall become more interested, Innerkepple, ■with twenty 
 rangers, was riding the marches of his property, when he 
 was set upon by his enemy, who had nearly twice that 
 number of retainers. Taking up with great spirit the plea 
 of thcii- lord, the men Avho were attacked rallied round the 
 old chief, and fov;ght for him like lions, drowning (perhaps 
 purposely) in the noise of the battle the cries of Inner- 
 kepple, who roared, at the top of his voice — 
 
 "Otterstone, man — hear me! — A pint o' my auld Canary 
 will do baith you and me mair guid than a' that bluid o' 
 your men and mine. Stop the fecht, man. I hae nae feud 
 against you, an' I'm no answerable for the wrangs o' thy 
 father Kenneth." 
 
 These peaceful words were lost amidst the soimds of the 
 battle, and Otterstone construed the contortions of the 
 peacemaker into indications of revenge, and his bawhng 
 was set down as his mode of inspiriting his followers. The 
 fight accordingly progressed, old Innerkepple at intervals 
 holding up a white handkerchief as a sign of peace ; but 
 which, having been used by him in stopping the wounds 
 of one of his men, was received with its blood-marks as a 
 signal of revenge, both by his men and those of the ag- 
 gressor. The strife accordingly increased, and all was 
 soon mixed up in the confusion of the mclce. 
 
 " Has feud ran awa wi' yer senses, Otterstone ? " again 
 roared the good old baron. " I'll gie yer son, wha's at St. 
 Omers, the hand o' my dochter Kate. Do you hear me, 
 man ? If you will mix the bluids o' cor twa houses, let it 
 be dune by Ilaly Kirk." 
 
 Ilis words n^ever reached Otterstone ; bufc his own men.
 
 KATE KENNEDY. 55 
 
 •who adored and idolized their beautiful young mistress, 
 whose unvaried cheerfulness and kindness had won their 
 hearts, heard the proposition of their master with astonish- 
 ment and dissatisfaction, Tliey were still sorely pressed 
 by their enemy, who, seeing the stained handkerchief in 
 the hands of Innerkepple, were roused to stronger eiForts. 
 At this moment an extraordinary vision met their eyes. A 
 detachment of retainers from the castle came forward in 
 the most regular warlike array, having at their head their 
 young mistress, armed with a helmet and a light jerkin, 
 and bearing in her hand a sword of suitable proportions, 
 A loud shout from the worsted combatants expressed their 
 satisfaction and siirprise, and in a moment the assistant 
 corps joined their friends, and commenced to fight. The 
 unusual vision relaxed for a moment the energies of Otter- 
 stone's men ; but a cry from their chief, that they would 
 that day be ten times vanquished if they were defeated by 
 a female leader, again inspired them, and instigated them 
 to the fight. 
 
 " Press forward, brave vassals of Innerkepple ! " cried 
 Katherine, "Your foes have no fair damsel to inspire 
 them ; and who shall resist those Avhose arms are nerved 
 in defence of an old chief and a young mistress ? He who 
 kUls the greatest number of Otterstone's men shall have 
 the privilege of demanding a woman's guerdon from 
 Katherine Kennedy, If this be not enough to make ye 
 fight like lions, ye deserve to be hung in chains on the 
 towers of Otterstone." 
 
 Smiling as she uttered her strange speech, she hurriecl 
 to her father, who was still making all the efforts in his 
 power to bring about a parley. He had got within a few 
 yards of Otterstone, and it reqiiired all the energies of 
 Katherine to keep him back and defend him from insidi- 
 ous blows — an office she executed with great agility, by 
 keeping her light sword whirling round her head, and
 
 56 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 inflicting wounds — not perhaps of great depth — on those 
 who were ungallant and temerarious enough to approach 
 her parent. 
 
 "See, Otterstone, man," cried the laird, still intent on 
 peace, and sorry for the deadly work that was going on 
 around him. " Is she no fit to mak heirs to Otterstone ? 
 Up wi' yer helm, Kate, and show him yer fair fice. Ila ! 
 man, stop this bluidy work, and let us mend a' by a 
 carousal. Deil's in the heart and stamack o' the man that 
 prefers warring to wassailing ! " 
 
 " He does not hear you, father," cried Kate. " We 
 must defend ourselves. On, brave followers ! Ye know 
 your guerdon. Gallant knights have kneeled for it and 
 been refused it. You are to fight for it, and to receive it. 
 Hurrah for Innerkcpple ! " And she swung her light fal- 
 chion round her head, while the war-cry of the fiimily, 
 '■'■Festina lente.'" arose in answer to her inspiriting appeal, 
 and the men rushed forward with new ardour on their 
 foes. 
 
 "You are as bluid-thii'sty as he is, Kate," cried the 
 baron. "AVhat mean ye, woman? Haste ye up to Otter- 
 stone, and fling yer arms round his neck, and greet a guid 
 greet, according to the fasliion o' Avomankind. Awa! haste 
 ye, and say, mairower, that ye'll be the wife o' his son, and 
 join the twa baronies that are gaping for ane anither. 
 Quick, woman ; tears are mere water — thin aneuch, Gude 
 kens ! — but thae men's bluid is thicker than my vintage o' 
 the year '90." 
 
 " Katlicrine Kennedy never yet wept cither to friend or 
 foe, unless in the wild glee of her frolics," replied the 
 maiden, " By the bones of Camilla ! I thought I was 
 only fit for sewing battle scenes on satin, and laughing as 
 I killed a knight with my needle ; but I find I have the 
 Innerkcpple blood in my veins, and my cheek is glo^ving 
 like a blood-red rose. Take care of yourself, good father,
 
 KATE KENNEDY. 57 
 
 and leave the affaii" to me. A single glance of my eye has 
 more power in it than the command of the proudest baron 
 of the Borders. On, good hearts ! " And she again rode 
 among the men, and inspired them with her voice and 
 looks. 
 
 Tlie effect of the silvery tones of the voice of Katherine 
 on the hearts of her father's retainers was electric ; they 
 fought like lions, and it soon became apparent to Otter- 
 stone that a woman is a more dangerous enemy than 
 a man. The cry, " For the foir maid of Innerkepple ! " 
 resounded among the combatants, and soon exhibited 
 greater virtue than the war-cry of the house. Against 
 men actuated by the chivalrous feelings that naturally 
 arose out of the defence of a beautifid woman, all resis- 
 tance was vain ; the ranks of Otterstone's men were 
 broken, and this advantage having been seized by their 
 opponents, whose energies were rising every moment, as 
 the sound of Katherine's voice saluted their ears, a route 
 ensued, and the usual consequences of that last resource 
 of the vanquished — flight — were soon apparent in the 
 wounded victims, who fell ingloriously Avith wounds on 
 their backs. The pursuers Avere inclined to continue the 
 pursuit even to the walls of Otterstone, but Katherine 
 called them back. 
 
 " To slay the flying," said she, with a laugh, as the 
 tisual hilarity of her spirits returned upon her, " is what 
 I call effeminate warfare. When men flee, women pur- 
 sue ; and what get tlicy for their pains more than the 
 wench got from Theseus, whom she hunted for his heart, 
 and got, as our hunters do, the kick of his heel ? Away, 
 and carry in our disabled, that I may, •\\dth woman's art, 
 cure the wounds that have been received in defence of a 
 woman." 
 
 The men obeyed ■with alacrity, and Innerkepple himself 
 stared in amazement at his daughter, who had always before
 
 58 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 appeared to him as a wild romp, fit only for killing men 
 with her beanty, or tormenting them with the elfin tricks 
 or b«A\itching waggeries of her restless sahent spirit. 
 
 "rU hae ye in the wainscotted ha', Kate," said the 
 father, as he entered his private chamber, leaning on the 
 arm of his daughter, "painted -wi' helm, habergeon, and 
 halberd, and placed alongside o' Lewie o' Homildon and 
 Watt o' Flodden." 
 
 "I care not, father," rephed Katherine, "if you give the 
 painter instructions to paint me laughing at those famous 
 progenitors of our house, Avho Avere foolish enough to give 
 their lives for that glory I can piurchase for nothing, and 
 get the lives of my enemies to boot; but I must go and 
 minister to the gallant men who have been wounded." 
 
 "Minister first to yom- father, Kate," rephed Innerkepple, 
 with a knoAving look. 
 
 "And to your father's daughter, you Avouldadd," replied 
 she, A\ith a smile. "A bridal and a battle lack Avine." And, 
 hastening to a cupboard, she took out and placed on the 
 table a flagon and tAVO cups, the latter of Avhich she filled. 
 
 "Kest to the souls of the men I have slain!" said she, 
 laughing, as she lifted the Avine cup to her head, Avhile her 
 father Avas performing the same act. 
 
 " What! did ye lull ony o' Otterstone's men?" said Inner- 
 kepple. 
 
 "Every time I lifted up my visor," replied she, "I 
 scattered death around me. Ila! ha! Avhat fools men are! 
 Their bodies are tcnantlc.5s; avc women are the souls that 
 live outside of them, and take up our residence Avithin their 
 clayey precincts only Avhen A\^e have an object to serve. 
 The tourney has taught me the poAver of our sex; and 
 there I have throAvn my spirit into the man I hated, to 
 gratify my humour by seeing him, poor caitiff! as he caught 
 my hazel eye, Avrithe and Avring, and contort himself into 
 all the attitudes of Proteua."
 
 KATE KENKEDY. 59 
 
 "Wicked imp !" said Innerkepple, laiighiiig. 
 
 "And when he had sufficiently t\nsted liimself," con- 
 tinued she, "I have, with a grave face given the same hazel 
 eye to his opponent, and set his body in motion in the same 
 way. The serpent-charmer is nothhig to a woman. By 
 this art, I to-day gained the \'ictory ; and I'll stake my 
 auburn toupee against thy grey vng, that I beat, in the same 
 way, the boldest baron of the Borders." 
 
 "By the faith o' Innerkepple, ye're no blate, Kate!" said 
 the old baron, stUl laughing; "but come, let us see our 
 wounded men" — taking his daughter's arm. 
 
 "Leave their wounds to me, father," said she. "The 
 sting of the tarantula is cured by an old song. We women 
 are the true leeches ; doctors are quacks and medicasters to 
 us. We kill and cure like the Delphic sword, which makes 
 wounds and heals them by alternate strokes." 
 
 "Ever at yoTir quips, roisterer," said Innerkepple, as 
 they arrived at the court. 
 
 The wounded men had been brought in, and were con- 
 signed to the care of one of the retainers, skiUed in medi- 
 cine, Katherine's medicaments — her looks and tones — ^being 
 reserved for a balsamic appHcation, after the wounds were 
 cicatrized. The other retainers Avcre, meanwhUe, busy in 
 consultation, as might have been seen by their congregating 
 into parties, talking low, and thro-wing loolcs at Innerkepple 
 and his fair daughter, as they stood on the steps of the 
 inner door of the castle. 
 
 "The guerdon! the guerdon!" at last said one of the 
 vassals, advancing and throwing himself at the feet of Kate. 
 
 "Ha! ha! I forgot," replied she laughing; "but tiu-n 
 up thy face — art thou the man?" 
 
 "So say my companions, fair leddy," replied he. "I 
 brocht doon wi' this arm five o' Otterstone's men." 
 
 "With that arm!" replied she, "and what spirit nerved 
 the dead lu!S«b«x, thinkest thou?"
 
 60 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Dootlcss yours, fair leddy," answered he, smiling know- 
 ingly; "but, though the spirit was borrowed, I'm no tlie 
 less entitled to my reward." 
 
 "A good stickler for the rights of your sex,** answered 
 she, keeping up the humour; "but what guerdon demandcst 
 tliou?" 
 
 "That whilk knights hae sued in vain for at your fair 
 feet," answered the man, smiling, as he uttered nearly the 
 words she had used at the battle. 
 
 "Caught in my own snare," replied she, laughing loudly. 
 
 "Ah, Kate, Kate!" said the baron, joining in thehumom-, 
 "hoo mony gallant barons, and knights, and gentlemen hae 
 ye tormented by thae fair lips o' yours, which carry in their 
 cunnin' words a defence o' themsels sae weel contrived that 
 nana daur approach them! Ye're caught at last. Stand 
 to yer richts, man. A kiss was promised ye, and by the 
 honour o' Innerkepple, a kiss ye'll hae, if I should hand her 
 head by a grip o' her bonny auburn locks." 
 
 "Hold! hold!" cried Katherine ; "this matter depcndeth 
 on the answer to a question. Art thou married, sirrah?" 
 
 The man hesitated, fearful of being caught by his clever 
 adversary 
 
 "Have a care o' yoursel, Gregory," said Innerkepple, 
 "ye're on dangerous ground." 
 
 "What if I am or am not?" said the man, cautiously, 
 turning up his eye into the face of the wicked querist, 
 
 "If thou art not," said she, "then would a kiss of so fair 
 a damsel be to thee beyond the value of a croft of the best 
 land o' the barony o' Innerkepple; but if thou art, then 
 would the guerdon be as nothing to the kiss of thy wife, 
 and as the weight of a feather in the scale against an oxeu- 
 gate of good land." 
 
 "I'm no married," replied the man; "but, an't please 
 yer leddyship, I'U take the oxengate." 
 
 "Audacious varlet I" cried Kate, rejoicing in the adroit-
 
 KATE KEKNEDY. Gl 
 
 ncss she exhibited; "wouldst thou prefer a piece of earth to 
 a kiss of Kate Kennedy — a boon which the gayest knights 
 of the Borders have sued for in vain! But 'tis well — thou 
 hast refused the guerdon. Ha ! ha ! Men of Innerkepple, 
 ye are witnesses to the fact. This man hath spurned my 
 guerdon, and sought dull earth for my rosy lips." 
 
 " We are witnesses," cried the retainers ; and the coiu't- 
 yard rang with the laugh which the cleverness of their fair 
 mistress had elicited from those who envied Gregory of his 
 privilege. 
 
 " Kate, Kate !" said the old baron, joining in the laugh, 
 "will ever mortalbe able to seize Avhat are sae weel guarded? 
 I believe ye Avill be able to argue yer husband oot o' his 
 richts o' proving whether thae little traitors be made of 
 mortal flesh or ripe cherries. Biit wine is better than 
 Avomeu's lips ; and since Kate has sae cleverly got quit o' 
 her obligation, I'll mak amends by gieing ye a siiiro- 
 (jcdiim.'''' 
 
 Several measures of good old wine were served out to the 
 men by the hands of Katherine, who rejoiced in the contra- 
 diction of refusing one thing to give a better. Her health, 
 and that of Innerkepple, were drunk with loud shouts of 
 approbation; and the wassail was kept up till a late hoxir of 
 the n'mht. 
 
 Meanwhile, Otterstone was struggling with his disap- 
 pointment, and nourishing a deep spirit of revenge. The 
 shame of his defeat, accomplished by a girl, was insuffer- 
 able ; and the gnawing pain of the loss of honour and men, 
 in a cause where he had calculated securely on crushing his 
 supposed enemy, affected him so severely, that he sent, it 
 was reported, for liis son, who had lived from his infancy at 
 St. Omers, to come over to administer to him consolation. 
 AMien Innerkepple heard of these things, he marvelled 
 greatly at the stubbornness of his neighbour, whom he 
 wished, above all things, to drag, nolcnie vokntc, into a deep
 
 62 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 wassail in the old wainscotted hall of his castle, whereby he 
 might drown, with reason itself, all their hereditary grudges, 
 and transform a foe into a friend. These feelings were also 
 participated in by the warlike Kate, who acknowledged that 
 she did not, on that memorable day, fight for anything on 
 earth that she knew of, but the safety of her father, and the 
 sheer glory of victory. She entertained the best possible 
 feelings towards Otterstone, though she admitted, -with a 
 laugh, that if his men had not that day run for their lives, 
 she woidd have fought till they and their lord lay all dead 
 upon the field, and the glory of Otterstone was extiDgiiished 
 for ever. 
 
 A considerable period that passed in quietness, seemed to 
 indicate that the anger of the vanqiushed baron had escaped 
 by the valves appointed by nature for freeing the liver of its 
 redundant bile. Meanwhile, Innerkcpple's universal love 
 of mankind increased, as his friendship for the juice of the 
 grape grew stronger and stronger, and his potations waxed 
 deeper and deeper ; so that he was represented, all over 
 the Borders, as being the most jovial baron of his time. 
 The fame of Kate also went abroad like fire-flaughts ; but 
 no one knew what to make of her — whether to set her down 
 as a beautifvd virago, or as a merry imp of sportive devilry, 
 who fought her father's enemy with the same good-Avill 
 she felt towards the lovers whom she delighted with her 
 beauty and gaiety, and tormented by her cruel waggeries 
 and wiles. 
 
 This apparent quietness, and the consequent freedom from 
 all danger, induced the old baron to comply with a request 
 made to him by King James, to lend him forty of his 
 followers, to aid in suppressing some disturbances caused 
 by a number of outlawed reivers at that time ravaging 
 the Borders. Kathcrine gave her consent to the measure ; 
 but she wisely exacted the condition that the men shoidd 
 not be removed to a greater distance from the castle than
 
 KATE KEKNEDY. 63 
 
 ten miles. When James' emissary asked her Avhy she ad- 
 jected this condition to her father's agreement, she answered, 
 ■with that waggish mystery in which she often loved to 
 indulge, that she had such a universal love for his — the 
 emissary's — sex, that she could not suifer the idea of her 
 gallant men being further removed from her than the dis- 
 tance on which she had condescended. A question for ex- 
 planation only produced another "svicked quodlibct; so that 
 the royal messenger was obliged to be contented with a 
 reason that sounded in his ears very like a contempt of 
 royal authority — a circumstance for which she cared no 
 more than she did for the mute expression of admiration 
 of her beauty, that her quick eye detected on the face of 
 the deputy. 
 
 The men having been detached from the castle for the 
 service of the king, there remained only a small number, 
 not more than sufficient for occupying the more important 
 stations on the walls of the strength. There was, however, 
 no cause for alarm; and old Innerkepple continued to specu- 
 late over his spiced Tokay, on his three grand subjects of 
 antiquarian research; while Kathcrine followed her various 
 occupations of listening to and laughing at his reveries, 
 serving battle scenes on satin, and killing her knights with 
 her needle, in as many grotesque ways as her inventive 
 fancy coidd devise. One day the sound of a horn cut right 
 through the middle a long ptdl of Canaiy in the act of being 
 perfected by the old baron's powers of swallow ; and, in 
 a short time, the warder came in and said that a Avine 
 merchant, with sumpter mules and panniers, was at 
 the end of the drawbridge, and had expressed a strong 
 desire to submit his commodity to the test of such a 
 famous judge of the spirit of the grape as the baron of 
 Innerkepple, whose name had gone forth as transcending 
 that of all modern wine-drinkers. 
 
 "A wine merchant!" ejacidated Innerkepple, smacking
 
 G t TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 his lips after his interrupted draught of vintage '90. "'Wliat 
 species o' sma' potation does he deal in? Ha! ha! It 
 suits my humour to see the quack's een reel, as he finds his 
 tongue and palate glued thegither wi' what I ca' wine, and 
 gets them loosed again by his ain coloui'ed water. Show 
 him in, George." 
 
 " Wliar is my leddy, yer Honour ?" said the seneschal, 
 looking bluntly. "Will she consent to the drawbridge 
 bein' raised at a time when the castle's nearly empty ?" 
 
 " She has just gane into the green parlour in the west 
 tower," said the baron. "But I'll tak Kate in my ain 
 hands. She likes fun as weel as her auld father, and 
 will laugh to see this quack beaten wi' his ain bowls." 
 
 The seneschal withdrew, though reluctantly, and casting 
 his eyes about for the indispensable Katherine ; but she was 
 not Avithin his reach, and he felt himself compelled, by the 
 impatience of the old baron, to admit the merchant. The 
 creaking hinges of the bridge resoimded throvigh the castle, 
 and the merchant and his mules were seen by Katherine, 
 looking through a loophole, slowly making their way into 
 the castle. It was too late for her now to consider of the 
 propriety of the permission to enter ; so she leant her chin 
 on her hand, and quietly scanned the stranger, as he ci'ossed 
 the bridge, driving his miiles before him with a large stick, 
 which he brought down with a loud thwack on their 
 backs — accompanying his act Avith a loud "Whoop, ho!" 
 and occasionally throwing his eyes over the walls as he 
 proceeded. 
 
 "Whom have we here?" said she, as she communed with 
 herself, and nodded her head, still apparent through the 
 loophole. "By'r Lady! neither Gascon nor Fleming, or 
 my eyes are no better than my father's, when he looks at 
 antiques tliroiigli the red medium of his vintage of '90. 
 Perchance, a lover come to run away with Kate Kennedy. 
 Iley! the thought tickles my wild wits, and sends me on
 
 KATE KENNEDY. 65 
 
 the "wings of fancy into the regions of romance. Yet I have 
 not read that the catcliing and carrying off of Tai-tars hath 
 anything to do "vvith the themes of romantic love-errantry. 
 I'm witty at the expense of this poor packman; but, seri- 
 ously, Katherine Kennedy must carry off her lover. True 
 to the difference that opposes me to the rest of my sex, I 
 could not love a man whom I did not vanquish and abduct, 
 as a riever does the chattels of the farmer." 
 
 Continuing her gaze, as she laughed at her own strange 
 thoughts, she saw the merchant bind his mules to a ring 
 fixed in the inside of the wall, and take out of his panniers 
 a vessel, with which he proceeded in the direction of the 
 door that led to the hall. "When the merchant had disap- 
 peared, she saw one of the retainers of the castle examining 
 intently the mules and their panniers. He looked up and 
 caught her eye; and placing his finger on liis forehead, 
 made a sign for her to come do^vn. She obeyed "with her 
 usual alacrity, and in a moment was at the side of the re- 
 tainer, who, sUpping gently under the shade of the castle, 
 so as to be out of the "view of those "nithin the hall, com- 
 municated to the ear of Katherine some intelligence of an 
 important nature. The man looked grave ; Kate snapped 
 her fingers; the fire of her eyes glanced from the balls like 
 the sparks of struck fiint, and the expression of her coun- 
 tenance indicated that she had formed a purpose which 
 she gloried in executing. 
 
 " Hark ye, Gregory," said she ; "I am still your debtor, 
 but I require again your services." And, looking carefully 
 around her, she whispered some words into the ear of the 
 man ; and, upon recei"vdng his nod of inteUigence and 
 assent, sprung up the steps that led to the hall. 
 
 The "wine merchant was, as she entered, sitting at the 
 
 oaken table, opposite to the old baron, who was holding 
 
 "up in his hand a species of glass jug, and looking through 
 
 it ynth that peculiar expression which is only to be found 
 Vol. I. C
 
 CG TALES OF 'i'HE BORDERS. 
 
 in the face of a luxurious wine-toper in the act of passing 
 sentence. 
 
 " Wha, in God's name, are ye, man ? " cried the baron, 
 under the cover of whose speech Kate slipped cleverly up 
 to the window, and sat do^Tn, with her cheek resting on 
 her hand, in apparent listlessness, but eyeing intently the 
 stranger. " I coidd have wad the picture o' my ancestor, 
 "Watt o' Flodden, or King Henry's turret, in the east wing 
 o' Innerkepple, Avi' its twenty wounds, mair precious than 
 goold, that there wasna a cup o' vintage '90 in Scotland 
 except what I had mysel. AVliar got ye't, man ? Are ye 
 the Devil? Hae ye brocht it frae my ain cellars? Speak, 
 Satan ! " 
 
 "Vy, mon cher Innerkepple," replied the merchant, "did 
 I not know that you were one grand biberon — I mean 
 drinker of vin? It is knoAvn all over the marches — I 
 mean the Bordures. Aha ! no one Frenchman could 
 cheat the famous Innerkepple ; so I brought the best that 
 was in all my celliers. Is it not grand and magnifique ? " 
 
 " Grand an' magnifique, man ! " replied Innerkepple, as 
 he sipped the wine with the gravity of a judge. " It's 
 mair than a' that, man, if my tongue coidd coin a word to 
 express its ain sense o' what it is at this moment enjoying. 
 But the organ's stupified wi' sheer delight, and forgets its 
 very mither's tongue ; an' nae wonder, for my very ecn, 
 that didna taste it, reel and get drunk wi' the sight." And 
 the delighted baron took another piiU of the goblet. 
 
 " Aha! Innerkepple, you are von of the grandest biberons 
 I have ever seen in aU this contr(!;c," said the merchant. 
 " It is one great pleasir to trafique vit von so learned in 
 the science of bon gout. That grand smack of your lips 
 would tempt me to ruin myself, and drink mine own 
 commodity." 
 
 " Hae ye a stock o' the treasure ? " said the baron 5 " I 
 canna suppose it."
 
 KATE KE^"^"EDT. G7 
 
 " Just five barrils in my celliers at Berwick," ansAvered 
 the merchant, " containing quatre hundred pints de Paris 
 in each one of them." 
 
 " I could walk on my bare feet to Berwick to see it and 
 taste it," said the baron ; " but what clatter o' a horse's feet 
 is that ia the coxirt, Kate ? " 
 
 " Ha! sure it is my mules," said the Frenchman, start- 
 ing to his feet in alarm. 
 
 " Oh I keep your seat, Monsieur ^Merchant," cried Kate, 
 laughing and looking out of the window. " Can a lady 
 not despatch her servitor to Selkirk for a pair of sandals, 
 that should this day have been on my feet in place of in 
 Gilbert Skinner's hands, without raising folks from their 
 wine ? " 
 
 The Frenchman was satisfied, and retook his seat ; but 
 the baron looked at Kate, as if at a loss to know what 
 freak had now come into her inventive head. The lettins: 
 down of the drawbridee, and the sound of the horse's feet 
 passing along the soimding wood, verified her statement, 
 but carried no conviction to the mind of Innerkepple. He 
 had long ceased, however, the vain efibrt to tmderstand 
 the workings of his daughter's mind, and on the present 
 occasion he was occupied about too important a subject to 
 be interested in the vagaries of a madcap wench. 
 
 " By the Virgin ! " she said again, " my jennet will lose 
 her own sandals in going for mine, if Gregory thus strikes 
 the roweLs into her sides." 
 
 Covering, by these words, the rapid departure of the 
 messenger, she turned her eyes to continue the study of 
 the merchant, whom she watched with feline assiduity. 
 The conversation was again resumed. 
 
 "Five barrels, said ye, Monsieur?" resumed Innerkep- 
 ple. " Let me see — that, va what I hae mysel, may see 
 me out ; but it -will be a guid heir-loom to Kate's husband. 
 What is the price ? "
 
 CcJ TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " One merk tlie gallon of four pints de Paris," answered 
 the mercliant. 
 
 (" Yet I see no marks of Otterstone about him," mut- 
 tered Kate to herself. " How beautiful he is, maugre his 
 disguise 1 Had he come on a message of love, in place of 
 war, I would have taken him prisoner, and bound him 
 with the rays of light that come from my languishing 
 eyes.") 
 
 " That's dear, man," said Innerkepple. " But ye're a 
 cunning rogue ; if I keep drinking at this rate, the price 
 will sink as the flavour rises, and ye'll catch me, as men 
 do gudgeons, by the tongue." 
 
 " Aha ! mon cher Innerkepple," said the merchant, " you 
 have von excellent humour of fun about ye. If I vere not 
 un pauvre inerchand, I would have one grand plaisir in get- 
 ting mouille — I mean drunk — vit you." 
 
 (" Ha ! my treacherous Adonis, art on that tack, with 
 a foul wind in thy fair face ? " was Kate's mental ejacula- 
 tion. *' If thou nearest thy haven, I am a worse pilot 
 than Palimirus.") 
 
 " Wi' wine like that before ane," responded the baron, 
 " the topers alongside o' ye may be Frenchmen or Dutcli- 
 men, warriors or warlocks, wraiths or wassailers, merchants 
 or mahouns — a's alike. It will put a soul into a ghaist, a 
 yearning heart into a gowl, and a spirit o' nobility in the 
 breast o' ane wha never quartered arms but wi' the fair 
 ancs o' flesh an' bluid that belang to his wife. I'll be 
 oblivious o' a' warldly things before Kate's sandals come 
 frae Selkirk ; but yer price, man, I fear, will stick to me 
 to the end." 
 
 "I cannot make one deduction," said the merchant, 
 " but I vill give to the men in tlie base-court one jolly 
 debauch of very good vin, vich is in my hampers." 
 
 (" The kaim of chanticleer is in the wind's eye," mut- 
 tered Katherine. " Thou pointest nobly for the direction
 
 KATE KENNEDY. 69 
 
 of treachery ; but my sandals vnH be back from Selkirk 
 long before I am obliged to march with thee to the prison 
 of Otterstone.") 
 
 " "Weel, male it a merk," said Innerkepple, " for five 
 pints, an' a bouse to my retainers, wha are as muckle be- 
 loved by me as if they Avere my bairns ; an' I •will close 
 wi' ye." 
 
 " Veil, that is one covenant inter nous,^'' said the mer- 
 chant ; " but I cannot return to Berwick until demain — I 
 mean the morrow ; and we vill have the long night for 
 one jolly carousal. I vill go sans delai, and give the poor 
 fellows, in the meantime, one leetle tasting of the grand 
 cheer." 
 
 (" Then I am too long here," muttered Kate. " Alex- 
 ander told his men that the Persian stream was poisonous, 
 to prevent them from stopping to drink, whereby they 
 would have fallen into the hands of the enemy. One not 
 less than he — ha I ha! — Avill save her men, by telling them 
 there is treachery in the cup.") 
 
 She descended instantly to the base-court, and, passing 
 from one guard to another, she whispered in their ears 
 certain instructions, which, by the nodding of their heads, 
 tliey seemed to understand, Avhile those she had not time 
 to visit received from their neighbours the communication 
 at second-hand, and thus, in a short space of time, she pre- 
 pared the whole retainers for the part they were destined 
 to play. She had scarcely finished this part of her opera- 
 tions, and got out of the court, when the wine merchant" 
 made his appearance on the steps leading to the hall. He 
 nodded pleasantly to the men, and, proceeding to his 
 mules, took out of one of the panniers a large vessel filled 
 with wine, 'rill's he laid on the flagstones of the base- 
 court, and alongside of it he placed a large cup. lie then 
 called out to the retainers to approach, and seemed pleased 
 with the readiness with which they compliedAvith his request.
 
 70 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " Mine very good fellows," said he, " I have sold your 
 master, Innerkepple, one grand quantity of vine ; and he 
 says I am tmder one obHgation to treat you vit a hamper, 
 for the sake of the grand affection he bears to you. You 
 may drink as much as ever you vill please ; and ven this 
 is brought to one termination, I will supply you vit 
 more." 
 
 " We're a' under a suitable obligation to ye, sir," replied 
 the oldest of the retainers, a sly, pawky Scotchman — " and 
 ■vvinna fail to do credit to the present ye've sae nobly pre- 
 sented to us ; but do ye no hear Innerkepple callin' for ye 
 frae the ha' ? Awa, su^, to the guid baron, and leave us to 
 our carouse." 
 
 " Ay," said another ; " we'll inform ye when this is 
 finished." 
 
 " Finished ! " said a third ; " well be a' on oor backs 
 before Ave see the end o't." 
 
 "Aha! excellent jolly troup ! " cried the merchant, 
 delighted with this company. 
 
 The voice of Katherine, who appeared on the steps 
 leading to the hall, now arrested their attention. 
 
 " ISIy father is impatient for thee, good merchant," said 
 she. 
 
 '■'■Ma chere leddy," replied he, "I will be there a pre- 
 sent." And, looking up to see that she had again disap- 
 peared — " Drink, my jolly mates," he continued. " It is 
 the grand matiere, the bon stuff, the excellent good liqueur. 
 Aha ! you Avill be so merry, and you know you have the 
 consent of Innerkepple." 
 
 "We'll be a' as drunk as bats," said he who spoke first, 
 with a sly leer. 
 
 " The Deil tak him wha has the beddin' o' us ! " said 
 another, 
 
 "So say I," added half-a-dozen of voices. 
 
 "Then I am the Deil's property," said the warder, "un-
 
 KATE liEi^'NEDT. 71 
 
 less I am saved by the power o' the "wine ; and, by my 
 faith, I'll no spare't." 
 
 "Aha! very good! excellent joke! " cried the dehghted 
 merchant. " Drink, and shame the Diable, as we say in 
 France. Wine comes from the gods, and is the grand 
 poison of Beelzebub." 
 
 And, after enjoying deep potations, the merchant re- 
 tm-ned to the hall, amidst the laughter and pretended 
 applause of the men. The moment he had disappeared, 
 Katherine got carried to the spot a measure filled with 
 wine and water; and, having emptied in another vessel 
 the contents of the merchant's hamper, the thin and inno- 
 cuous potation was poured in to supply its place. The 
 men assisted in the operation; and, aU being finished, 
 they began to carouse with great glee and jollity. 
 
 " I said, my leddy, to the merchant, that we would be 
 a' as drmik as bats," said one of the humorists ; " and sure 
 this is a fair beginning ; for wha could stand drink o' this 
 fearfu' strength ? " 
 
 " The Deil tak him wha has the beddin' o' us I " said 
 the other, laughing, as he drank off a glass of the thin 
 mixture. 
 
 " Then I am. the Deil's property," said the Avarder, "un- 
 less I am saved by the power o' this strong drink." 
 
 And thus the men, encouraged by the smiles of Kate, 
 who was, with great activity, conducting the ceremonies, 
 seemed to be getting boisterous on the strength of the 
 merchant's wine. Tlicir jokes raised real laughter ; and 
 the noise of their mirth went up and entered into the 
 hall, fiilling like incense on the heart of the merchant. 
 Katherine, meanwhile, again betook herself to her station 
 at the hall Avindow, using assiduously both her eyes and 
 cars; the former being directed to a dark fir plantation 
 that stood to the left of the castle, and the latter occupied 
 by the conversations of her father and the merchant.
 
 72 TALES OP THE BORDEKS. 
 
 "My men," said Innerkepple," seem to ba following the 
 example o' their master. They are gettin' noisy. I hope, 
 !Monsieur, ye were moderate in yer present. A castle- 
 fa' o' drunk men is as bad as a headfu' o' intoxicated 
 notions." 
 
 (" Hurrah for the French merchant ! Long life to him I 
 May he continue as strong as his liquor ! ") 
 
 "Aha! thejoUy good fellows are feeling the sting of the 
 spirit," said the merchant, \dih sparkling eyes. 
 
 "Ungratefu' dogs!" rejoined Innerkepple; "I txeat 
 them as if they were my sons, and hear lioo they praise a 
 stranger for a bellyfu' o' Avine ! My beer never produced 
 sae muclde froth o' flattery. But tliis wine o' yours, ^lon- 
 sieur, dro-\vns a' my indignation." 
 
 (" I;ong life to Innerkepple and the fair Katherine ! ") 
 
 "Now you are getting the grand adulation," said the 
 Frenchman. " Ha ! they are a jovial troup of good chaps, 
 and deserve one grand potation ; but I gave them only one. 
 leetle hamper, for fear they should get moiiUle'." 
 
 " Very considerate. Monsieur, very prudent and kind," 
 said the baron ; " for twa-thirds o' my men are fechtiii for 
 Jamie, and we hae a kittle neebor in Otterstone, Avhase 
 son I hear has come hame frae St. Omcrs. By-»the-by, saw 
 ye the callant in France ? They say he's sair ashamed o' 
 the defeat o' his father by the generalship o' my dochter 
 Kate." 
 
 " Ha ! did ma chere leddy combattre Otterstone ? " 
 ejacialated the Frenchman, laughing. " Very good ! ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! I did not know that, ven I sold him one quan- 
 tity of vin yesterday ; but I assure you, mon cher Inner- 
 kepple, he is not at all your enemy, and his son did praise 
 ma chere leddy as the most magnificent vench in all the 
 contree." 
 
 ("Excellently sustained," muttered Katherine to herself 
 " How I do love the roll of that dark eye, and the curl of
 
 KATE KENNEDY. 73 
 
 tliat lip covered with the black moustache ! Can so much 
 beauty conceal a deadly purpose ? But the ' magnificent 
 vench ' shall earn yet a better title to the soubriquet out 
 of thy discomfiture, fair, deceitful, sweet devil.") 
 
 "I only wish I had Otterstone whar you are, man," 
 said Innerkepple, *' wi' the hquor as sweet an' my bile nae 
 bitterer. I would conquer him in better style than did 
 my dochter, though, I confess, she manoeuvred him beauti- 
 fully." 
 
 (" Perdition to the faes o' Innerkepple ! and, chief o' 
 them, the fause Otterstone, the leddy-licked loon ! ") 
 
 " Helas ! The master and the men have the very difier- 
 ent creeds," said the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders ; 
 " but my vin is making the bon companions choleric. Ha! 
 ha ! " 
 
 (" It is — it is ! " muttered Katherine, as she strained her 
 eyes to catch the signal of a white handkerchief, that 
 floated on the top of one of the trees in the fir-wood.) 
 
 She now abruptly left the hall, and proceeded to the 
 place in the court occupied by those who were wassailing 
 on the coloured water she had brewed for them with her 
 fair hands. Tliey were busily occupied by the manifesta- 
 tions of their mirth, which was not altogether simulated. 
 A cessation of the noise evinced the effect of her presence 
 among those who deified her. 
 
 " Up with the merry strain, my joUy revellers I " said 
 she, smiUng, and immediately " Bertram the Archer," in 
 loud notes, rung in the baUium : — 
 
 " And Bertram held aloft the horn, 
 Filled wi' the bluid-red wyne, 
 And three times has he loudly sworn 
 His luve he winna tj-ne. 
 
 •' My Anne sits on yon eastern tower, 
 An' greets baith day and night, 
 An' sorrows for her luver lost, 
 An' right turned Into might.
 
 74: TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " ♦ Then hie j'e all, my merry men, 
 To yonder lordly ha' ! 
 An if they -winna ope the gate, 
 We'll scale the burly wa'.* 
 
 •' ' Hurra ! ' then shouted Bertram's men, 
 And loudly they hae sworn, 
 That they Avill right theu* gallant knigh 
 Before the opening morn."* 
 
 Under the cover of the noise of the song, which was 
 sung -vnth bacchanalian glee, Katherine comnmnicated 
 her farther instructions to the man who had assumed the 
 principal direction ; and, retreating quickly, lest the wine 
 merchant should come out and surprise her, she left the 
 revellers to continue their work. She was soon again at 
 her post at the window. The boon companions within 
 the hall were still busy with their conversation and their 
 wine ; and by this time the shades of evening had begxtn 
 to darken the view from the castle, and envelop the 
 towers in gloom ; the rooks had retired to rest, the owls 
 had taken up the screech note Avhich pains the sensitive 
 ear of night, and the bats Avere beginning to flap their 
 leathern wings on the rough sides of the old walls. 
 
 The sounds of the revellers in the covtrfc-yard began 
 gradually to die away, and the strains of " Bertram the 
 Archer" were limited to a weak repetition of the last lines, 
 somewhat curtailed of their legitimate syllables : — 
 
 " And we will right our gallant knight 
 Before the opening morn." 
 
 These indications of the effect of the wine increased, till, 
 by-and-by, aU seemed to be muffled up in silence. The 
 circumstance seemed to be noticed at once by the wine 
 merchant ; but he took no notice of it to Innerkepple, 
 whom he still continued to ply with the rich vintage '90. 
 
 * ririkcrton gives only one verse of " Bertram the Archer," but Innorkcpplc's 
 men did not rcquiro to be antiquaries.
 
 KATE KENNEDY. 75 
 
 Kate's senses were all on the alert, and she watched every 
 scene of the acting drama, set agoing by her o^vn master 
 mind. A noise was now heard at the door of the hall, as 
 if some one wished to get in, but coidd not effect an 
 opening. 
 
 " Who's there ?" cried Kate, as she proceeded to open 
 the door. 
 
 " It's me, your Leddyship's Honour," answered George, 
 the seneschal, as he staggered, apparently in the last stage 
 of drunkenness, into the hall. 
 
 " Wliat means this?" cried Innerkepple, rising up, and 
 not very well able to stand himself. " The Avardor o' my 
 castle in that condition, an' a' our lives dependin' on his 
 prudence ! " 
 
 " Your Honour's maist forgiving pardon," said the 
 warder. "lam come here, maist lordly Innerkepple" — 
 hiccup — " to inform your Highness that a' the men o' the 
 castle are lying in the base-coiu-t like swine. I am the 
 only sober man in the hale menyie " — hie — hie. " But 
 whar's the ferly ? The strength o' the Frenchman's wine 
 would have floored the strongest hensure o' the Borders " 
 — hiccup — " an' I would hae been like the rest, if I hadna 
 been the keeper o' the keys o' Innerkepple." 
 
 (" As well as Roscius, George," muttered Kate, as she, 
 with a smile, contemplated the actor.) 
 
 " George, George, man," said the baron, ** ye're just as 
 bad as the rest. You've been OAver guid to them, !Mon- 
 sieur ; but this mooliness, as ye ca' it, has a' its dangers in 
 thae times, when castles are surprised an' taen like sleopin' 
 mawkins in bushes o' broom. Awa to yer bed ahint the 
 gratin', man, an' sleep afl" the wine, as fast as it is possible 
 for a drunk man to do." 
 
 George bowed, and staggered out of the hall, to betake 
 himself to his couch. 
 
 " Aha ! this is one sad misadventure," said the merchant.
 
 76 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " I did not know there vas half so mncli strength in this 
 vin. Let us see the jolly topers, mon noble Innerkepple. 
 It is one grand vision to a vendeur of good vin to see the 
 biberons lying on the ground, all moiiille. Helas ! I was 
 very wrong ; but mon noble baron will forgive the grand 
 fault of liberality." 
 
 The merchant rose, and, giving his arm to Innerkepple, 
 who had some difficulty in steadying himself, proceeded 
 towards the court, where they saw verified the report of 
 the warder. The men were lying about the yard, appar- 
 ently in a state of perfect insensibility. The wine measure 
 was empty and overturned; several drinking horns lay 
 scattered around ; and everything betokened a deep de- 
 bauch. 
 
 " This maun hae been potent liquor," said the baron, 
 taking up one of the cups, in which a few drops remained, 
 and drinking it. " Ha ! man, puir gear after a'. A man 
 micht drink three gallons o't, and dance to the tune o' 
 Gilquhisker after he has finished. What's the meaning o' 
 this?" 
 
 " Aha ! your tongue is mouille, mon noble Innerkepple," 
 said the merchant. 
 
 " It may be sae," replied the baron ; " but it Avasna 
 made mooly, as ye denominate it, by drink like that. I 
 canna understand it, Monsieur." 
 
 As he stood musing on the strange circumstance, he 
 caught, by the light of a torch, the eye of Kate at the Avindow, 
 and felt his bewilderment increased by a leer in that dark 
 bewitching orb, whose language appeared to him often — 
 and never more so than at present — like Greek. His 
 attention was next claimed by the merchant, who proposed 
 that the men should be allowed to sleep out their inebriety 
 where they lay. This proposition was reasonable ; and it 
 would, besides, operate as a proper punishment for their 
 exceeding the limits of that prudence which their duty to
 
 KATE ttEKXfiDY. 77 
 
 their master f eqiiircd them to observe. The baron agreed 
 to it, and, seeking again the support of the Frenchman's 
 arm, he returned to the hall. 
 
 The night Avas now fast closing in. An old female 
 domestic had placed lamps in the hall, and some supper 
 was served up to the baron and the merchant. Kate re- 
 tired, as she said, to her couch ; but it may be surmised 
 that an antechamber received her fair person, where she 
 had something else to do than to sleep. The loud snoring 
 of the men in the court-yard was heard distinctly, mixing 
 with the screams of the owls that perched on the turrets. 
 The two biberons sat down to partake of the supper, and 
 prepare their stomachs, as Innerkepple said, for another 
 bouse of the grand liquor. The conduct of the two 
 carousers now assumed aspects very different from each 
 other. The baron was gradually getting more easy and 
 comfortable, while the merchant displayed an extreme 
 restlessness and anxiety. The praises of his wine fell 
 dead upon his ear, and the jokes of the good Innerkepple 
 seemed to have become vapid and tiresome to him. 
 
 *' That's a grand chorus in the court-yard, ^lonsieur," 
 said the baron. " Singing, snoring, groaning, are the 
 three successive acts o' the wassailers. They would have 
 been better engaged eating their supper. Yah! I'm 
 gettin' sleepy. Monsieur." 
 
 " Helas ! helas!" ejaculated the merchant. " You prick 
 my memory, mon noble Innerkepple. My poor mules ! 
 They have got no souper. Ah! cruel master that I am to 
 forget the pauvre animals that have got no language to tell 
 their wants." 
 
 (" So, so — the time approaches," ejacidated Kate, men- 
 tally, as she watched behind the door.) 
 
 " Pardon me, mon cher baron," he continued, " I vill 
 go and give them one leetle feed, and return to you a 
 present. 1 have got beans in my hampers."
 
 78 T.VLES OF TPIE DORDERS. 
 
 " Humanity needs nae pardon, man," replied the baron, 
 nodding witli sleep. " AAva and feed tlie puir creatures ; 
 but tak care an' no tramp on an' kill ony o' my brave men 
 in yer effort to save the lives o' yor mides." 
 
 " Never fear," said the other, taking from his pocket a 
 small lantern, which he lighted. " Travellers stand in 
 grand need of this machine," he continued. " I will re- 
 turn on the instant." 
 
 He now left the baron to his sleep, and crept stealthily 
 along the passage to the door leading to the court. He 
 was followed, unseen, by Katherine, who watched every 
 motion. He felt some difficulty in avoiding the men, Avho 
 still lay on the ground; but with careful steps he reached 
 the wall, and suddenly sprung on the parapet. 
 
 " Prepare I" whispered Katherine into the ears of the 
 prostrate retainers; "the time approaches." 
 
 While thus engaged, she kept her eye upon the dark 
 shadow of the merchant, and saw with surprise a blue 
 light flash up from the top of the wall, and throw its 
 ominous glare on the surrounding objects. A scream of 
 the birds on the castle walls announced their wonder at 
 the strange vision, and Katherine concluded that the 
 merchant had thus produced his signal from some phos- 
 phorescent mixture, which he had ignited by tlife aid of 
 the lantern. The light was followed instantly by a shrill 
 blast of a horn. With a bound he reached the floor of the 
 court, and, hastening to the warder's post, threw off" the 
 guard of the wheel, and, Avith all the art and rapidity of a 
 seneschal, prepared for letting doAvn the bridge. All Avas still 
 as death ; there seemed to be no interruption to his proceed- 
 ings ; but he started as he saw the rays of a lamp thrown 
 from a loophole over his head, upon that part of the moat 
 which the bridge covered. He had gone too far to recede ; 
 the creaking of the hinges grated, and down came the 
 bridge Avith a holloAV sound. A rush was noAV heard as of
 
 KATE KENNEOr. 79 
 
 a body of men pressing forward to take possession of the 
 passage ; and tramp, tramp came the sounds of the march- 
 ing invaders over the hollow-sounding wood. All was still 
 silent within the castle, and the sound of the procession con- 
 tinued. In an instant, a dense, dark body issued from the 
 fir-wood, and rushed with heavy impetuous force on the 
 rear of the corps that were passing into the castle; and, 
 simultaneously with that movement, the Avhole body of t lie 
 men within the castle pressed forward to the end of the 
 bridge, and met the front of the intruders, who were thus 
 hedged in by two forces that had taken them by surprise, 
 in both front and rear. 
 
 " Caught in our own snare ! " cried the voice of old 
 Otterstone. 
 
 " Disarm them," sounded shrilly from the lips of Kathe- 
 rine Kennedy. 
 
 And a scuffle of wrestling men sent its fearful, death- 
 like sound through the dark baUiuni. The strife was short 
 and comparatively silent. The men who had rushed from 
 the wood, and who were no other than the absent retain- 
 ers df Innerkepple, coming from behind, and those -within 
 the strength meeting them in front, produced such an 
 alarm in the enclosed troops, that the arms were taken 
 from their hands as if they had been struck ^vith palsy. 
 Every two men seized their prisoner, while some hold- 
 ing burning torches came nmning forward, to show the 
 revengeful baron the full extent of his shame. Kanged 
 along the court, the spectacle presented by the prisoners 
 was striking and grotesque. Their eyes sought in surprise 
 the form of a female, who, -with a sword in one hand and 
 a torch in the other, stood in front of them, as the genius 
 of their misfortune. 
 
 The haU door was now opened, where the old baron 
 still sat sound asleep in his chair, unconscious of all these 
 proceedings. The prisoners were led into the spacious
 
 80 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 apartment, and ranged along the sides in long ranks. 
 Innerlcepple rubbed his eyes, stared, rubbed them again, 
 and seemed lost in perfect bewilderment. All was con- 
 ducted in dumb show. The proud and revengeful Otter- 
 stone was placed alongside of the good baron, his enemy ; 
 and Kate smiled as she contemplated the strange looks 
 which the two rivals threw upon each other. 
 
 " Eight happy am I," said Katherine, coming forward in 
 the midst of the assembly, " to meet my good friends, the 
 noble Otterstone and his men, in my father's hall, under 
 the auspices of a hcaUng friendship. Father, I offer thee 
 the hand of Otterstone. Otterstone, I offer thee the hand 
 ol Innerkepple. Ye have long been separated by strife 
 and war, though, on the one side, there was always a good 
 leeUng of generous kindliness, opposed to a bitterness that 
 had no cause, and a revenge that knew no excuse. Born 
 nobles and neighbours, educated civilized men, and bap- 
 tized Christians, why should ye be foes ? but, above all, 
 why should the one strike with the sword of war the hand 
 that has held out to him the wine-cup ? My father has 
 ever been thy friend, noble Otterstone, and thou hast ever 
 been his foe. How is this ? Ah ! I know it. Thou wert 
 ignorant, noble guest, of my good father's generous and 
 friendly feelings, and I have taken this opportunity of 
 introducing you to each other, that ye may mutually come 
 to the knowledge of each other's better qualities and in- 
 tentions." 
 
 " What, in the name o' heaven, means a' this, Kate ? " 
 ejaculated Innerkepple, in still unsubdued amazement. 
 •' Am I dreamin', or am I betrayed ? Whar is the wine 
 merchant? Hoc cam ye here, Otterstone? Am I a 
 prisoner in my ain castle, and my ain men and dochter 
 laughing at my misfortune ? But ye spoke o' friendsliip, 
 Kate, Is it possible, Otterstone, ye hae repented o' yer 
 ill-will, and come to mak amends for past grievances?"
 
 KATE KENNEDY". Si 
 
 " Thou liast heard him, Otterstone," said Kate. " Wilt 
 thou still refuse the hand?" 
 
 The chief hesitated ; but the good-humoured looks of 
 Inuerkepple melted him, and he held out the right hand 
 of good-fellowship to the old baron, who seized it cordially, 
 and shook it heartily. 
 
 *' Now," said Kate, " we must seal this friendship with a 
 cup of wine. Bring in the wine merchant." 
 
 The Frenchman was produced by the warder, along 
 with the remaining hampers of the wine that had been left 
 in the court-yard. As may have been already surmised, 
 he was no other than the son of old Otterstone. Surprised 
 and confounded by all these proceedings, he stood in the 
 midst of the company, looking first at his father, and then 
 at Innerkepple, without forgetting Kate, who stood like a 
 majestic queen, enjoying the triumph of her spirit and 
 ingenuity. Above all things, he Avondered at the smile of 
 good humour in the face of his ftither; and his surprise 
 knew no bounds when he saw every one around as well 
 pleased as if they had been convened for the ends of 
 friendship. 
 
 " Hector," said old Otterstone, looking at his son, " the 
 game is up. This maiden has outwitted us, and we are 
 caught in our own snare. OIF with thy disguise, and 
 show this noble damsel that thou art worthy of her best 
 smiles." 
 
 Hector obeyed, and took off his wig, and the clumsy 
 habiliments that covered his armour, and stood in the 
 midst of the assembly, a young man of exquisite beauty. 
 
 " The wine merchant, Hector Fotheringluuu 1 " cried 
 Innerkepple. " Ah, Kate, Kate ! is this the way ye bring 
 yer lovers to Innerkepple ha'? — in the shape o' a wine 
 merchant — the only form o' the Deevil I wad like to see on 
 this earth ? Ha 1 ye baggage, weel do ye ken hoo to get 
 at the heart o' your faither. But whar w;is the use o'
 
 82 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 secresy, woman? And you, Hector, man, I needed nae 
 bribe o' Tokay to be friendly to the lover o' my dochter. 
 A fine youth — a fine youth. Surely, surely, this man was 
 made for my dochter Kate." 
 
 " And thy daughter Kate was made for him," cried 
 Otterstone. 
 
 The retainers of both houses shouted applause, and the 
 hall rang with the noise. The Avine, which was intended 
 for deception and treachery, was circulated freely, and 
 opened the hearts of the company. Innerkepple was 
 ready again for his Tokay, and, lifting a large goblet to his 
 head — 
 
 "To the union o' the twa hooses 1" cried he. "And I 
 wish I had twenty dochtera, and Otterstone as mony sons, 
 that they micht a' be married thegither ; but, on this con- 
 diiion, that the bridegrooms should a' come in the shape o' 
 wine merchants." 
 
 " Hurra, hurra !" shouted the retainers. The night was 
 spent in good humour and revelry. All was restored; and, 
 in a short time, the two hoxoses Avere rmited by the marriage 
 of Hector Fotheringham and Katherine Kennedy.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 83 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON* 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 •* Of Ferguson, the bauld and slee," — Burns. 
 
 I HAVE, I believe, as little of the egotist in my composition 
 as most men; nor would I deem the story of my life, though 
 by no means unvaried by incident, of interest enough to 
 repay the trouble of either writing or perusing it, Avere it 
 the story of my oAvn Hfe only; but, though an obscure man 
 myself, I have been singularly fortunate in my friends. The 
 party-coloured tissue of my recollections is strangely inter- 
 woven, if I may so speak, with pieces of the domestic liis- 
 tory of men whose names have become as familiar to our 
 ears as that of our coimtry itself; and I have been induced 
 to struggle with the deHcacy Avhich renders one unwilling 
 to speak much of one's self, and to overcome the dread of 
 exertion natural to a period of life greatly advanced, 
 through a desire of preserving to my countrymen a few 
 notices, which would otherwise be lost to them, of two of 
 their greatest favourites. I could once reckon among my 
 dearest and most familiar friends, Robert Burns and Robert 
 Ferguson. 
 
 It is now rather more than sixty years since I studied 
 
 * The perusal of this paper, wiitten at an early period by tho lamented 
 Hugh Miller, cannot fail to suggest some reflections on the fate of tho author 
 himself and that of the poet he describes. It would bo simply fanciful to draw 
 from his choice of subject, and tho sympathy ho manifests for tho victim of 
 insanity, any conclusion of a felt adiuity of mental typo on his part. Wc would 
 presently get into tho obscure subject of presentiments. It is tnio that Hugh 
 Miller wrote poetry, and was thus subject to tho Nemesis; but wo insist for no 
 more th.in a case of coincidence, leaving to psychologists to settle tho question ot 
 the alleged connection between certain poetical types of mind and eventual 
 madness — cases of which arc so plentifully recorded in Germany. — iM.
 
 84: TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 for a few weeks at the University of St. AndreAv's. I was 
 the son of very poor parents, who resided in a seaport 
 to-\\Ti on the Avestcrn coast of Scotland. My father was a 
 house-carpenter, a quiet, serious man, of industrious habits 
 and great simplicity of character, but miserably depressed 
 in his circumstances, through a sickly habit of body : my 
 mother was a warm-hearted, excellent woman, endowed 
 wth no ordinary share of shrewd good sense and sound 
 feeling, and indefatigable in her exertions for my father 
 and the family. I was taught to read at a very early age, 
 by an old woman in the neiglibourhood — such a person as 
 Shenstone describes in his "Schoolmistress:" and, beinff 
 naturally of a reflective turn, I had begun, long ere I had 
 attained my tenth year, to derive almost my sole amuse- 
 ment from books. I read incessantly; and after exhausting 
 the shelves of all the neighbours, and reading every variety 
 of work that fell in my way — from " The Pilgrim's Progress" 
 of Bunyan, and the Gospel Sonnets of Erskine, to a treatise 
 on fortification by Vauban, and the "History of the Heavens" 
 by the Abbe Pluche — I Avoidd have pined away for lack 
 of my accustomed exercise, had not a benevolent baroinit 
 in the neighbourhood, for whom my father occasionally 
 ■wrought, taken a fancy to me, and thrown open to my 
 perusal a large and well-selected library. Nor did his 
 kindness terminate until, after having secured to me all of 
 learning that the parish school afforded, he had settled me, 
 now in my seventeenth year, at tlie University. 
 
 Youth is the season of warm friendsliips and romantic 
 wishes and hopes. We say of the child, in its first attempts 
 to totter along the wall, or when it has first learned to rise 
 beside its mother's knee, that it is yet too weak to stand 
 alone; and we may employ the same language in describ- 
 ing a young and ardent mindf It is, like the child, too 
 weak to stand alone, and anxiously seeks out some kindred 
 mind on wliich to lean. I had had my intimates at school,
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP FERGUSON. 85 
 
 ■\vlio, though of no very superior cast, had served me, if I 
 may so speak, as resting-places, when, wearied with my 
 studies, or when I had exhausted my hghter reading; and 
 now, at St. Andrew's, where I knew no one, I began to 
 experience the unhappiness of an unsatisfied sociahty. My 
 schoolfellows were mostly stiff, illiterate lads, who, with a 
 little bad Latin and worse Greek, plumed themselves 
 mightily on their scholarship; and I had Uttle induce- 
 ment to form any intimacies among them ; for, of ah men, 
 the ignorant scholar is the least amusing. Among the 
 students of the upper classes, however, there was at least 
 one individual with whom I longed to be acquainted. He 
 was apparently much about my o'wti age, rather belov/ than 
 above the middle size, and rather dehcately than robustly 
 formed; but I have rarely seen a more elegant figure or 
 more interesting face. His features were small, and there 
 was what might perhaps be deemed a too feminine deUcacy 
 in the Avhole contour; but there was a broad and very high 
 expansion of forehead, Avhich, even in those days, when we 
 were acquainted with only the phrenology taught by Plato, 
 might be regarded as the index of a capacious and power- 
 ful mind; and the brilliant light of his large black eyes, 
 seemed to give earnest of its activity. 
 
 " "\Mio, in the name of wonder, is that?" I inquired of 
 a class-fellow, as this interesting-looking young man passed 
 me for the first time. 
 
 "A clever, but very unsettled fellow from Edinburgh," 
 replied the lad; "a capital linguist, for he gained our first 
 bursary three years ago; but ovxr Professor says he is cer- 
 tain he ■will never do any good. He cares nothing for the 
 company of scholars like himself; and employs himscif — 
 though he excels, I believe, in English composition — in 
 writing vulgar Scotch rhymes, like Allan Ramsay. His 
 name is Eobert Ferguson." 
 
 I felt, from this moment, a strong desire to rank among
 
 86 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 the friends of one who cared nothing for the company of 
 such men as my class-fellow, and Avho, though acquainted 
 with the Literature of England and Eome, could dwell ^vith 
 interest on the simple poetry of his native country. 
 
 There is no place in the neighboui-hood of St. Andrew's 
 where a leisure hour may be spent more agreeably than 
 among the ruins of the Cathedral. I was not slow in dis- 
 covering the eligibilities of the spot; and it soon became one 
 of my favourite haimts. One evening, a few weeks after I 
 had entered on my course at college, I had seated myself 
 among the ruins in a little i\'ied nook fronting the setting 
 sun, and was deeply engaged with the melancholy Jaques 
 in the forest of Ardennes, when, on hearing a light footstep, 
 I looked up, and saw the Edinburgh student whose appear- 
 ance had so interested me, not four yards away. He was 
 busied Avith his pencil and his tablets, and muttering, as he 
 went, in a half audible voice, what, from the inflection of 
 the tones, seemed to be verse. On seeing me, he started, 
 and apologizing, in a few hurried but courteous words, 
 for what he termed the involuntary intrusion, would have 
 passed; but, on my rising and stepping up to him, he 
 stood. 
 
 " I am afraid, Mr. Fergiison," I said, *' 'tis I who owe 
 you an apology; the ruins have long been yours, and I am 
 but an intruder. But you must pardon me ; I have often 
 heard of them in the west, where they are hallowed, even 
 more tlian they are here, from thefr connection with the 
 history of some of our noblest Reformers ; and, besides, I 
 see no place in the neighboui-hood where Shukspeare can 
 be read to more advantage." 
 
 *' All," said he, taking the volume out of my hand, " a 
 reader of Shakspeare and an admirer of Knox. I question 
 whether the hercsiarch and the poet had much in common." 
 
 *' Nay, now, Mr. Ferguson," I replied, "you are too true 
 a Scot to question that. They had much, very much in
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 87 
 
 common. Knox was no rude Jack Cade, but a great and 
 powerful-minded man ; decidedly as much so as any of the 
 nobler conceptions of the dramatist — his Cajsars, Brutuses, 
 or Othellos. Buchanan could have told you that he had 
 even much of the spirit of the poet in huu, and wanted 
 only the art ; and just remember how ISIilton speaks of him 
 in his " Areopagitica," Had the poet of "Paradise Lost" 
 thought regarding him as it has become fashionable to 
 think and speak now, he would hardly have apostrophized 
 him as — Knox, the reformer of a nation — a great man ani- 
 mated by the spirit of God.'''' 
 
 " Pardon me," said the young man, "I am little acquainted 
 with the prose writings of IMilton ; and have, indeed, picked 
 up most of my opinions of Knox at second-hand. But I have 
 read his merry account of the murder of Beaton, and found 
 nothing to alter my preconceived notions of him, from either 
 tlie matter or manner of the narrative. Now that I think 
 of it, however, my opinion of Bacon would be no very ade- 
 quate one, were it formed solely fi'om the extract of his 
 history of Henry VH., given by Kaimes in his late pubHca- 
 tion. — ^Wni you not extend your wallc?" 
 
 "We quitted the ruins together, and went sauntering along 
 the shore. There was a rich sunset glow on the water, and 
 the hills that rise on the opposite side of the Frith stretched 
 their imdulating line of azure tmder a gorgeous canopy of 
 crimson and gold. My companion pointed to the scene: — 
 "These glorious clouds," he said, "are but >vreaths of 
 vapour ; and these lovely hiUs, accumulations of earth and 
 stone. And it is thus with all the past — with the past of 
 our own little histories, that borrows so much of its golden 
 beauty from the medium through which we survey it— with 
 the past, too, of all history. There is poetry in the remote 
 — the bleak hill seems a darker firmament, and the chill 
 wreath of vapour a river of fire. And you, sir, seem to 
 have contemplated the history of our stern Reformers
 
 88 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 throiTgli tliis poetical medium, till you forget tliat tlie 
 poetry was not iu them, but in that through which you 
 surveyed them." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Ferguson," I repUed, " you must permit me to 
 make a distinction. I acqtdesce fully in the justice of your 
 remark ; the analogy, too, is nice and striking, but I would 
 fain carry it a little further. Every eye can see the beauty 
 of the remote ; but there is a beauty in the near — an interest, 
 at least — which every eye cannot see. Each of the thousand 
 little plants that spring up at our feet, has an interest and 
 beauty to the botanist ; the mineralogist would find some- 
 thing to engage him in every little stone. And it is thus 
 with the poetry of life — aU have a sense of it in the remote 
 and the distant; but it is only the men who stand high in 
 the art — its men of profound science — that can discover it 
 in the near. The mediocre poet shares but the commoner 
 gift, and so he seeks his themes in ages or countries far 
 removed from his own; while the man of nobler powers, 
 knowing that all nature is instinct with poetry, seeks and 
 finds it in the men and scenes in his immediate neighbour- 
 hood. As to our Reformers" 
 
 " Pardon me," said the young poet ; " the remark strikes 
 me, and, ere we lose it in something else, I must furnish 
 you with an illustration. There is an acquaintance of mine, 
 a lad much about my o^vn age, greatly addicted to the study 
 of poetry. He has been making verses all his life-long; 
 he began ere he had learned to write them even ; and his 
 judgment has been gradually overgrowing his earlier com- 
 positions, as you see the advancing tide rising on the beach 
 and obliterating the prints on the sand. Now, I have 
 observed, that, in all his earlier compositions, he went far 
 from home ; he could not attempt a pastoral without first 
 transporting himself to the vales of Arcady; or an ode to 
 I'ity or Hope, without losing the warm living sentiment in 
 the dead, cold, personifications of the Greek. The Hope
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OE" FERGUSON. 89 
 
 jind Pity he addressed were, not tlie undying attendants of 
 human nature, but the shadowy spectres of a remote age. 
 Now, however, I feel that a change has come over me. I 
 seek for poetry among the fields and cottages of my own 
 
 land. I— a — a — the friend of whom I speak But I 
 
 interrupted your remark on the Eeformers." 
 
 " Nay," I repHed, " if you go on so, I would much rather 
 listen than speak. I only meant to say that the Knoxes 
 and Melvilles of our country have been robbed of the 
 admiration and sympathy of many a kindred spirit, by the 
 strangely erroneous notions that have been abroad regard- 
 ing them for at least the last two ages. Knox, I am con- 
 ■vinced, would have been as great as Jeremy Taylor, had he 
 not been greater." 
 
 We sauntered along the shore tUl the evening had dark- 
 ened into night, lost in an agreeable interchange of thought. 
 "Ah !" at length exclaimed my companion, "I had almost 
 forgotten my engagement, Mr. Lindsay, but it must not 
 part us. You are a stranger here, and I must introduce 
 you to some of my acquaintance. There are a few of us — 
 choice spirits, of course — who meet every Saturday evening 
 at John Hogg's ; and I must just bring you to see them. 
 There maybe much less wit than mirth among us; but you 
 will find us all sober when at the gayest; and old JohnAvilJ 
 be quite a study for you."
 
 90 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ** Say, ye red goivns that aften bere 
 Hae toasted cakes to Katie's beer, 
 Gin e'er thir days hae had their peer, 
 Sae blythe, sae daft ' 
 Te'll ne'er again in life's career 
 
 Sit half sae saft." 
 
 Elegy on John Hogg, 
 
 We returned to town; and, after threading a few of tlie 
 narrower lanes, entered by a low door into a long dark 
 room, dimly lighted by a fire. A tall thin Avoman was 
 employed in skinning a bundle of dried fish at a table in a 
 corner. 
 
 "Wliere's the goidman, Kate?" said my companion, 
 changing the sweet pure EngUsh in which he had hitherto 
 spoken for his mother tongue. 
 
 " John's ben in the spence," replied the woman. " Little 
 Andrew, the wratch, has been makin' a totum avi' his faither's 
 ae razor, an' the puir man's trying to shave himsel yonder, 
 an' girnan like a sheep's head on the tangs." 
 
 "Oh, the -vvratch! the ill-deedie AVTatch!" said John, 
 stalking into the room in a towering passion, his face 
 covered with suds and scratches — "I might as weel shave 
 mysel Avi' a mussel shillet. Rob Ferguson, man, is that 
 you!" 
 
 "Wearie warld, John," said the poet, "for a' oor 
 philosophy." 
 
 "Philosophy! — it's but a snare, Rob — just vanity an' 
 vexation o' speerit, as Solomon says. An' isna it clear 
 heterodox besides ? Ye study an' study till your brains 
 gang about like a Avhirligig; an' then, like bairns in a boat 
 that see the land sailin', ye think it's the soUd yearth that's 
 tumin' roim'. An' this ye ca' philosophy; as if David
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 91 
 
 hadna tauld us that the warld sits coshly on the waters, 
 an' canna be mored." 
 
 " Hoot, John," rejoined my companion, " it's no me, but 
 Jamie Bro^vn, that differs ^vi' you on these matters. I'm a 
 Hoggonian, ye ken. The auld Jews were, doubtless, gran' 
 Christians, an' wherefore no guid philosophers too ? But it 
 was cruel o' you to unkennel me this mornin' afore six, an' 
 I up sae lang at my studies the nicht afore." 
 
 " Ah, Rob, Rob !" said John — " stud}dng in Tarn Dun's 
 kirk. Ye'll be a minister, like a' the lave." 
 
 "Mendin' fast, John," rejoined the poet. " Iwas in your 
 kirk on Sabbath last, hearing worthy Mr. Corkindale ; 
 whatever else he may hae to fear, he's in nae danger o' 
 ' thinking his am thoughts,' honest man." 
 
 "In oor kirk!" said John; "ye're dune, then, wi' pre- 
 centin' in yer ain — an' troth nae wonder. What could hae 
 possessed ye to gie up the puir chield's name i' the prayer, 
 an' him sittin' at yer lug ?" 
 
 I was unacquainted with the circumstance to which he 
 alluded, and requested an explanation. "Oh, ye see," said 
 John, "Rob, amang a' the ither gifts that he misguides, 
 has the gift o' a sweet voice ; an' naething else would set' 
 some o' oor Professors than to hae him for their precentor. 
 They micht as weel hae thocht o' an organ — it Avad be just 
 as devout; but the soun's everything now, laddie, ye ken, 
 an' the heart naething. Weel, Rob, as ye may think, was 
 less than pleased wi' the job, an' tauld them he could Avhistle 
 better than sing ; but it wasna that they wanted, and sae 
 it behoved him to tak his seat in the box. An' lest the 
 folk should no be pleased wi' ae key to ae tune, he gied 
 them, for the first twa or three days, a hale bimch to each ; 
 an' there was never sic singing in St. Andrew's afore. Weel^ 
 but for a' that it behoved him still to precent ; though he 
 has got rid o' it at last— for what did he do twa Sabbaths 
 agone, but out up drucken Tarn Moffat's name in the prayer
 
 92 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 — the very clileld that was sittin' at his elbow, though the 
 minister couldna see him. An' when the puir stibbler was 
 prayin' for the reprobate as weel's he could, ae half o' the 
 kirk was needcessitated to come oot, that they raicht keep 
 decent, an' the ither half to swaUow thcu" pocket napkins. 
 But wliat think ye" 
 
 " Hoot, John, now, leave oot the moral," said the poet. 
 "Here's a' the lads." 
 
 Half a dozen young students entered as he spoke ; and, 
 after a hearty greeting, and when he had introduced me to 
 them one by one, as a choice fellow of immense reading, 
 the door was barred, and we sat down to half a dozen of 
 home brewed, and a huge platter of dried fish. There was 
 much mirth and no little Inuiiour. Ferguson sat at the 
 head of the table, and old John Hogg at the foot. I thought 
 of Eastcheap, and the revels of Prince Henry; but our 
 FulstafF was an old Scotch Seceder, and our Pnnce a gifted 
 young feUow, who owed all his influence over his fellows to 
 the force of his genius alone. 
 
 "Prithee, IIul," I said, " lot us drink to Sir John." 
 
 *' Why, yes," said the poet, " with all my heart. Not 
 quite so fine a fellow, though, 'bating his Scotch honesty. 
 Half Sir John's genius Avould have served for an epic poet 
 — half his courage for a hero." 
 
 " His courage !" exclaimed one of the lads. 
 
 " Yes, Willie, his courage, man. Do you think a coward 
 could have run away with half the coolness ? With a tithe 
 of the courage necessary for such a retreat, a man would 
 have stood and fought till he died. Sk John must have 
 been a fine fellow in his youth." 
 
 " In mony a droll way may a man fa' on the drap drink, *» 
 remarked Jolm ; " an' mcikle ill, dootless, does it do in 
 takin' afFthe edge o' the speerit — the mau- if the edge be a 
 fine razor edge, an' no the edge o' a whittle. I mind about 
 fifty years ago, when I was a slip o' a callant,"
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 93 
 
 " Losh, Jolm!" exclaimed one of the lads, " liae ye been 
 feclitin vn the cats? sic a scrapit face !" 
 
 " Wheesht," said Ferguson ; "we owe the illustration to 
 that, but dinna interrupt the story." 
 
 " Fifty years ago, when I was a slip o' a callant," con- 
 tinued John, "unco curious, an' fondo' kennia everything, 
 as callants will be," 
 
 " Hoot, John," said one of the students, interrupting him, 
 " can ye no cut short, man? Rob promised last Saturday 
 to gie us, * Fie, let us a' to the bridal,' an' ye see the ale 
 an' the nicht's baith wearin' dune." 
 
 " The song, Rob, the song!" exclaimed half a dozen voices 
 at once ; and John's story was lost in the clamour. 
 
 "Nay, now," said the good-natured poet, " that's less 
 than kmd ; the auld man's stories are aye worth the hear- 
 ing, an' he can relish the auld-warld fisher-sang wi' the best 
 o' ye. But we maun hae the story yet." 
 
 He struck up the old Scotch ditty, " Fie let us a' to the 
 bridal," which he sung vnih great power and brilliancy ; 
 for his voice was a richly modulated one, and there was a 
 fulness of meaning imparted to the words which Avonder- 
 fully heightened the effect. " How strange it is," he re- 
 marked to me when he had finished, " that our English 
 neighbours deny us humour ! The songs of no country 
 equal our Scotch ones in that qiiahty. Are you acquainted 
 with ' The Guidwifo of Auchtermuchty ? ' " 
 
 " Well," I rephed; "but so are not the English. It strikes 
 me that, with the exception of Smollet's novels, all our 
 Scotch humour is locked up in our native tongue. No man 
 can employ in works of humour any language of which lie 
 is not a thorough master ; and few of oxir Scotch writers, 
 with all their elegance, have attained the necessary com- 
 mand of that colloquial English Avhich Addison and Swift 
 employed when they were merry." 
 
 " A braw redd delivery," said John, addressing me. "Arc 
 yo g inn to be n minister tae ?''
 
 94 TALES OF THE BORDERS 
 
 " Not quite sure yet," I replied. 
 
 "Ah," rejoined the old man, " 'twas better for the Kirk 
 when the minister just made himsel ready for it, an' then 
 waited till he kent whether it wanted him. There's young 
 Eob Ferguson beside you,"— 
 
 " Setting oot for the Kirk," said the young poet, inter- 
 rupting him, " an' yet drinkin' ale on Saturday at e'en wi' 
 old John Hoffff." 
 
 DO 
 
 " Weel, weel, laddie, it's easier for the best o' us to find 
 fliult wi' ithers than to mend oorsels. Ye have the head, 
 onyhow; but Jamie Brown tells me it's a doctor ye're 
 gaim to be, after a'." 
 
 " Nonsense, John Hogg— I wonder how a man o' your 
 standing" — — 
 
 " Nonsense, I grant you," said one of the students ; " but 
 true enough for a' that. Bob. Ye see, John, Bob an' I were 
 at the lung's Muirs last Saturday, an ca'ed at the pendicle, 
 in the passing, for a cup o' whey ; Avhen the giudwife tellt 
 us there was ane o' the callants, who had broken into the 
 milk-house twa nichts afore, lyin' ill o' a surfeit. 'Danger- 
 ous case,' said Bob ; ' but let me see him ; I have studied 
 to small purpose if I know nothing o' medicine, my good 
 woman.' Weel, the Avoman was just glad enough to bring 
 liim to the bedside ; an' no wonder — ye never saw a wiser 
 phiz'in your lives— Dr. Dumpie's was naething till't ; an', 
 after he had sucked the head o' his stick for ten minutes, 
 an' fand the loon's pulse, an' asked mair questions than the 
 guidwife liked to answer, he prescribed. But, losh I sic a 
 prescription ! A day's fisting an' twa ladles o' nettle kail 
 was the gist o't ; but then there went mair Latin to the tail 
 o' that, than oor ncebor the Doctor ever had to lose." 
 
 But I dwell too long on the conversation of this evening. 
 I feel, however, a deep interest in recalling it to memory. 
 The education of Ferguson was of a twofold character— he 
 studied in tlie schools and amontr the people ; but it was
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 95 
 
 in tlie latter tract alone that he acquired the materials of 
 all his better poetry ; and I feel as if, for at least one brief 
 evening, I was admitted to the privileges of a class-fellow, 
 and sat with him on the same form. The company broke 
 up a little after ten ; and I did not again hear of John 
 Hogg till I read his elegy, about four years after, among 
 the poems of my friend. It is by no means one of the 
 happiest pieces in the volume, nor, it strikes me, highly 
 characteristic ; but I have often perused it with an interest 
 very independent of its merits. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 *' But he is weak — both man and boy 
 Has been an idler in the land." — Wordsworth. 
 
 I was attempting to listen, on the evening of the follow- 
 ing Sunday, to a didl, listless discourse— one of the dis- 
 courses so common at this period, in which there was fine 
 •writing without genius, and fine religion without Cliris- 
 tianity — when a person who had just taken his place beside 
 me, tapped me on the shoulder, and thrust a letter into my 
 hand. It was my newly-acquia-ed friend of the previous 
 evening ; and we shook hands heartily imder the pew. 
 
 "That letter has just been handed me by an acquaintance 
 from your part of the country," he whispered ; '* I trust it 
 contains nothing unpleasant." 
 
 I raised it to the light, and on ascertaining that it was 
 sealed and edged with black, rose and quitted the church, 
 followed by my friend. It intimated, in two brief lines, 
 that my patron, the baronet, had been kiUed by a fall from 
 his horse a few evenings before ; and that, dying intestate, 
 the allowance which had hitherto enabled me to prosecute
 
 96 TALES OF THE BORDERS, 
 
 my studies necessarily dropped. I crumpled up the paper 
 in my liand. 
 
 "You have learned something very unpleasant," said 
 Ferguson. "Pardon me— I have no wish to intrude ; but, 
 if at aU agreeable, I would fain spend the evening with 
 you." 
 
 My heart filled, and grasping his hand, I briefly inti- 
 mated the pixrport of the communication, and we walked 
 out together in the direction of the ruins. 
 
 " It is, perhaps, as hard, ^Ir. Ferguson," I said, " to flill 
 from one's hopes as from the place to which they pointed. 
 I was ambitious — too ambitious, it may be — to rise from 
 that level on which man acts the part of a machine, and 
 tasks merely his body, to that higher level on which he 
 performs the proper part of a rational creature, and em- 
 ploys only his mind. But that ambition need influence me 
 no longer. !My poor mother, too— I had trusted to be of 
 use to her." 
 
 "All, my friend," said Ferguson, "I can tell you of a 
 case quite as hopeless as your own — perhaps more so. But 
 it wiU make you deem my sjmipathy the result of mere 
 selfishness. In scarce any respect do our circumstances 
 differ. 
 
 We had reached the ruins . the evening was calm and 
 mild as when I had walked out on the preceding one ; but 
 the hour was earlier, and the sun hung higher over the 
 hill. A newly-formed grave occupied the level spot in 
 front of the little ivied corner. 
 
 "Let us seat ourselves here," said my companion, "and 
 I wiU tell you a stoxy — I am afraid a rather tame one ; for 
 there is nothing of adventure in it, and nothing of incident; 
 but it may at least show you that I am not unfitted to be 
 your friend. It is now nearly two years since I lost my 
 father. lie was no common man — common neither in 
 intellect nor in sentiment; but though he once fondly hoped
 
 KECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 07 
 
 it slioiild be otherwise — for in early youtli lie indulged in 
 all the di-eams of the poet — he now fills a grave as name- 
 less as the one before us. He was a native of Aberdeen- 
 shire ; but held, latterly, an inferior situation in the office 
 of the British Linen Company in Edinburgh, Avhere I was 
 born. Ever since I remember him, he had awakened too 
 fuUy to the realities of Hfe, and they pressed too hard on 
 his spirits, to leave him space for the indulgence of his 
 earlier fancies ; but he could dream for his childi-eu, thougli 
 not for himself; or, as I should perhaps rather say, his 
 children fell heir to all his more juvenile hopes of fortune, 
 and influence, and space in the world's eye ; — and, for him- 
 self, he indulged in hopes of a later growth and firmer tex- 
 ture, which pointed from the present scene of things to the 
 future. I have an only brother, my senior by several years, 
 a lad of much energy, both physical and mental ; in brief, 
 one of those mixtures of reflection and activity which seem 
 best formed for rising in the Avorld. My father deemed 
 him most fitted for commerce, and had influence enough to 
 get him introduced into the counting-house of a respectable 
 Edinburgh merchant. I was always of a graver turn — in part, 
 perhaps, the efiect of less robust health — and me he intended 
 for the Church. I liave been a dreamer, Mr. Lindsay, from 
 my earliest years— prone to melancholy, and fond of books 
 and of solitude ; and the peculiarities of this temperament 
 the sangmne old man, though no mean judge of character, 
 had mistaken for a serious and reflective disposition. You 
 are acquainted with literatiu'e, and know something, from 
 books at least, of the lives of literary men. Judge, then, 
 of his prospect of usefulness in any profession, who has 
 lived, ever since he knew himself, among the poets. My 
 hopes, from my earliest years, have been hopes of celebrity 
 as a AVTiter — not of wealth, or of influence, or of accomplish- 
 ing any of the thousand aims which furnish the great bulk 
 
 of mankind Avith motives. You will laugh at me. There 
 Vol. I D
 
 98 TALES OP THE liOllDEKS. 
 
 is something so empliatically shadowy and unreal m the 
 object of this ambition, that even the full attainment of it 
 provokes a smile. For who does not know 
 
 How vain that second life in others' breath, 
 The estate which -wits inherit after death ! ' 
 
 And what can be more fraught "with the ludicrous than a 
 union of this shadowy ambition Avith mediocre parts and 
 attainments ! But I digress, 
 
 " It is now rather more than three years since I entered 
 the classes here. I competed for a bursary, and was fortu- 
 nate enough to secure one. Believe me, !Mr. Lindsay, I am 
 little ambitious of the fame of mere scholarship, and yet I 
 cannot express to you the triumph of that day. I had seen 
 my poor father labouring, far, far beyond his strength, for 
 my brother and myself— closely engaged during the day 
 ■with his duties in the bank, and copying at night in a 
 laAvyer's office. I had seen, with a throbbing heart, his tall 
 wasted frame becoming tremulous and bent, and the grey 
 hair thinning on his temples ; and I now felt that I could 
 ease him of at least part of the burden. In the excite- 
 ment of the moment, I could hope that I was destined to 
 rise in the world — to gain a name in it, and something more. 
 You know how a slight success grows in importance when 
 we can deem it the earnest of future good fortune. I met, 
 too, Avith a kind and influential friend in one of the pro- 
 fessors, the late Dr. Wilkie. Alas ! good, benevolent man! 
 you may see his tomb yonder beside the wall ; and, on my 
 return from St. Andrew's, at the close of the session, I 
 found my father on his deathbed. My brother Henry — 
 who had been unfortunate, and, I am afraid, something 
 worse — had quitted the counting-house and entered aboard 
 of a man-of-war as a common sailor; and the poor old man, 
 whose heart had been boimd up in him, never hold up his 
 Lead after.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 99 
 
 " On the evening of my father's funeral, I could have lain 
 down and died. I never before felt how thoroughly I am 
 imfitted for the world — how totally I want strength. My 
 iather, I have said, had intended me for the Church ; and, 
 in my progress onward from class to class, and from school 
 to college, I had thought but little of each particidar step, as 
 it engaged me for the time, and nothing of the ultimate ob- 
 jects to which it led. All my more -vigorous aspirations were 
 du'ected to a remote future and an unsubstantial shadow. 
 But I had mtnessed, beside my father's bed, what had led 
 me seriously to reflect on the ostensible aim for which I 
 lived and studied ; and the more carefully I weighed my- 
 self in the balance, the more did I find myself awanting. 
 You have heard of Mr. Brown of the Secession, the author 
 of the " Dictionary of the Bible." He was an old acquaint- 
 ance of my father's ; and, on hearing of his illness, had 
 come all the way from Haddington to see him. I felt, for 
 the first time, as kneeling beside his bed, I heard my 
 father's breathings becoming every moment shorter and 
 more difficult, and listened to the prayers of the clergyman, 
 that I had no business in the Church. And thus I still 
 continue to feel. 'Twere an easy matter to produce such 
 things as pass for sermons among us, and to go respectably 
 enough through the mere routine of the profession ; but I 
 cannot help feeling that, though I might do all this and 
 more, my duty, as a clergyman, Avould be still left undone. 
 I Avant singleness of aim — I want earnestness of heart. I 
 cannot teach men cfiectually how to live well ; I cannot 
 show them, with aught of confidence, how they may die 
 safe. I cannot enter the Church without acting the part 
 of a hypocrite ; and the miserable part of the hypocrite it 
 shall never be mine to act. Heaven help me ! I am too 
 little a practical moralist myself to attcmpt^teaching morals 
 to others. 
 
 "But I must conclude my story, if story it may be called:
 
 100 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 — I saw my poor mother and my little sister deprived, by my 
 father's death, of their sole stay, and strove to exert myself 
 in their behalf. In the daytime I copied in a lawyer's 
 office; my nights were spent among the poets. You will 
 deem it the very madness of vanity, Mr. Lindsay ; but I 
 could not live without my di'eams of literary eminence. I 
 felt that life woidd be a blank waste without them; and 
 I feel so still. Do not laugh at my weakness, when I say I 
 would rather live in the memory of my country than enjoy 
 her fairest lands — that I dread a nameless grave many times 
 more than the grave itself But, I am afraid, the Life of the 
 literary aspirant is rarely a happy one; and I, alas! am one 
 of the Aveakest of the class. It is of importance that the 
 means of living be not disjoined from the end for which we 
 live; and I feel that, in my case, the disunion is complete. 
 The wants and evils of life are around me ; but the energies 
 through which those should be pro\dded for, and these 
 warded off, are otherwise employed. I am like a man 
 pressing onward through a hot and bloody fight, his breast 
 open to every blow, and trcmljlingly alive to the sense of 
 injury and the feeling of pain, but totally unprepared 
 either to attack or defend. And then those miserable 
 depressions of spirits to which aU men who draw largely on 
 their imagination are so subject; and that wavering irregu- 
 larity of effort which seems so unavoidably the effect of 
 pursuing a distant and doubtfid aim, and which proves so 
 hostile to the formation of every better habit — alas! to a 
 steady morality itself But I weary you, JSIr. Lindsay; 
 besides, my story is told. I am groping onward, I know 
 not whither; and, in a few montlis hence, when my last 
 session shall have closed, I shall be exactly where you are 
 at present." 
 
 lie ceased speaking, and there was a pause of several 
 minutes. I felt soothed and gratified. There was a sweet 
 melancholy music in the tones of his voice, that sunk to my
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 101 
 
 very lieart; and the confidence lie reposed in me flattered 
 ray pride. " How was it," I at length said, "that you were 
 the gayest in the party of last night?" 
 
 "I do not know that I can better answer you," he 
 replied, "than by telling you a singular di-eam which I had 
 about the time of my father's death. I dreamed that I had 
 suddenly quitted the world, and was journeying, by a long 
 and dreary passage, to the place of final pimishment. A 
 blue, dismal light glimmered along the lower wall of the 
 vault; and, from the darkness above, where there flickered 
 a thousand undefined shapes — things without form or out- 
 line — I could hear deeply-draAVTi sighs, and long hollow 
 groans and convulsive sobbings, and the prolonged moan- 
 ings of an unceasing anguish. I was aware, however, 
 though I knew not how, that these were but the expressions 
 of a lesser misery, and that the seats of severer torment 
 were still before me. I went on and on, and the vault 
 widened, and the light increased, and the sounds changed. 
 Tliere were loud laughters and low muttering?, in the tone 
 of ridicule; and shouts of triumph and exultation ; and, in 
 brief, all the thousand mingled tones of a gay and joyous 
 revel. Can these, I exclaimed, be the sounds of misery 
 when at the deepest ? ' Bethink thee,' said a shadowy form 
 beside me — ' bethink thee if it be not so on earth.' And 
 as I remembered that it was so, and bethought me of the 
 mad revels of ship^\TCcked seamen and of plague-stricken 
 cities, I awoke. But on this subject you must spare me." 
 
 "Forgive me," I said; "to-morrow I leave college, and 
 not with the less reluctance that I must part from you. 
 But I shall yet find you occupying a place among the 
 literati of our country, and shall remember, with pride, 
 that you were my friend." 
 
 He sighed deeply. "^ly hopes rise and fall with my 
 spirits," he said; "and to-night I am melancholy. Do you 
 ever go to buffets with yourself, Mr. Lindsay? Do you
 
 102 TALES OF TUB BORDERS. 
 
 ever mock, in yoiir sadder moods, the hopes which render 
 you happiest when you are gay? Ah ! 'tis bitter warfare 
 when a man contends with Hope! — when he sees her, mth 
 little aid from the personifying influence, as a thing distinct 
 from himself— a lying spirit that comes to flatter and deceive 
 him. It is thus I see her to-night. 
 
 "See'st tliou that grave? — does mortal know 
 Aught of the dust that lies below? 
 'Tis foul, 'tis damp, 'tis void of form — 
 A bed where winds the loathsome worm; 
 A little heap, mouldering and brown, 
 Like that on flowerless m.eadow thrown 
 By mossy stream, when winter reigns 
 O'er leafless woods and wasted plains : 
 And yet that brown, damp, formless heap 
 Once glowed with feelings keen and deep; 
 Once eyed the light, once heard each sound 
 Of earth, air, wave, that miumurs round. 
 But now, ah! now, the name it bore, 
 Sex, age, or form, is kno^\-n no more. 
 This, this alone, Hope ! I know, 
 That once the dust that lies below, 
 Was, like myself, of human race, 
 And made this world its dwelling-place. 
 Ah ! this, when death has swept away 
 The myriads of life's present daj', 
 Though bright the visions raised by thee, 
 Will all my fame, my history be ! '' 
 
 "We quitted the ruins and returned to town. 
 
 "Have you yet formed," inquired my companion, "any 
 plan for the future?" 
 
 "I quit St, Andrew's," I replied, "to-morrow morning. 
 I have an uncle, the master of a West Indiaman, now in 
 the Clyde. Some years ago I had a fancy for the life of a 
 sailor, which has evaporated, however, A^th many of my 
 other boyish fancies and predilections ; but I am strong 
 and active, and it strikes me there is less competition on
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FEnGUSON. 103 
 
 sen at present than on land. A man of tolerable steadiness 
 and intelligence has a better chance of rising as a sailor 
 than as a mechanic. I shall set out, therefore, with my 
 imcle on his fii'st voyage." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "At first, I thought the swankie didna ill— 
 Again I glowr'd, to hear him better still; 
 Bauld, slee, an' sweet, his lines mair glorious grew, 
 Glow'd round the heart, an' glanc'd the soul out through." 
 
 Alexander Wilson. 
 
 I had seen both the Indies and traversed themde Pacific, 
 ere I again set foot on the Eastern coast of Scotland. My 
 uncle, the shipmaster, was dead, and I was still a common 
 sailor; but I was light-hearted and skilful in my profession, 
 and as mu.ch incUned to hope as ever. Besides, I had 
 begun to doubt, and there cannot be a more consoUng doubt 
 when one is unfortunate, whether a man may not enjoy as 
 much happiness in the lower walks of life as in the ui")per. 
 In one of my later voyages, the vessel in which I sailed had 
 lain for several weeks at Boston in North America — then 
 a scene of those fierce and angry contentions Avhich eventu- 
 ally separated the colonies from the mother country; and 
 when in this place, I had become acquainted, by the merest 
 accident in the world, with the brother of my friend the 
 poet. I was passing through one of the meaner lanes, 
 when I saw my old college friend, as I thought, looking 
 out at me from the window of a crazy wooden buUdiug — a 
 sort of fencing academy, much frequented, I was told, by 
 the Federalists of Boston, I crossed the lane in two huge 
 strides.
 
 104 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Jlr. Ferguson," I said — "Mr. Ferguson," for lie was 
 withdrawing his head, "do you not remember me?" 
 
 "Not quite sure," he replied; "I have met -ttith many 
 Bailors in my time; but I must just see." 
 
 He had stepped down to the door ere I had discovered 
 my mistake. He was a taller and stronger-looking man 
 than my friend, and his senior apparently by six or eight 
 years; but nothing could be more striking than the resem- 
 blance which he bore to him, both in face and figure. I 
 apologized. 
 
 " But have you not a brother, a native of Edinburgh," I 
 inquired, " who studied at St. Andrew's about four years 
 ago ? — never before, certainly, did I see so remarkable a 
 likeness," 
 
 — " As that which I bear to Robert ?" he said. " Happy 
 to hear it. Robert is a brother of whom a man may well 
 be proud, and I am glad to resemble him in any way. But 
 you must go in with me, and tell me all you know regard- 
 ing him. He was a thin pale shp of a boy when I left 
 Scotland — a mighty reader, and fond of sauntering into 
 by-holes and corners ; I scarcely knew what to make of 
 him ; but he has made much of himself. His name has 
 been blo\vn far and wide within the last two years." 
 
 He showed me through a large waste apartment, fur- 
 nished with a few deal seats, and with here and there a 
 fencing foil leaning against the wall, into a sort of closet at 
 the upper end, separated from the main room by a partition 
 of undressed slabs. There was a charcoal stove in the one 
 corner, and a truckle bed in the other; a few shelves laden 
 with books ran along the wall ; there Avas a small chest 
 raised on a stool immediately below the window, to serve 
 as a writing desk, and another stool standing beside it. A 
 few cooking utensils scattered round the room, and a 
 corner cupboard, completed the entire furniture of the 
 place.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 105 
 
 "There is a certain limited m:mber born to be rich, Jack," 
 said my new companion, "and I just don't happen to be 
 among them; but I have one stool for myself, you see, 
 and, now that I have unshipped my desk, another for a 
 visitor, and so get on weU enough." 
 
 I related briefly the story of my intimacy with his 
 brother; and we were soon on such terms as to be in a 
 fair way of emptying a bottle of rum together. 
 
 *' You remind me of old times," said my new acquaint- 
 ance. "I am weary of these illiterate, boisterous, longsided 
 Americans, who talk only of politics and dollars. And yet 
 there are first-rate men among them too. I met, some 
 years since, with a Philadelphia printer, whom I cannot 
 help regarding as one of the ablest, best-informed men I 
 ever conversed with. B;it there is nothing like general 
 knowledge among the average class; a mighty privilege of 
 conceit, however." 
 
 " They are just in that stage," I remarked, " in Avhich it 
 needs all the vigour of an able man to bring his mind hito 
 anything like cultivation. Tliere must be many more 
 facilities of improvement ere the mediocritist can develop 
 himself He is in the egg still in America, and must sleep 
 there till the next ago. — But when last heard you of your 
 brother ?" 
 
 " "Wliy," he replied, " when all the world heard of him — 
 with the last number of Euddiman's Magazine. "Wlicre 
 can you have been bottled up from literature of late ? 
 Why, man, Eobext stands first among our Scotch poets." 
 
 "Ah! 'tis long since I have anticipated something like 
 that for him," I said; "but, for the last two years, I have 
 scon only two books, Shakspeare and 'The Spectator,' 
 Pray, do show me some of the magazines." 
 
 Tlie magazines were produced ; and I heard, for the first 
 time, in a foreign land and from the recitation of the poet's 
 brother, some of the most national and most highly-finished
 
 106 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 of his productions. My eyes filled and my heart wandered 
 to Scotland and her cottage homes, as, shutting the book, 
 he repeated to me, in a voice faltering with emotion, stanza 
 after stanza of the " Farmer's Intjle." 
 
 "Do you not see it?— do you not see it all?" exclaimed 
 my companion ; " the wide smoky room, with the bright 
 turf fire, the blackened rafters shining above, the straw- 
 ■\vrought settle below, the farmer and the farmer's wife, 
 and auld grannie and the bairns. Never was there truer 
 painting ; and, oh, how it works on a Scotch heart ! But 
 hear this other piece," 
 
 He read "Sandy and Willie." 
 
 "Far, far ahead of Eamsay," I exclaimed. "JNIore ima- 
 gination, more spirit, more intellect, and as much truth 
 and nature. Eobert has gained his end already. Ilxirra 
 for poor old Scotland ! — these pieces must live for ever. 
 But do repeat to me the ' Farmer's Ingle ' once more." 
 
 We read, one by one, all the poems in the magazine, 
 dwelling on each stanza, and expatiating on every recol- 
 lection of home which the images awakened. My com- 
 panion was, like his brother, a kind, open-hearted man, of 
 superior intellect ; much less prone to despondency, how- 
 ever, and of a more equal temperament. Ere we parted, 
 which was not until next morning, he had communicated to 
 me all his plans for the future, and all his fondly cherished 
 hopes of rctiirning to Scotland with wealth enough to be of 
 use to his friends. He seemed to be one of those universal 
 geniuses who do a thousand things well, but want steadiness 
 enough to turn any of them to good account. He showed 
 me a treatise on the use of the sword, wliich he had just 
 prepared for the press; and a scries of letters on the stamp 
 act, which had appeared, from time to time, in one of the 
 Boston newspapers, and in which he had taken part with 
 the Americans, 
 
 " I make a good many dollars in these stirring times,"
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSOX. 107 
 
 he said, " All the Yankees seem to be of opinion that 
 they will be best heard across the water when they have 
 got arms in their hands, and have learned how to use 
 them; and I know a little of both the sword and the 
 mnsket. But the warlike spirit is frightfully thirsty, 
 somehow, and consimies a world of rum ; and so I have 
 not yet begim to make rich." 
 
 He shared with me his supper and bed for the night ; 
 and, after rising in the morning ere I awoke, and writing a 
 long letter for Robert, which he gave me in the hope I 
 might soon meet with him, he accompanied me to the 
 vessel, then on the eve of sailing, and we parted, as it 
 proved, for ever. I know nothing of his after life, or how 
 or where it terminated ; but I have learned that, shortly 
 before the death of his gifted brother, his circumstances 
 enabled him to send his mother a small remittance for the 
 use of the family. He was evidently one of the kind- 
 hearted, improvident few, Avho can share a very little, and 
 whose destiny it is to have only a very little to share. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 •*0 Ferguson ! thy glorious parts 
 111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
 My curse upon your wluinstane hearts, 
 
 Ye Embrugh gentry ! 
 The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes 
 "Wad stow'd bis pantiy !" 
 
 Burns, 
 
 I visited Edinburgh, for the first time, in the latter part 
 of the autumn of 1773, about two months after I had 
 sailed from Boston, It was on a fine calm morning — one of 
 those clear sunshiny mornings of October, when the gossa-
 
 308 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 mer goes sailing about in long cottony threads, so light 
 and fleecy that they seem the skeleton remains of extinct 
 cloudlets ; and when the distant hUls, with their covering 
 of grey frost rime, seem, through the clear cold atmosphere, 
 as if chiselled in marble. The sun was rising over the 
 town through a deep blood-coloured haze — the smoke of a 
 thousand fires ; and the huge fantastic pUes of masonry 
 that stretched along the ridge, looked dim and spectral 
 through the cloud, like the ghosts of an army of giants. I 
 felt half a foot taller as I strode on towards the toAvm, It 
 was Edinburgh I was approaching — the scene of so many 
 proud associations to a lover of Scotland; and I was going 
 to meet as an early friend one of the first of Scottish poets. 
 I entered the town. There was a book stall in a corner of 
 the street ; and I turned aside for half a minute to glance 
 my eye over the books. 
 
 " Ferguson's Poems !" I exclaimed, taking iip a little 
 volume. " I was not aware they had appeared in a sepa- 
 rate form. How do you sell this ? " 
 
 "Just like a' the ither booksellers," sr;ld the man who 
 kept the stall — " that's nane o' the buiks that come doun in 
 a hurry — ^just for the marked selling price." I threw down 
 the money. 
 
 '^ Could you tell me anything of tlio Avritcr?" I said. 
 " I have a letter for him from America." 
 
 " Oh, that'll be frae his brither Henry, I'll wad; a clever 
 cTiield tC't. but ower fond o' the drap drink, maybe, like 
 Rob hircsel'. Baith o' them fine humane chields, though, 
 without a grain o' pride. IJob takes a stan' Avi' mc some- 
 times o' half an hour at a time, an' we clatter ower the 
 buiks; an', if I'm no mista'on, yon's him just yonder— the 
 thin, pale slip o' a l;id avi' the broad brow. Ay, an' he's 
 just comin' this way." 
 
 " Anything new to-day, Thomas ? " said the young man, 
 coming up to the stall. " I want a cheap second-hand
 
 niiCOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSOK. lOO 
 
 copy of Ramsay's ' Evergreen ; ' and, like a good rlian as 
 yon are, you must just try and find it for me." 
 
 Though considerably altered — for he -was taller and 
 thinner than when at college, and his complexion had 
 assumed a deep sallow hue — I recognised him at once, 
 and presented him with the letter. 
 
 " Ah ! frgm brother Henry," said he, breaking it open, 
 and glancing his eye over the contents. " Wliat — old 
 college chum, Mr. Lindsay!'''' he exclaimed, turning to me. 
 "Yes, sui'e enough; how happy I am we should have met! 
 Come this way — let us get out of the streets." 
 
 "We passed hurriedly through the Canongate and along 
 the front of Holyrood-house, and Avere soon in the King's 
 Park, which seemed this morning as if left to ourselves. 
 
 "Dear me, and this is you yourself! — and we have 
 agahi met, ]\Ir. Lindsay ! " said Ferguson ; " I thought we 
 were never to meet more. Nothing, for a long time, lias 
 made me half so glad. And so you have been a sailor 
 for the last four years. Do let us sit do^vn here in the 
 warm sunshine, beside St. Anthony's Well, and tell me all 
 your story, and how you happened to meet with brother 
 Henry," 
 
 We sat do-wn, and I briefly related, at his bidding, all 
 that had befallen me since we had parted at St. Andrew's, 
 and how I was still a common sailor, but, in the main, 
 perhaps, not less happy than many who commanded a 
 fleet. 
 
 " Ah, you have been a fortunate fellow," he said ; " you 
 have seen much and enjoyed much; and I have been rust- 
 ing in unhappiness at home. Would that I had gone to 
 sea along with )-ou ! " 
 
 " Nay, now, that won't do," I rei)licd. " But you are 
 merely taking Bacon's method of blunting the edge of 
 envy. You have scarcely yet attained the years of niatiiv! 
 manhood, and yet your name has gone abroad oAcr the
 
 110 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 whole length and oreadth of the land, and oyer many 
 other lands besides. I have ci'ied over your poems three 
 thousand miles away, and felt all the prouder of my coun- 
 try for the sake of my friend. And yet you would fain 
 persuade me that you wish the charm reversed, and that 
 you were just siich an obscure salt-water man as myself! " 
 
 " You remember," said my companion, " the story of 
 the half-man, half-marble prince of the i\a'abian tale. One 
 part was a living creature, one part a stone ; but the parts 
 were incorporated, and the mixture was misery. I am 
 just such a poor unhappy creature as the enchanted prince 
 of the story." 
 
 "You surprise and distress me," I lejoined. "Have 
 you not accomplished all you so fondly purposed — reaUzed 
 even your warmest wishes ? And this, too, in early life. 
 Ycur most sanguine hopes pointed but to a name, which 
 you yourself perhaps was never to hear, but which was to 
 dwell on men's tongues when the grave had closed over 
 you. And now the name is gained, and )'ou live to enjoy 
 it. I see the living part of your lot, and it seems instinct 
 with happiness ; but in Avhat does the dead, the stony part, 
 consist ? " 
 
 He shook his head, and looked up moxirnfiilly in my 
 face ; there was a pause of a few seconds. " You, Mr. 
 Lindsay," he at length replied, "you who are of an 
 equable steady temperament, can know little, from expe- 
 rience, of the unhappiness of the man who lives only in 
 extremes, who is either madly gay or miserably dejjressed. 
 Try and realize the fecHngs of one whose mind is like a 
 broken harp — all the medium tones gone, and only the 
 higher and lower left ; of one, too, whose cu'cumstances 
 seem of a piece with his mind, who can enjoy the exercise 
 of his better powers, and yet can only live by the monoto- 
 nous drudgery of copying page after page in a clerk's 
 office ; of one who is continually either groping his way
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. Ill 
 
 amid a cliill melanclioly fog of nervous depression, or car- 
 ried headlong, by a wild gaiety, to all which his better 
 judgment would instruct him to avoid; of one who, Avhen 
 he indulges most in the pride of superior intellect, cannot 
 away with the thought that that intellect is on the eve of 
 breaking up, and that he must yet rate infinitely lower in 
 the scale of rationaHty than any of the nameless thousands 
 who carry on the ordinary concerns of life around him." 
 
 I was grieved and astonished, and knew not what to 
 answer. " You are in a gloomy mood to-day," I at length 
 said ; " you are immersed in one of the fogs you describe ; 
 and all the surrounding objects take a tinge of darkness 
 from the medium throiigh which you survey them. Come, 
 now, you must make an exertion, and shake off your 
 melancholy. I have told you all my story, as I best could, 
 and you must tell me aU yours in return." 
 
 " Well," he repUed, *' I shall, though it majna't be the 
 best way in the world of dissipating my melancholy. I 
 think I must have told you, when at college, that I had a 
 maternal uncle of considerable Avealth, and, as the world 
 goes, respectabihty, Avho resided in Aberdeenshire, He 
 was placed on what one may term the table-land of so- 
 ciety ; and my poor mother, whose recollections of him 
 were limited to a period when there is warmth in the feel- 
 ings of the most ordinary minds, had hoped that he would 
 ■willingly exert his influence in my behalf iMuch, doubt- 
 less, depends on one's setting out in hfe ; and it Avoidd 
 have been something to have been enabled to step into it 
 from a level like that occupied by my relative. I paid 
 him a visit shortly after leading college, and met with 
 apparent kindness. But I can see beyond the surface, Mr. 
 Lindsay, and I soon saw that my imcle was entirely a dif- 
 ferent man from the brother whom my mother remembered. 
 He had risen, by a coiirse of slow industry, from compara- 
 tive poverty, and his feeliriis had worn out in the process.
 
 112 l-ALEa OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 The character was case-hardened all over; and the polish 
 it bore — for I have rarely met a smoother man — seemed 
 no improvement. He was, in brief, one of the class con- 
 tent to dwell for ever in mere decencies, with consciences 
 made up of the conventional moralities, who think by pre- 
 cedent, bow to public opinion as their god, and estimate 
 merit by its weight in guineas." 
 
 " And so your visit," I said, " was a very brief one ? " 
 
 " You distress me," he replied. " It should have been 
 so ; but it was not. But what could I do ? Ever since 
 my father's death I had been taught to consider this man 
 as my natural guardian, and I Avas now unwilling to part 
 with my last hope. But this is not all. Under much 
 apparent actiAdty, my friend, there is a substratum of apa- 
 thetical indolence in my disposition: I move rapidly when 
 in motion, but when at rest there is a dull inertness in the 
 character, which the will, when unassisted by passion, is 
 too feeble to overcome. Poor, weak creature that I am ! I 
 had sitten doAvn by my uncle's fireside, and felt unwilling 
 to rise. Pity me, my friend — I deserve yoiu* jiity — but, 
 oh, do not despise me ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Ferguson," I said ; " I have given 
 you pain — but surely most unwittingly," 
 
 " I am ever a fool," he continued ; " but my story lags; 
 and, surely, there is little in it on which it were pleasure 
 to dwell. I sat at this man's table for six months, and 
 saw, day after day, his manner towards me becoming more 
 constrained and his politeness more cold ; and yet I staid 
 on, till at last my clothes were worn threadbare, and he 
 began to feci that the shabbiness of the nephew affected 
 the respectability of the uncle. His friend the soap- 
 boiler, and his friend the oU-mcrchant, and his friend the 
 manager of the hemp manufactory, with their wives and 
 daughters — all people of high standing in the world — occa- 
 sionally honoured his table with their presence, and how
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 118 
 
 could lie be other than ashamed of mine ? It vexes me 
 that I cannot even yet be cool on the subject — it vexes 
 me that a creature so sordid shoidd have so much the 
 power to move me — but I cannot, I cannot master my 
 feehngs. He — he told me — and with whom should the 
 blame rest, but mth the weak, spii-itless thing who 
 lingered on in mean, bitter dependence, to hear what he 
 had to tell ? — he told me that all his friends were respect- 
 able, and that my appearance was no longer that of a 
 person whom he could wish to see at his table, or introduce 
 to any one as his nephew. And I had staid to hear all this! 
 " I can hardly tell you how I got home. I travelled, 
 stage after stage, along the rough dusty roads, with a weak 
 and feverish body, and almost despairing mind. On meet- 
 ing mth my mother, I could have laid my head on her 
 bosom and cried like a child. I took to my bed in a high 
 fever, and trusted that all my troubles were soon to ter- 
 minate; but, when the die was cast, it tm-ned up hfe. I 
 resumed my old miserable emplo}Tnents— for what could I 
 else ? — and, that I might be less unhappy in the prosecu- 
 tion of them, my old amusements too. I copied during 
 the day in a clerk's office that I might live, and wrote dur- 
 ing the night that I might be knoAvn. And I have in part, 
 perhaps, attained my object. I have pursued and caught 
 hold of the shadow on which my heart had been so long 
 set ; and if it prove cmpt}^, and untangible, and unsatisfac- 
 tory, Hke every other shadow, the blame surely must rest 
 with the pursuer, not ■with the thing pursued. I weary 
 you, ^Ir. Lindsay ; but one word more. There are hours 
 when the mind, weakened by exertion, or by the teazing 
 monotony of an employment which tasks Anthout exercis- 
 ing it, can no longer exert its powers, and when, feeling 
 that sociality is a law of our nature, we seek the society of 
 our feUow-men. Witli a creatiu'c so much the sport of 
 
 impulse as I am, it is of these hours of weaknoss that 
 
 u2
 
 114 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 conscience takes most note. God help nie ! I liave been 
 told that Hfe is short; but it stretches on, and on, and 
 on before me ; and I know not how it is to be passed 
 through." 
 
 My spirits had so sunk dming this singular conversa- 
 tion, that I had no heart to reply. 
 
 "You are silent, Mr. Lindsay," said the poet; "I have 
 made you as melancholy as myself; but look around you, 
 and say if ever you have seen a lovelier spot. See how 
 richly the yellow sunshine slants along the green sides of 
 Arthur's Seat, and how the thin blue smoke, that has come 
 floating from the town, fills the bottom of yonder grassy 
 dell, as if it Avere a httle lake. Mark, too, how boldly the 
 cUfFs stand out along its sides, each with its little patch of 
 shadow. And here, beside us, is St. Anthony's AVell, so 
 famous in song, coming gushing out to the sunshine, and 
 then gliding away through the grass like a snake. Had 
 the Deity pui-posed that man should be miserable, he 
 would surely never have placed him in so fair a world. 
 Perhaps much of our unhappiness originates in our mis- 
 taking our proper scope, and thus setting out from the 
 first with a false aim." 
 
 "Unquestionably," I replied, "there is no man who 
 has not some part to perform ; and, if it be a great and 
 uncommon part, and the powers which fit him for it pro- 
 portionably great and unconmaon, nature would be in 
 error could he slight it with impunity. Sec, there is a 
 Avild bee bending the flower beside you. Even that little 
 creature has a capacity of happiness and misery ; it de- 
 rives its sense of pleasure from whatever runs in the line 
 of its instincts, its experience of unhappiness from what- 
 ever thwarts and opposes them ; and can it be supposed 
 that so wise a law should regiUate the instincts of only 
 inferior creatures ? No, my friend, it is surely a law of 
 our nature also."
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 115 
 
 " And have you not sometliing else to infer ? " said the 
 poet. 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "that you are occupied differently 
 from what the scope and constitution of your mind de- 
 mand ; differently both in your hours of employment and 
 of relaxation. But do take heart, you "wiU yet find your 
 proper place, and all shall be well." 
 
 " Alas ! no, my friend," said he, rising from the sward. 
 " I could once entertain such a hope ; but I cannot now. 
 My mind is no longer what it was to me in my happier 
 days, a sort of terra incognita, Avithout bounds or limits. I 
 can see over and beyond it, and have fallen from all my 
 hopes regarding it. It is not so much the gloom of pre- 
 sent circumstances that disheartens me, as a depressing 
 knowledge of myself, an abiding conviction that I am a 
 weak dreamer, unfitted for every occupation of Hfe, and 
 not less so for the greater employments of literature than 
 for any of the others. I feel that I am a little man and a 
 little poet, Avith barely vigoiu- enough to make one half 
 effort at a time, but wholly devoid of the sustaining will, 
 that highest faculty of the highest order of minds, which 
 can ducct a thousand vigorous efforts to the accompUsh- 
 ment of one important object. Would that I could ex- 
 change my half celebrity— and it can never be other than 
 a half celebrity — for a temper as equable and a fortitude 
 as unshrinking as yours ! But I weary you with my com- 
 plaints ; I am a very coward ; and you wiU deem me as 
 selfish as I am weak." 
 
 We parted. The poet, sadly and unwiUingly, went to 
 copy deeds in the office of the commissary clerk, and I, 
 almost reconciled to obscurity and liard labour, to assist in 
 ixnloading a Baltic trader in the harbour of Lcith,
 
 116 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ♦* Speech without aim and without end employ."— Crabbe. 
 
 After the lapse of nine months, I again returned to 
 Edinburgh. During that period, I had been so shut out 
 from literature and the world, that I had heard nothing of 
 my friend the poet ; and it was with a beating heart I left 
 the vessel, on my first leisure evening, to pay him a visit- 
 It was about the middle of July ; the day had been close 
 and sultry, and the heavens overcharged with grey pon- 
 derous clouds ; and, as I passed hurriedly along the walk 
 which leads from Leith to Edinburgh, I could hear the 
 newly awakened thunder, bellowing far in the south, peal 
 after peal, like the artillery of two hostile armies. I reached 
 the door of the poet's humble domicile, and had raised my 
 hand to the knocker, when I heard some one singing from 
 ■within, in a voice by far the most touchingly mournfid I 
 had ever listened to. The tones struck on my heart ; and 
 a frightful suspicion crossed my mind, as I set down the 
 knocker, that the singer was no other than my ftiend. 
 But in what Avi'etched circumstances 1 Avliat fearful state 
 of mind ! I shuddered as I listened, and heard the strain 
 waxing louder and yet more mournful, and could dis- 
 tinguish that the words were those of a simple old 
 
 ballad : — 
 
 " Maiti'maa wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
 An' shake the green leaves afF the tree ? 
 gentle death, wlien wilt thou come, 
 An' talc a life that wearies me ? '' 
 
 I cotua listen no longer, but raised the latch and went 
 in. The evening was gloomy, and the apartment ill 
 lighted ; but I could see the singer, a spectral-looking 
 figure, sitting on a bed in the corner, with the bedclothes 
 wrapped round his shoulders, and a napkin deeply stained
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 117 
 
 with blood on his head. An elderly female, who stood 
 beside him, •was striving to soothe him, and busied from 
 time to time in adjusting the clothes, which were ever and 
 anon falling off, as he nodded his head in time to the 
 music. A yoting girl of great beauty sat weeping at the 
 bedfoot. 
 
 *' O dearest Robert," said the woman, " you wUl destroy 
 yovir poor head ; and Margaret your sister, whom you used 
 to love so much, will break her heart. Do He do-wn, 
 dearest, and take a little rest. Your head is fearfully 
 gashed, and if the bandages loose a second time, you avUI 
 bleed to death. Do, dearest Eobert, for your poor old 
 mother, to whom you were always so kind and dutiful a 
 son tUl now — for your poor old mother's sake, do lie 
 do^^^l." 
 
 The song ceased for a moment, and the tears came 
 bursting from my eyes as the tune changed, and he again 
 sang : — 
 
 " niither dear, make ye my bed, 
 For my heart it's flichterin' sair ; 
 An' oh, gin I've vexed ye, mither dear, ^ 
 
 I'll never vex ye mair. ' 
 
 I've staid ar'out the lang dark nicht, I 
 
 I' the sleet an' the plashy rain ; 
 But, mither dear, make ye my bed, 
 An' I'll ne'er gang out again." 
 
 " Dearest, dearest Robert," continued the poor, heart- 
 broken woman, " do lie down ; for your poor old mother's 
 sake, do lie down." 
 
 " No, no," he exclaimed, in a hurried voice, " not just 
 now, mother, not just now. Here is my friend, ^Ir. 
 Lindsay, come to see me — my true friend, Mr. Lindsay, 
 the sailor, who has sailed all round and round the world ; 
 and I have much, much to ask him. A chair, INIargaret, for 
 Mr. Lindsay. I must be a preacher like John Knox, you 
 know — like the great John Knox, the refonner of a nation
 
 118 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 — and "Mr. Lindsay knows all about him, A chair, Mar- 
 garet, for Mr. Lindsay." 
 
 I am not ashamed to say it was with tears, and in a 
 voice faltering with emotion, that I apologized to the poor 
 woman for my intrusion at such a time. Were it other- 
 wise, I might well conclude my heart had grown hard as 
 a piece of the nether millstone. 
 
 " I had known Eobert at College," I said — " had loved 
 and respected him ; and had now come to pay him a visit, 
 after an absence of several months, wholly unprepared for 
 finding him in his present condition." And it would seem 
 that my tears pled for me, and proved to the poor afflicted 
 woman and her daughter, by far the most efficient part of 
 my apology. 
 
 " AU my friends have left me now, ^Ir. Lindsa}'-," said 
 the unfortunate poet — " they have all left me now ; they 
 love this present world. "We were all going do-\\Ti, doAvn, 
 down ; there was the roll of a river behind us ; it came 
 bursting over the high rocks, roaring, roUing, foaming 
 down upon us ; and though the fog was thick and dark 
 below — far below, in the place to which we were going — I 
 could see the red fire shining through — the red, hot, un- 
 quenchable fire; and we were all going do^vn, do^vn, down. 
 Mother, mother, tell Mr. Lindsay I am going to be put on 
 my trials to-morrow. Careless creature that I am — hfe is 
 short, and I have lost much time ; but I am going to be 
 put on my trials to-morrow, and shall come forth a preacher 
 of the word." > 
 
 Tlie thunder which had hitherto been muttering at a 
 distance — each peal, however, nearer and louder than the 
 preceding one — now began to roll overhead, and the 
 lightning, as it passed the window, to illumine every 
 object within. The hapless poet stretched out his thin 
 wasted arm, as if addressing a congregation from the 
 pulpit :—
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 119 
 
 " There were the flashings of lightning," he said, " and 
 the roll of thunder ; and the trumpet waxed louder and 
 louder. And around the summit of the mountain were 
 the foldings of thick clouds, and the shadow fell brown 
 and dark over the wide expanse of the desert. And the 
 vnld beasts lay trembling in their dens. But, lo ! where 
 the sun breaks through the opening of the cloud, there is 
 the glitter of tents — the glitter of ten thousand tents that 
 rise over the sandy waste, thjck as waves of the sea. 
 And there, there is the voice of the dance and of the revel, 
 and the winding of horns and the clash of cymbals. Oh, 
 sit nearer me, dearest mother, for the room is growing 
 dark, dark ; and, oh, my poor head ! 
 
 ' The lady sat on the castle -wa', 
 
 Look'd ower baith dale and down, 
 
 And then she spied Gil-Morice head 
 
 Come steering through the to^\^l.' 
 
 Do, dearest mother, put your cool hand on my brow, and 
 do hold it fast ere it part. How fearfully — oh, how fear- 
 fully it aches !— and oh, hoAv it thunders ! " He sunk 
 backward on the pillow, apparently exhausted. "Gone, 
 gone, gone," he muttered ; " my mind gone for ever. But 
 God's wiU be done." 
 
 I rose to leave the room ; for I could restrain my feel- 
 ings no longer. 
 
 " Stay, Mr. Lindsay," said the poet, in a feeble voice ; 
 " I hear the rain dashing on the pavement ; you must not 
 go till it abates. Would that you could pray beside me ! 
 — but, no — you are not like the dissolute companions who 
 have now all left me, but you are not yet fitted for that ; 
 and, alas ! I cannot pray for myself Mother, mother, see 
 that there be prayers at my lykewake ; for — 
 •Her lykewake, it was piously spent 
 
 In social prayer and praise, 
 Performed by judicious men, 
 Who stricken were in days.
 
 120 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 'And many a hea^•y, heavy heart 
 
 Was in that mournful place ; 
 And many a wearj', weary thought 
 
 On her who slept in peace.' 
 
 They -will come all to my lykewake, mother, -won't they? 
 — yes, all, though they have left me now. Yes, and they 
 will come far to see my grave. I was poor, very poor, 
 you know, and they looked down upon me ; and I was no 
 son or cousin of theirs, and so they could do nothing for 
 me. Oh, but they might have looked less coldly 1 But 
 they -ttiU all come to my grave, mother ; they will come 
 all to my grave; and they will say — '"\^^ould he were 
 living now to know how kind we are!' But they Avill 
 look as coldly as ever on the living poet beside them — yes, 
 till they have broken his heart ; and then they will go to 
 his grave too. dearest mothei', do lay your cool hand 
 on my brow." 
 
 He lay silent and exhausted, and, in a few minutes, I 
 could hope, from the hardness of his breathing, that he 
 Lad fallen asleep. 
 
 " How long," I inquired of his sister, in a low whisper, 
 " has Mr. Ferguson been so unweU, and what has injured 
 his head?" 
 
 "Alas!" said the girl, "my brother has been unsettled 
 in mind for nearly the last six months. "We first knew it 
 one evening on his coming home from the country, where 
 he had been for a few days with a friend. He bui-nt a 
 large heap of papers that he had been employed on for 
 weeks before — songs and poems that his friends say Avere 
 the finest things he ever wrote ; but he burnt them all, fur 
 he was going to be a preacher of the word, he said, and it 
 did not become a preacher of the word to be a -wTiter of 
 light rhymes. And, O sir! his mind has been carried 
 ever since ; but he has been always gentle and affectionate, 
 and his sole dehght has lain in reading the Bible. Good
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 121 
 
 Dr. Erskine, of the Greyfriars, often comes to our house, 
 and sits with him for hours together; for there are times 
 when his mind seems stronger than ever, and he says 
 wonderful things, that seem to hover, the minister says, 
 between the extravagance natural to his present sad con- 
 dition, and the higher flights of a philosophic genius. And 
 we had hoped that he was getting better ; but, O sir, our 
 hopes have had a sad ending. He went out, a few evenings 
 ago, to call on an old acquaintance ; and, in descending a 
 stair, missed footing, and fell to the bottom; and his head has 
 been fearfully injured by the stones. He has been just as 
 you have seen him ever since ; and, oh ! I much fear he 
 cannot now recover. Alas! my poor brother! — never, 
 never was there a more affectionate heart." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " A lowly muse ! 
 She sings of reptiles yet in song unknown." 
 
 I returned to the vessel with a heavy heart ; and it was 
 nearly three months from this time ere I again set foot in 
 Edinburgh. Alas ! for my unfortunate Jricnd ! He was 
 now an inmate of the asylum, and on the verge of dissolu- 
 tion. I was thrown, by accident, shortly after my arrival 
 at this time, into the company of one of his boon com- 
 panions. I had gone into a tavern with a brother sailor 
 — a shrewd, honest skipper, from the north country ; and, 
 finding the place occupied by half a dozen young fellows, 
 who were growing noisy over their liquor, I would have 
 iumiediately gone out again, had I not caught, in the pass- 
 ing, a feAV words regarding my friend. And so, drawing 
 to a side-table, I sat down. 
 
 " Believe me," said one of the topers, a dissolute-looking
 
 122 TALES OP THE BOKDERS. 
 
 young man, " it's all over witli Bob Ferguson — all over; 
 and I knew it from the moment he grew religious. Had 
 old Bro-\vn tried to convert me, I woiild have broken his 
 face." 
 
 " What BroA\Ti ? " inquired one of his companions. 
 
 " Is that all you know?" rejoined the other. "Why, 
 John Brown of Haddington, the Seceder. Bob was at 
 Haddington last year, at the election ; and, one morning, 
 when in the horrors, after holding a rum night of it, who 
 should he meet in the churchyard but old John Brown? — 
 he writes, you know, a big book on the Bible. Well, he 
 lecttrred Bob at a pretty rate, about election and the call, 
 I suppose ; and the poor follow has been mad ever since. 
 Your health, Jamie. For my ovra part, I'm a freewill 
 man, and detest aU cant and humbug." 
 
 "And what has come of Ferguson now?" asked one of 
 the others. 
 
 " Oh, mad, sir, mad," rejoined the toper — " reading the 
 Bible all day, and cooped up in the asylum yonder. 'Twas 
 I who brought liim to it. — But, lads, the glass has been 
 standing for the last half-hour. — 'Twas I and Jack Robinson 
 who brought him to it, as I say. He was getting wild ; 
 and so we got a sedan for him, and trumped up a story of 
 an invitation for tea from a lady, and he came with us as 
 quietly as a lamb. But, if you could have heard the 
 shriek he gave when the chair stopped, and he saw where 
 we had brought him! I never heard anything half so 
 horrible — it rung in my cars for a week after ; and then, 
 how the mad people in the upper rooms howled and 
 gibbered in reply, till the very roof echoed ! People say 
 he is getting better ; but, when I last saw him, he Avas as 
 religious as ever, and spoke so much about heaven, that 
 it was vmcomfortable to hear him. Great loss to his 
 friends, after all the expense they have been at with his 
 education."
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 123 
 
 " You seem to have been intimate 'witli !Mr. Ferguson," 
 I said. 
 
 " Oh, intimate with Bob !" he rejoined; "we were hand 
 and glove, man. I have sat with him in Lucky Middle- 
 mass's, almost every evening, for two years ; and I have 
 given him hints for some of the best things in his book. 
 'Twas I who tumbled down the cage in the Meadows, and 
 began breaking the lamps. 
 
 ' Ye who oft finish care in Lethe's cup, 
 "Who love to swear and roar, and keep it up, 
 List to a brother's voice, whose sole delight 
 Is sleep all day, and riot all the night.' 
 
 There's spirit for you ! But Bob was never sovmd at bot- 
 tom; and I have told him so. *Bob,' I have said, 'Boli, 
 you're but a hj-pocrite after aU, man — "s\'ithout half the 
 spunk you pretend to. Wliy don't you take a pattern by 
 me, who fear nothing, and believe only the agreeable ? 
 But, poor fellow, he had weak nerves, and a church-goir.g 
 propensity that did him no good ; and you see the effects. 
 'Twas all nonsense, Tom, of his thro^ving the squib into 
 the Glassite meeting-house. Between you and I, that was 
 a ciit far beyond him in his best days, poet as he Avas. 
 'Twas I who did it, man, and never was there a cleaner 
 row in auld Reclde." 
 
 "Heartless, contemptible puppy!" said my comrade, the 
 sailor, as Ave left the room. " Your poor friend must be 
 ill, indeed, if he be but half as insane as his quondam 
 companion. But he cannot : there is no madness like that 
 of the heart. What could have induced a man of genius 
 to associate with a thing so thoroughly despicable?" 
 
 " The same misery, IMiUer," I said, " that brings a man 
 acquainted loith strange bedfelloivs.^'
 
 124 TALES OP THE BOKDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " thou, my elder brother in misfortune, 
 By far my elder brother in the muses, 
 "With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! " — Burks, 
 
 The asylum in wliicli my unfortunate friend was confined, 
 at this time the only one in Edinbui-gh, was sitiiated in an 
 angle of the city wall. It was a dismal-looking mansion, 
 shut in on every side, by the neighboming houses, from 
 the view of the surrounding country; and so effectuaUy 
 covered up from the nearer street, by a large biiUding in 
 front, that it seemed possible enough to pass a lifetime in 
 Edinburgh -without coming to the knowledge of its exist- 
 t:nce, I shuddered as I looked up to its blackened walls, 
 thinly sprinkled with miserable-looking Avindows, barred 
 with iron, and thought of it as a sort of burial-place of dead 
 minds. But it was a Golgotha, which, with more than the 
 horrors of the grave, had neither its rest nor its silence. I 
 was startled, as I entered the cell of the hapless poet, by a 
 shout of laughter from a neighbouring room, which was 
 answered from a dark recess behind me, by a fearfidly pro- 
 longed shriek, and the clanking of chains. The mother and 
 sister of Ferguson were sitting beside his pallet, on a sort 
 of stone settle which stood out from the wall; and the poet 
 himself, weak and exhausted, and worn to a shadow, but 
 apparently in his right mind, lay extended on the straw. 
 He made an attempt to rise as I entered; but the effort 
 was above his strength, anid, again lying down, he extended 
 las hand. 
 
 "This is kind, Mr. Lindsay," he said ; " it is iU for me to 
 be alone in these days; and yet I have few visitors, save 
 my poor old mother and Margaret. But who cares for the 
 iinliappy ?"
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 125 
 
 I sat down on the settle beside him, still retaining liis 
 hand. " I have been at sea, and in foreign countries," I 
 said, " since I last saw you, Mr. Ferguson, and it was only 
 this morning I returned; but believe me there are many, 
 many of your countrymen who sympathize sincerely in 
 your affliction, and take a warm interest in your recovery." 
 
 He sighed deeply. " Ah," he repKed, '* I know too well 
 the nature of that sympathy. You never find it at the 
 bedside of the sufferer — it evaporates in a few barren 
 expressions of idle pity; and yet, after all, it is but a paying 
 the poet in kind. He calls so often on the Avorld to sympa- 
 thizo over fictitious misfortune, that the feeling wears out, 
 and becomes a mere mood of the imagination ; and, with 
 this Hght, attenuated pity of his own weaving, it regards 
 his own real sorrows. Dearest mother, the evening is 
 damp and chill — do gather the bedclothes round me, and 
 sit on my feet; they are so very cold and so dead, that they 
 cannot be colder a week hence." 
 
 " O Robert, why do you speak so ?" said the poor woman, 
 as she gathered the clothes roimd him, and sat on his feet. 
 ' You know you are coming home to-morrow." 
 
 ** To-morrowl" he said — " if I see to-morrow, I shall have 
 completed my twenty-fotu'th year — a small part, surely, of 
 the threescore and ten; but what matters it when 'tis past ?" 
 
 " You Avere ever, my friend, of a melancholy tempera- 
 ment," I said, " and too little disposed to hope. Indulge 
 in brighter views of the future, and all shall yet be Avell." 
 
 " I can now hope that it shall," he said. " Yes, aU shall 
 be well with me — and that very soon. But, oh, how this 
 nature of ours shrhiks from dissolution ! — yes, and all the 
 lower natures too. You remember, mother, the poor star- 
 ling that was killed in the room beside us ? Oh, how it 
 struggled -with its ruthless enemy, and filled the whole 
 place with its shrieks of terror and agony. And yet, poor 
 little thing ! it had been true, all life long, to the laws of
 
 126 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 its nature, and had no sins to account for, and no judge to 
 meet. There is a shrinking of heart as I look before me, 
 and yet I can hope that all shall yet be well with me — and 
 that very soon. Would that I had been wise in time! 
 Would that I had thought more and earlier of the things 
 which pertain to my eternal peace ! more of a living soul, 
 and less of a dying name ! But, oh, 'tis a glorious pro\'i- 
 sion, through which a way of return is opened up even at 
 the eleventh hour ! " 
 
 We sat round him in silence; an indescribable feeling ot 
 awe pervaded my whole mind, and his sister was affected 
 to tears. 
 
 " IMargaret," he said, in a feeble voice — "Margaret, you 
 will find my Bible in yonder little recess; 'tis all I have 
 to leave you; but keep it, dearest sister, and use it, and, 
 in times of sorrow and suffering that come to all, you Avill 
 know how to prize the legacy of your poor brother. Many, 
 many books do weU enough for life; but there is only one 
 of any value when we come to die. 
 
 "You have been a voyager of late, Mr. Lindsay," he 
 contim;ed, " and I have been a voyager too. I have been 
 journeying in darkness and discomfort, amid strange un- 
 earthly shapes of dread and horror, with no reason to direct 
 and no wiU to govern. Oh, the unspeakable unhappincss 
 of these wanderings ! — these dreams of suspicion, and fear, 
 and hatred, in which shadow and substance, the true and 
 the false, were so wrought up and mingled together, that 
 they formed but one fantastic and miserable whole. And, 
 oh ! the unutterable liorror of every momentary return to 
 a recollection of what I had been once, and a sense of what 
 I had become ! Oh, wlien I awoke amid the terrors of tlie 
 night — when I turned me on tlic rustling straw, and lieard 
 the ■wild wail and yet wilder laugh — when I heard and 
 shuddered, and then felt the demon in all his might coming 
 over me, till I laughed and waUed with the others — oh
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 127 
 
 the misery! the utter misery! — Biit 'tis over, my friend — 
 'tis all over; a few, few tedious days, a few, few weary 
 nights, and all my sufferings shall be over." 
 
 I had covered my face with my hands, but the tears 
 came bursting through my fingers; the mother and sister 
 of the poet sobbed aloud. 
 
 " Wi\y sorrow for me, sirs?" he said; "why grieve for 
 me ? I am well, quite well, and want for nothing. But 
 'tis cold; oh, 'tis very cold, and the blood seems freezing 
 at my heart. Ah, but there is neither pain nor cold where 
 I am going, and I trust it shall be well with my soul. 
 Dearest, dearest mother, I always told you it would come 
 to this at last." 
 
 The keeper had entered to intimate to us that the hour 
 for locking up the cells was already past, and we now rose 
 to leave the place. I stretched out my hand to my imfor- 
 tunate friend; he took it in silence, and his thin attenuated 
 fingers felt cold within my grasp, like those of a coi'pse. 
 His mother stooped down to embi-ace him, 
 
 *• Oh, do not go yet, mother," he said — " do not go yet^ 
 do not leave me ; but it must be so, and I only distress you. 
 Pray for me, dearest mother, and, oh, forgive me ; I have 
 been a grief and a burden to you all life-long; but I ever 
 loved you, mother ; and, oh, you have been kind, kind and 
 forgiving — and now your task is over. May God bless 
 and reward you ! ISIargaret, dearest Margaret, farewell ! " 
 
 We parted, and, as it proved, for ever. Robert Ferguson 
 expired during the night; and when the keeper entered 
 the cell next morning, to prepare him for quitting the 
 asylum, all that remained of this most hapless of the chil- 
 dren of genius, Avas a jjallld and wasted corpse, that lay 
 stiffening on the straw. I am now a very old man, and the 
 feelings wear out; but I find that my heart is even yet 
 susceptible of emotion, and that the source of tears is not 
 yet dried up.
 
 123 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 THE DISASTERS 
 OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 
 
 JoHKNTY Armstrong, the liero of our tale, was, and, for 
 aught we know to the contrary, still is, an inhabitant of 
 the town of Carlisle. He was a stout, thickset, little man, 
 with a round, good-humoured, ruddy countenance, and 
 somewhere about fifty years of age at the period to which 
 our story refers. Although possessed of a good deal of 
 natural shrewdness, Johnny was, on the whole, rather a 
 simple sort of person. His character, in short, was that of 
 an honest, Avell-meaning, inoffensive man, but with parts 
 that certainly did not shine Avith a very dazzling lustre, 
 Johnny was, to business, an ironmonger, and had, by patient 
 industry and upright dealing, acquired a small indepen- 
 dency. He had stuck to the counter of his little dingy 
 shop for upwards of tAventy years, and used to boast that, 
 during all that time, he had opened and shut his shop with 
 his own hands every day, not even excepting one. The 
 result of this steadiness and attention to business was, as 
 has been already said, a competency. 
 
 Fortunately for Johnnj', this propensity to stick fast — • 
 which he did like a limpet — was natural to him. It was a 
 part of his constitution. He had no desire whatever to 
 travel, or, rather, he had a positive dislike to it — a dislUce, 
 indeed, which was so great that, for an entire quarter of a 
 century, lie had never been three miles out of Carlisle. 
 But when Johnny had waxed pretty rich, somewhat corpu- 
 lent, and rather oldish, he was suddenly struck, one fine 
 summer afternoon, as he stood at the door of his shop with 
 his hands in hi.'} breeches pockets, (a favourite attitude,) 
 with an amiable and ardent desire to see certain of his
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 129 
 
 relations -wlio lived at Brechin, in the north of Scotland; 
 and — there is no accounting for these things — on that after- 
 noon Johnny carne to the extraordinary resolution of 
 paying them a \'isit — of performing a journey of upwards 
 of a hvmdred miles, even as the crow flies. It was a strange 
 and a desperate resolution for a man of Johnny's peculiar 
 temperament and habits ; hut so it was. Travel he Avould, 
 and travel he did. On the third day after the doughty 
 determination just alluded to had been formed, Johnny, 
 swathed in an ample brown greatcoat, with a red comforter 
 about his neck, appeared in the stable yard of the inn 
 where most of the stage coaches that passed through Car- 
 lisle put up. Of these there were three : one for Dumfries, 
 one for Glasgow, and one for Edinburgh — the latter being 
 Johnny's coach ; for his route was by the metropoHs. We 
 had almost forgotten to say that Johnny, Avho was a 
 widower, was accompanied on this occasion by his son, 
 Johnny jimior, an only child, whom it was his intention to 
 take along with him. The boy was about fourteen years 
 of age, and though, upon the Avhole, a shrewd enough lad 
 for his time of hfe, did not promise to be a much brighter 
 genius than his father. In fact he was rather lumpish. 
 
 On arriving at the inn yard — it was about eight o'clock 
 at night, and pretty dark, being the latter end of Septem- 
 ber — Johnny Armstrong found the coach apparently about 
 to start, the horses being all yoked ; but the vehicle 
 happened, at the moment he entered the yard, to be in 
 charge of an ostler — not of either the guard or driver, who 
 had both gone out of the way for an instant. Desirous of 
 securing a good seat for his son, Johnny Armstrong opened 
 the coach door, thrust the lad in, and Avas about to foLfow 
 himself, when he discovered that he had forgotten his watch. 
 On making this discovery, he banged too the coach door 
 without saying a word, and hurried home as fast as his 
 little, thick, short legs would allow him, to recover hia 
 
 Vol. I. B
 
 130 TALES or Tllli BORDERS, 
 
 time-piece. On his retiu'n, wliicli was in less than five 
 minutes, Johnny himself stepped into the vehicle, which 
 "vvas noTV crowded with passengers, and, in a few seconds, 
 was rattling away at a rapid rate towards Edinburgh. The 
 night was pitch dark, not a star tmnkled ; and it was not 
 until Johnny arrived at his journey's end — that is, at Edin- 
 burgh — that he discovered his son was not in the coach, 
 and had never been there at all. We will not attempt to 
 describe Johnny's amazement and distress of mind on 
 making this most extraordinary and most alarming dis- 
 covery. They were dreadful. In great agitation, he 
 inquired at every one of the passengers if they had not 
 seen his son, and one and all denied they ever had. The 
 thing was mysterious and perfectly inexplicable. 
 
 "I put the boy into the coach with my own hands," 
 said Johnny Armstrong, in great perturbation, to the >-uard 
 and half crying as he spoke. 
 
 " Very odd," said the guard. 
 
 " Very odd, indeed," said Johnny. 
 
 "Are you sure it was our coach, Mr. Armstrong?" m- 
 qixired the guard. 
 
 The emphasis on the word our was startling. It evi- 
 dently meant more than met the ear ; and Johnny felt that 
 it did so, and he was startled accordingly. 
 
 " Your coach ?" he replied, but now with some hesitation 
 of manner. " It surely was. Wliat other coach could it 
 be ?" 
 
 " ^Vliy, it may have been the Glasgow coach," said the 
 guard ; " and I rather think it must have been. You have 
 made a mistake, sir, be assured, and put the boy into the 
 wrong coach. We start from the same place, and at the 
 same hour, five minutes or so in or over." 
 
 The mention of this possibihty, nay certainty — for 
 Johnny had actually dispatched the boy to Glasgow — 
 instantly struck him dumb. It relieved him, indeed, from
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 131 
 
 the misery arising from a dread of some terril)le accident 
 having happened the lad, but threw him into great tribu- 
 lation as to his fate in GlasgoAV, Avithout money or fi-iends. 
 But this being, after all, comparatively but a small affair, 
 Johnny was now, what he had not been before, able to pay 
 attention to minor things. 
 
 "Be sae guid," said Johnny to the guard, who was on 
 the top of the coach, busy unloosing packages, " as haun 
 me doun my trunk." 
 
 "No trunk of yours here, sir," said the guard. "You'll 
 have sent it away to Glasgow -mth. the boy." 
 
 " No, no," replied Johnny, sadly perplexed by this new 
 misfortune. " I sent it wi' the lass to the inn half an hour 
 before I gaed mysel." 
 
 " Oh, then, in that case," said the guard, "ten to one it's 
 away to Dumfries, and not to Glasgow." 
 
 And trvdy such was the fact. The girl, a fresh-caught 
 country lass, had thrown it on the first coach she found, 
 saying her master would immediately follow — and that 
 happened to be the Dumfries one. Here, then, was Johnny 
 safely arrived himself, indeed, at Edinburgh ; but his son 
 was gone to Glasgow, and his trunk to Dumfries — all ^vith 
 the greatest precision imaginable. Next day, Johnny Arm- 
 strong, being extremely uneasy about his boy, started for 
 Glasgow on board of one of the canal passage boats; while 
 the lad, being equally uneasy about his father, and, more- 
 over, ill at ease on sundry other accounts, did precisely the 
 same thing with the difference of direction — that is, he 
 started for Edinburgh by a similar conveyance ; and so 
 well timed had each of their respective departures been, 
 that, without knowing it, they passed each other exactly 
 halfway between the two cities. On arriving at Glasgow, 
 Johnny Armstrong coiild not, for a long while, discover 
 any trace of his son ; but at length succeeded in tracking 
 him to the canal boat — which led him rightly to conclude
 
 132 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 that he had proceeded to Edinburgh. On coming to this 
 conclusion, Johnny again started for the metropolis, where 
 he safely arrived about two hours after his son had left it 
 for home, whither, finding no trace of his father in Edin- 
 biirgh, he had wisely directed his steps. Johnny Arm- 
 strong, now greatly distressed about the object of his 
 paternal solicitude, whom he vainly sought up and down 
 the city, at last also bent his way homewards, thinking, 
 what was true, that the boy might have gone home ; and 
 there indeed he found him. Thus nearly a week had 
 been spent, and that in almost constant travel, and Johnny 
 found himself precisely at the point from which he had set 
 out. However, in three days, after having, in the mean- 
 time, recovered his trunk, he again set out on his travels 
 to Brechin; for his courage was not in the least abated by 
 what had happened ; but on this occasion unaccompanied 
 by his son, as he would not again run the risk of losing 
 him, or of exposing himself to that distress of mind on his 
 account, of Avhich he had been before a victim. In the 
 case of Johnny's second progress, there was "no mistake" 
 whatever, of any kind — at least at starting. Both himself 
 and his trunk arrived in perfect safety, and in due time, 
 at Edinburgh. 
 
 Johnny's next route was to steam it to Kirkaldy from 
 Ncwhaven. The boat started at six a.m. ; and, having 
 informed himself of this particular, he determined to be 
 at the point of embarkation in good time. But he was 
 rather late, and, on finding this, he ran every foot of 
 the way from Edinburgh to the steam-boat, and was in a 
 dreadful state of exhaustion Avlien he reached it; but, by 
 his exertions, he saved his distance, thereby exhibiting 
 another proof that all is not lost that's in danger. An 
 instant longer, however, and he would have been too late, 
 for the vessel was just on the eve of starting. Johnny leapt 
 on board, or rather was bundled on board; for Johnny, as
 
 DISASTJinS OF JOHNNY AKMSTRONG. 133 
 
 already hinted, was in what is called good bodily con- 
 dition — rather extra, indeed — and was, moreover, waxing 
 a little stiff about the joints; so that he could not get over 
 the side of the boat so cleverly as he would have done 
 some twenty years before. Over and above all this, he 
 was quite exhausted with the race against time which he 
 had just run. Seeing his distressed condition, and that 
 the boat was on the point of sailing, two of the hands 
 leapt on the pier, when the one seizing him by the waist- 
 band of the breeches, and the other by the breast, they 
 fairly pitched him into the vessel, throwing his trunk after 
 him. As it was pouring rain, Johnny, on recovering his 
 perpendicular, immediately descended into the cabin, and, in 
 the next instant, the boat was ploughing her way through the 
 deep. For two hours after he had embarked, it continued 
 to rain without intermission; and for these two hours he 
 remained snug below without stirring. At the end of this 
 period, however, it cleared up a little, and, in a short while 
 thereafter, became perfectly fair. Having discovered this 
 he ascended to the deck, to see what was going on. The 
 captain of the vessel was himself at the helm; he, therefore, 
 sidled towards him, and, after making some remarks on the 
 weather and the scenery, asked the captain, in the blandest 
 and civilest tones imaginable, when he expected they would 
 be at Kirkaldy. The man stared at Johnny with a look 
 of astonishment, not uumingled vnth displeasure; but at 
 length said — 
 
 "Ivirkaldy, sir! Wliat do you mean by asking me 
 that question? I don't know when you expect to be at 
 Kirkaldy, but / don't expect to be there for a twelvemonth 
 at least." 
 
 "No! — od, that's queer!" quoth Johnny, amazed in his 
 turn; but thinking, after a moment, that the captain meant 
 to be facetious, he merely added — " I wad think, captain, 
 that we wad be there much about the same time."
 
 134: TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Ay, ay, may be; but, I say, none of your gammon, 
 friend," said the latter, gruffly, and now getting really 
 angry at what he conceived to be some attempt to play 
 upon him, though he could not see the drift of the joke. 
 *' Mind your own business, friend, and I'll mind mine." 
 
 This he said "with an air that conveyed very plainly a 
 hint that Johnny should take himself oiT, which, without 
 saying any more, he accordingly did. Much perplexed by 
 the captain's conduct, he now sauntered towards the fore 
 part of the vessel, where he caught the engineer just as he 
 was about to descend into the engine-room. Johnny tapped 
 him gently on the shoidder, and the man, "wiping his drip- 
 ping face with a handful of tow, looked up to him, while 
 Johnny, afraid to put the question, but anxious to know 
 when he really would be at Kirkaldy, lowered himself 
 do"wn, by placing his hands on his knees, so as to bring 
 his face on a level with the person he was addressing, and, 
 in the mildest accents, and with a countenance beaming 
 with gentleness, he popped the question in a low, soft 
 whisper, as if to deprecate the man's -svrath. On the fatal 
 inquiry being made at him, the engineer, as the captain 
 had done before him, stared at Johnny Armstrong, in 
 amazement, for a second or two, then burst into a hoarse 
 laugh, and, without vouchsafing any other reply, plunged 
 doAvm into his den. 
 
 "What in a' the earth can be the meanin' o' this?" 
 quoth Johnny to himscl/j now ten times more perplexed 
 than ever. "What can there be in my simple, natural, 
 and reasonable question, to astonish folk sae muckle?" 
 
 This was an inquiry which Johnny might put to himself, 
 but it was one which he could by no means answer. Being, 
 however, an easy, good-natured man, and seeing how much 
 offence in one instance, and subject for mirth in anotlier, 
 he had unwittingly given, by putting it, he resolved to 
 make no further inquiries into the mntter, but to await in
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG, 135 
 
 patience the arrival of the boat at her destination — an event 
 which he had the sense to perceive "would be neither for- 
 warded nor retarded by his obtaining or being refused the 
 information he had desired to be possessed of. The boat 
 arrived in due time at the wished-for haven, and Johnny 
 landed mth the other passengers; the captain giving him 
 a ■\\ipe, as he stepped on the plank that was to convey him 
 ashore, about his Ivirkaldy inquii-ies, by asking him, though 
 now in perfect good humour, if he knew the precise length 
 of that celebrated town; but Johnny merely smiled and 
 passed on. 
 
 On landing, Johnny Armstrong proceeded to what had 
 the appearance of, and really was, a respectable inn. Here, 
 as it was now pretty far in the day, he had some dinner, 
 and afterwards treated himself to a tumbler of toddy and a 
 peep at the papers. Wliile thus comfortably enjoyuig him- 
 self, the waiter having chanced to pop into the room, 
 Johnny raised his eye from the paper he was reading, and, 
 looking the lad in the face — 
 
 " Can ye tell me, friend," he said, " when the coach for 
 Dundee starts ? " 
 
 " There's no coach at all from this to Dimdee, sii-," replied 
 the waiter. 
 
 " No !" said Johnny, a little nonplused by this informa- 
 tion. " That's odd." The waiter saw nothing odd in it. 
 
 " I was told," continued Johnny, *' that there were twa 
 or three coaches daily from this to Dundee." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir," said the lad, coolly, " you have been 
 misinformed ; but if you wish to go to Dundee, sir," he 
 added — desirous of being as obhging as possible — " your 
 best way is to go by steam from this to Newhaven, and 
 from that cross over to Kirkaldyl!! " 
 
 At this fatal word, which seemed doomed to work Johnny 
 much wo, the glass which he was about to raise to liis lips 
 fell on the floor, and went into a thousand pieces.
 
 136 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " Kirkaldy, laddie !" exclaimed Jolmny Armstrong, with 
 an expression of consternation in his face which it woxild 
 require Cruikshank's art and skUl to do justice to — "Gude 
 hae a care o' me, is this no Kirkaldy ?" 
 
 "Kirkaldy, sir 1" repUedthe waiter, no less amazed than 
 Johnny, though in his case it was at the absurdity of the 
 inquiry — " oh, no, sir," with a smile — " this is Alloa ! ! ! " 
 
 Alloa it was, to be sure; for Johnny had taken the wrong 
 boat, and that was all. On embarking, he had made no 
 inquiries at those belonging to the vessel, and, of course, 
 those in the vessel had put none to him — and this was the 
 result. He was comfortably planted at Alloa, instead of 
 Kirkaldy, which all our readers know lies in a very different 
 direction; and this denouement also explains the captain's 
 displeasure Avith his passenger, and the engineer's mirth. 
 At the moment this extraordinary eclaircissement took place 
 between Johnny Armstrong and the waiter of the King's 
 Arms, there happened to be a ship captain in the room — for 
 it was the public one ; and this person, who was a good- 
 natured fellow, at once amused by, and pitying Johnny's 
 dilemma, turned towards him, and inquired if it was his 
 intention to go any further than Dundee. 
 
 Johnny said that it was — he intended going to Brechin. 
 
 "Oh, in that case," said the captain, "you had better 
 just go with me. In an hour after this I sail for Montrose, 
 Avhich is within eight miles of Brechin, and I'll be very glad 
 to give you a cast so far, and we shan't differ about the 
 terms. Fine, smart little vessel mine, and, with a spank- 
 ing breeze from the west or sou'- west, which we'll very 
 likely catch about Queensferry, I'll land you in a jiffey 
 within a trifle of your journey's end — a devilish sight 
 cleverer, I warrant you, than your round-about way of 
 steaming and coaching it, and at half the money too." 
 
 Johnny Armstrong was all gratitude for this very op- 
 portune piece of kindness, and gladly closed with the offer
 
 DISASTERS OP JOHNNY ARMSTRONG, 137 
 
 — the captain and he taking a couple of additional tumblers 
 each, on the head of it, to begin -with. We say to begin 
 with ; for it by no means ended with the quantity named. 
 The captain was a jolly dog, and loved his liquor, and was, 
 "svithal, so facetious a companion, that he prevailed on his 
 new friend to swallow a great deal more than did him any 
 good. To tell a truth, which, however, we would not have 
 kno-\vn at Carlisle, Johnny Armstrong, who had the char- 
 acter of a sober man, got, on this occasion, into a rather 
 discreditable condition, and, in this state, he was escorted 
 by the captain — who stood liquor like a water-cask — to the 
 vessel, and was once more embarked ; but it was now on 
 board the Fifteen Sisters of Skatehaven. On getting him 
 on board, the captain, seeing the state he was in, prudently 
 bundled him do^vn into the cabin, and thrust him into his 
 o'svn bed, where he immediately fell into a profound sleep 
 that extended over twelve mortal hours. At the end of 
 this period, however, Johnny awoke ; but it was not by 
 any means of his OAvn accord, for he was awakened by a 
 variety of stimulants, or roiisers, if we may be allowed to 
 coin a word for the occasion, all operating at once. These 
 were, a tremendous uproar on the deck, a fearful rolling 
 of the vessel, the roaring of Avind, and the splashing, 
 dashing, and gurhng of waves ; and, to cro\\Ti all, a feeling 
 of deadly sickness. "Ulien he first opened his eyes, he 
 could not conceive where he was, or what was the mean- 
 ing of the furious motion that he felt, and of the tremendous 
 sounds that he heard. A few minutes' cogitation with him- 
 self, however, solved the mystery, and exposed to him his 
 true position. In great alarm — for he thought the vessel 
 was on the eve of going down — Johnny Armstrong rolled 
 himself out of his bed, and crawled in his shirt up tho 
 cabin ladder. On gaining the summit, he found himself 
 confronted by the captain, who, with a very serious face, 
 was standing by the helm.
 
 138 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Ai-e — are— are — we — near — INIon — trose, captain?" in- 
 quired Johnny, in a voice rendered so feeble by sickness 
 and terror, that it was impossible to hear him a yard off, 
 amidst the roaring of the winds and waves ; for we sup- 
 pose we need not more expHcitly state, that he was in the 
 midst of a storm, and as pretty a one it was as the most 
 devoted admu'er of the pictiiresque could desire to see. 
 
 "What?" roared the captain, in a voice of thunder, at 
 the same time stooping down to catch his feeble interroga- 
 tory. Johnny repeated it ; but, ere he could obtain an 
 answer, a raking wave, which came in at the stern, took 
 him full on the breast as he stood on the companion lad- 
 der, with his bust just above the level of the deck, sent 
 him dowm, heels over head, into the cabin, and, in a t'wink- 
 ling, buried him in a foot and a half of water on the floor, 
 where he lay for some time at full length, sprawling and 
 floundering amidst the wreck which the sudden and violent 
 influx of water had occasioned. On recovering from the 
 stunning eiFects of his descent — for he had, amongst other 
 small matters, received a violent contusion on the head — 
 Johnny for an instant imagined that he had somehow or 
 other got to the bottom of the sea. Finding, however, at 
 length, that this was not precisely the case, he arose, though 
 dripping with wet, yet not very like a sea god, and having 
 denuded himself of his only garment, his shirt, crawled into 
 his bed, where he now determined to aAvait quietly and 
 patiently the fate that might be intended for him ; and this 
 fate, he had no doubt, was suflfbcation by drowning. 
 
 "Very extraordinar this," said Johnny Armstrong to 
 himself, as he lay musing in bed on the perilous situation 
 into which he had so simply and innocently got — " very 
 extraordinar, that I couklna get the length o' Brechin 
 without a' this uproar, and confusion, and difliculty, and 
 danger; tliis knocking about frae place to place, half 
 drooned and half murdered. Here have I been now for
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY AIOISTIIONG. 139 
 
 inair iLan a -sveek at it, and it's my opinion I'm no twenty 
 mile nearer't yet than I was, for a' this kick up. Dear me," 
 he went on solUoqviizing, " I'm sure Brechin's no sic an out 
 o' the way place. The road's straught, and the distance no 
 great. Then, how, in the name o' wonder, is it that I canna 
 mak' it out like ither folk, let me do as I like ?" 
 
 Thus cogitated Johnny Armstrong as he lay on his bed 
 of sickness, sorrow, and danger. But his cogitations could 
 in no way mend the matter, nor, though they could, was he 
 long permitted to indulge in them; for that mortal sickness 
 under which he had been before suffering, but which the 
 little incident of the visit from the wave, with its conse- 
 quences, had temporarily banished, again returned -svith 
 tenfold vigour, making him regardless of all subhmary 
 things — even of life itself. In this state of supineness and 
 suffering did Johnny lie for three entire days and nights — 
 for so long did the storm continue -svith imabated fury — 
 the vessel having, for some foiu-- and- twenty hours pre- 
 viously, been quite unmanageable, and driving at the 
 mercy ot the A\inds and wai-es. A di-eadful crash, how- 
 ever, at length announced that some horrible crisis was at 
 hand. The vessel had struck, and, in a few seconds more, 
 she was in a thousand pieces, and her unfortunate crew, 
 including Johnny Armstrong, were struggling in the 
 waves. From this instant he lost all consciousness ; and, 
 when he again awoke to life, he found himself lying on the 
 sea-beach ; but how he had come there he never could 
 tell, nor could he at all conjecture by what accident his 
 hfe had been saved, when all the rest in the ill-fated ves- 
 sel had perished ; for Johnny was indeed the only person 
 that had escaped. On coming to himself he started to his 
 feet, and gazed around him, Avith a bewildered look, to see 
 if any object would present itself that might help him to 
 guess where he was. But his survey affording him no 
 such aid to recognition, he began to move inland, in the
 
 140 TALES OF THE BORDERS 
 
 hope of meeting with somebody who could give him the 
 information desired ; and in this he was not disappointed, 
 that is, he did meet somebody; but the appearance of 
 that somebody surprised Johnny " pretty considerably." 
 He had a high-crowmed hat on, such as Johnny had never 
 seen in his life before ; an enormous pair of breeches ; and 
 a pipe a yard long in his mouth. His tout ensemble^ in 
 short, was exceeding strange in Johnny Armstrong's eyea. 
 Nevertheless, he accosted him. 
 
 " Can ye tell me, freen, how far I may be frae Brechin ? " 
 he inquired. 
 
 The stranger shook his head, but made no reply. 
 
 " I'm sayin', freen," repeated Johnny, in a louder tone, 
 thinking that his friend, as he called him, might possibly 
 be duU of hearing, " can ye tell me if I'm onything near 
 Brechin ? " 
 
 The stranger again shook his head, but stiU said no- 
 thing. Johnny was confounded. At length, however, after 
 puffing away for some seconds with a suddenly-increased 
 energy, he slowly withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and 
 deUvered himself of what sounded to Johnny's ears very 
 much like this, spoken with great rapidity. 
 
 " Futra butara rap a ruara dutera muttera purra murra 
 footra den, Preekin, humph." 
 
 Of this Johnny of course could make nothing, no more 
 than the reader can, further than recognising in the word 
 "Preekin" a resemblance to the name of the town he so 
 anxiously inquired after ; and he was sorely perplexed 
 thereat. Neither could he at all comprehend what sort of 
 a being he had fallen in with. 
 
 *' I dinna undcrstan' a word o' what ye say, freen," at 
 length said Johnny, staring hard at tlie stranger with open 
 mouth. 
 
 " Umph ! " said the latter ; and he again withdrew his 
 pipe from his mouth, and again sent a volley of his " dutera
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY AR3ISTK0XG. 141 
 
 mutteras " about Johnny's ears, to precisely the same pur- 
 pose as before. 
 
 Finding that it was of no use making any further at- 
 tempt at conversation, Johnny passed on, not doubting 
 that he had met either with a dummy or a madman. But 
 what was Johnny's amazement when, shortly afterwards, 
 meeting a woman, whose dress, in its own way, was equally 
 odd and strange with that of the person he had just left, 
 he was answered (that is, to his queries again about 
 Brechin), in the same gibberish in Avhich the former had 
 responded to him. 
 
 " What can be the meanin' o' this ? " said Johnny to 
 himself, in great perplexity of mind, as he jogged on, after 
 leaving the lady in the same unsatisfactory way as he had 
 left the gentleman. " Whar in a' the earth can I hae got- 
 ten to, that naebody I meet wi' can understan' a word o' 
 plain English, or can speak themsels onything like an in- 
 telligible language ? " 
 
 He now began to think that he had probably got into 
 the Highlands; but, although this supposition might ac- 
 count for the strangeness of the language he had heard, it 
 would not, he perceived, tally very well with the enor- 
 mous breeches which the gentleman he had met Anth 
 wore, and which he had seen from a distance others wear- 
 ing, knowing, as he did very well, that the national dress 
 of the Highlanders was the kUt, of which the trousers in 
 question were the very antipodes. Tliere was another 
 circimistance, too, that appeared to Johnny at variance 
 with his first conjecture, namely, that he might have got 
 into the Highlands. Where he was there Avere no high 
 lands, not an eminence the height of a mole-hill. On the 
 contrary, the whole country, as far as his eye could reacli, 
 seemed one vast plain. Though greatly puzzled by these 
 reflections, Johnny jogged on, and his progress at length 
 brought him to a respectable-looking form-house.
 
 1-12 TALES OF TilE D0RDKU3, 
 
 " 'Od," said Jolmny, " I'll surely get f. mouthfu' o' 
 sense frae somebody here, an' fin' out whar I am." 
 
 In this Johnny certainly did succeed ; but not much to 
 his comfort, as the sequel wHl show. The first person he 
 addressed, on approaching the house, was a little girl, who, 
 when he spoke, stared at him in the greatest amazement, 
 then rushed screaming into the house. This proceeding 
 brought out seA'eral young men and women, to whom 
 Johnny now addressed himself; but the only answer he 
 obtained was a stare of astonishment similar to the child's, 
 and then a general burst of laughter. At length one of 
 the girls Avent into the house and brought out a joUy-look- 
 ing elderly man, who, from certain parts of his dress, 
 seemed to be in the seafaring way. 
 
 " Veil, mine freend, vat you vant ? " said this person, 
 who spoke broken English — " vere you come from ? " 
 
 " I cam last frae AUoa," said Jolmny, " and I want to 
 ken, sir, if I'm onything near to Brechin ? " 
 
 *' Preekin ! vere dat? " 
 
 " 'Od, I thocht everbody in Scotland kent that," said 
 Johnny, smiling. 
 
 " Ah ! maybe Scotlan', mine freend, but no Hollands," 
 xeplied he of the broken English. 
 
 " I dinna ken whether they ken't it in Holland or no," 
 said Johnny, "that's a country I'm no in the least acquaint 
 wi'; but I'm sure it's weel aneuch kent in Scotland." 
 
 "Ah! maybe Scotlan', but no Hollands, my freend," 
 repeated the man, smiUng in his turn ; " but you vas in 
 Hollands." 
 
 " Never in my life," said Johnny, earnestly. 
 
 " No, no," replied the man, impatiently, *' you vas no in 
 Hollands — but you vas in Hollands." 
 
 Johnny could make nothing of this ; but it was soon 
 cleared up by the person adding, <' You vas in Hollands 
 now — dis moment."
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNl^nr ARMSTRONG. 143 
 
 We will not even attempt to describe Johnny's amaze- 
 ment, horror, and consternation, on this announcement 
 being made to him, for we feel how vain it would be, and 
 how far short any idea we could convoy Avould be of the 
 reality. 
 
 " Holland ! " said Johnny. *' Heaven hae a care o' 
 me ! Ye surely dinna mean to say that I'm in HoUand 
 the noo ? " 
 
 " To be sure I vas," said the Dutchman, smiling at 
 Johnny's ludicrous perturbation. "^Mine Got, did you not 
 know you vas in Hollands ? Vere you come from, in all 
 de vorlds, you not know dat ? " 
 
 " I tell't ye abeady," replied Johnny, with a most rue- 
 ful countenance, " that I cam last frae Alloa. But ye're 
 surely no in earnest, freen," he added, in a desperate hope 
 that it might, after all, be but a joke, " Avhen ye say that 
 I'm in HoUand ? " 
 
 " Ah ! sure earneest — no doubt — true," said the Dutch- 
 man, now laughing outright at Johnny's perplexity. 
 
 As in the former case, we presume we need not be more 
 explicit in saying that Johnny had actually been '\^Tecked 
 on the coast of Holland. 
 
 "Weel, weel," said the Brechin voyager, with an air 
 expressive of more calmness and resignation than might 
 have been expected, " this does cowe the go wan ! How, 
 in Heaven's name, am I ever to fin' my Avay hame again ? 
 Little did I think I was ever to be landed this way amang 
 savages." 
 
 Johnny Armstrong, it will be here observed, could have 
 been no great reader — otherwise, he never would have 
 applied the term savages to so decent, industrious, and 
 civilized a people as the Dutch. The Dutchman, who was 
 a kind, good-natured fellow — taking no offence whatever 
 at Johnny's unbecoming expression, because probably he 
 did not imderstand it, and compassionating his situation —
 
 144 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 HOW invited him into the house, where Johnny, having suc- 
 ceeded in conveying to the whole household, through the 
 medium of the speaker of broken English, the story of his 
 misfortunes, was treated Avith much hospitality. With 
 these kind people Johnny Armstrong remained for about a 
 week — for they would not allow him to go sooner — when. 
 Laving entirely recovered from the effects of his sea voyage 
 and shipAvreck, he proceeded to Eotterdam ; being accom- 
 panied and assisted in all his movements by his benevolent 
 host, Dunder Vander Dunder, of Slootzsloykin. On 
 arriving at Rotterdam, a passage was engaged for Johnny 
 on board one of the Leith packets, or regular traders, in 
 which he was next day snugly deposited ; and, in an hour 
 after, he was again braving the dangers of the ocean. 
 For some time all went on weU on this occasion -\vith liim, 
 and he was beginning to feel comfortable, and even happy, 
 from the prospect of being soon again in his native land, 
 and from the superior accommodations of the vessel in 
 which he was embarked — far surpassing, as they did, those 
 of the unfortunate Sisters of Skatehaven. His present 
 ship was, in truth, a remarkably fine one, and altogether 
 seemed well adapted for encountering the elements. Tlie 
 weather, too, was moderate, and the wind fair ; so that a 
 quick and pleasant passage was confidently anticipated by 
 all on board, including Johnny Armstrong. AU these 
 agreeable circumstances combined, made him feel ex- 
 tremely comfortable and happy ; and, in the exuberance 
 of his feelings, and from the exciting sense of having at 
 length triumphed over liis misfortunes — it might almost be 
 said his fate — Johnny even began to joke and laugh with 
 those whom he found willing to joke and laugh with him. 
 It was whUe in this happy frame of mind, and as he stood 
 luxuriously leaning over the bulwark of the vessel, that 
 the captain suddenly espied a little, smart, cutter-looking 
 craft, sailing exactly in the same course with them-
 
 DISASTEES OF JOHNNY ARMStjRONG. 115 
 
 selves, and evidently endeavouring to make up with 
 them, 
 
 "'Wliat can the folk he wantin'?" quoth Johnny Arm- 
 strong, taking an interest in the approachmg barge. His 
 question was one Avhich nobody coidd answer. In the 
 meantime, the little vessel, mo^dng with great velocity, 
 was fast nearing them, when the captain, now convinced 
 that those in her desired to have some communication 
 vdih him, arrested his own vessel's way, and awaited their 
 coming. In a very few minutes, the Httle cutter was 
 alongside, and two men leapt from her to the deck of the 
 packet, when one of them, approaching the captain, told 
 him that they were messengers, that they had a warrant 
 against John Jones, a native of Britain, for debt, and that 
 they had reason to beheve he was in the vesseh The 
 captain said he did not beheve he had any such passenger 
 on board, but Informed them that they were perfectly at 
 liberty to search the ship. During this conversation, the 
 other officer kept his eye fixed on Johnny Armstrong, and 
 when rejoined by his comrade, seemed to inform him — for 
 their langiiage was not understood — that there was some- 
 thing about that person Avell worthy of his attention, 
 riiey now both looked at Johnny, and appeared both con- 
 vinced that he Avas a fit subject for further inqviiry. Ac- 
 cordingly one of them addressed him : — 
 " Your name vas John Jones, mynheer ? " 
 "No, sii'," said Johnny; "my name's John Armstrong." 
 *' Ah, a small shange — dat is all. You vas John, and 
 he vas John, and you be both John togidder; so, you 
 must come to de shore Avid us." 
 
 " Catch me there, lads," quoth Johnny. " The deU a 
 shore I'll gang to, please Providence, but Leith shore. 
 Na, na; I've had aneuch o' this wark, and I'm determined 
 to bring't till an' end noo." 
 
 " Donner and blitzen ! " shouted out one of the men, 
 
 k2
 
 146 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 passionately, " but you must go ! " — at the same time seiz- 
 ing Johnny by the collar, and drawing a pistol from his 
 bosom. 
 
 In utter amazement at this extraordinary treatment, 
 Johnny Armstrong imploringly called on the captain and 
 the other passengers for protection ; but, as none of them 
 were in the least acquainted with him, and therefore did 
 not know whether he Avas John Jones or not, they all 
 declined interfering — the captain saying that it would be 
 more than his ship and situation were worth to aid any 
 one in resisting the laws of the country — that he could 
 not, dare not do it. His appeals, therefore, to those 
 around him being vain, he was eventually bundled into 
 the cutter and conveyed on shore, placed in a temporary 
 place of confinement for the night, and next day carried 
 before a magistrate to be identified. To effect this, several 
 witnesses were called, Avhen one and all of them, after 
 examining Johnny pretty narrowly, pronounced, to the 
 great disappointment of the ollicers who had apprehended 
 him, that he was not the man ! They, however, asserted that 
 the resemblance between the real and supposed John Jones 
 was very remarkable. On the discovery being made that 
 the prisoner was not Jones, the magistrate apologized to 
 Johnny in the most poHte terms for the trouble he had 
 been put to, and expressed great regret for the mistake of 
 the ofificers ; but said that, as the witnesses had stated 
 there was a strong resemblance— an unfortunate one, he 
 must call it — between him and the real defaulter, and 
 seeing, moreover, tl>at they Avere both natives of IJritain, 
 the oflicers were perfectly justified in doing what they had 
 done, however much the hardship of the case might be 
 matter of regret. The magistrate having thus delivered 
 himself, Johnny Armstrong was dismissed with great civi- 
 lity, and wished, by all present, safe home to his OAvn 
 counfiy — a -VNish in which he most heartily concixrred, but
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 147 
 
 whicli seemed to Lim more easily entertained than grati- 
 fied. On regaining his liberty, the first thing he did Avas 
 to endeavour to find out when the next ship sailed for 
 Scotland ; he having, of course, lost that in which he had 
 first embarked, and, to his great consternation and dismay, 
 learned that there would be no vessel for a fortnight. 
 This was sad intelligence to Johnny ; for, to add to his 
 other distresses, his funds were now waxing low, and he 
 felt that it would require the utmost economy to enable 
 him to spin out the time and leave sufficient to pay his 
 passage to his native land. This economy he could very 
 easily have practised at home, for he had a natural ten- 
 dency that way ; but he did not know how to set about it 
 in a foreign country. His unhappiness and anxiety, there- 
 fore, on this point were very great. In this dilemma, he 
 bethought him of again seeking out and quartering 
 on his friend Vander Dunder, of Slootzsloykin, till the 
 vessel should sail ; but not having, of course, a word of 
 Dutch, he could make no inquiries on the subject of his 
 route, or indeed of anything regarding his friend at all. 
 This idea, therefore, he ultLniately abandoned, principally 
 through a fear that he should, by some mistake, be de- 
 spatched upon a wrong scent, a species of disaster to whicli 
 he was now so sensitively alive, that he would neither turn 
 to Ihe right nor to the left without having made himself 
 perfectly sure that he was about to take the right course ; 
 and, as to conveyances of all kinds, of Avhich he now 
 entertained an especial suspicion, he had prudently deter- 
 mined that he would know every particular about them 
 and their destinations before he would put a foot in one of 
 them, for he had found, from dear-bought experience, that 
 if he did not take this precaution, the chance was that he 
 Avould never reach the place he desired to get at, and 
 might be whisked away to some imknown country, where 
 he would never more be heard of
 
 148 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 Under tliis wholesome terror, Johnny made no attempt 
 to find out his friend Vander Dunder ; but chance effected, 
 in part at least, what his limited knowledge of Dixtch put 
 it out of his power, with set purpose, to accomplish. On 
 turning the corner of a street, who should he have the 
 good fortune to meet with but Vander Dunder. The 
 astonishment of the good Dutchman on seeing Johnny Avas 
 great, so great, indeed, as to overcome the natural phlegm 
 of his constitution. Holding up his hands in amaze- 
 ment — 
 
 " Mine Got, my freend ! are you shipwrack agen ? " he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " No, no," quoth Johnny — ** bad aneuch, but no just 
 sae bad as that." And he proceeded to inform his friend 
 of the real state of the case. 
 
 The good-natured Dutchman was shocked at the recital, 
 and felt ten times more than ever for Johnny's unhappy 
 situation and complicated misfortunes. "When he had con- 
 cluded his affecting story — 
 
 "I tell you what you do, mine goot freend," said Vander 
 Dunder — " you go vith me to Slootzsloykin, and you re- 
 main vith me dere till your ship sail. You do dat, mine 
 goot freend." 
 
 " Wi' a' my heart," said Johnny, *' and rauckle oblooged 
 to ye for yer kindness." 
 
 " No, no — no obleege at all," replied the kind-hearted 
 Dutchman, impatiently. '* Yo do the same to me in your 
 coontry if I was shipwrack and in misfortune, and put to 
 trooble for an innocent thief." 
 
 "Aweel, maybe I wad; but, nevertheless, its kind o' 
 you to offer me the shelter o' yer roof," replied Johnny. 
 
 Dunder Vander Dimder now took his friend into a 
 tavern, and treated him to a glass of schnaps. Shortly 
 thereafter the two embarked in a canal boat for Slootzsloy- 
 kin, where they finally arrived in safety. Here Johnny
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARilSTKOKG. 149 
 
 met -with the same kind treatment as before ; and of that 
 kindness there was no abatement during the whole fortnight 
 of his sojoiu-n. At the end of this period, Johnny Ai-m- 
 strong once more set out for Rotterdam, on the day previous 
 to the sailing of the vessel in which he now hoped to reach 
 his native land, without further molestation or interruption. 
 And, certainly, everything had the appearance of going 
 right on this occasion. The vessel, with Johnny on board, 
 sailed at the appointed time, and, before embarking, he had 
 read distinctly on the ticket — a large black board, with 
 yellow letters, Avhich was fastened to the shrouds — that 
 she was boimd for Leith, and was the identical vessel he 
 had had in his eye. So far as this went, there could be 
 no mistake Avhatever. There was, indeed, one little cir- 
 cumstance that startled Johnny, but which he had not 
 discovered till the vessel had been some time at sea. 
 This was, that aU the crew were Dutchmen, there not 
 being a Scotchman amongst them. The circumstance did 
 not, indeed, greatly alarm Johnny, but he certainly did 
 think it a little odd ; for he naturally expected that, as she 
 was a Leith vessel, her crew would be, for the most part, 
 at any rate, natives of Britain. However, he made no 
 remarks on the subject, thinking it, as it really was, a 
 matter of perfect indiflerence whether they were Scotchmen 
 or Dutchmen. There were two or three passengers in the 
 vessel besides himself; but they Avere all foreigners too, so 
 that he could hold no converse with any of them; and thus 
 debarred from intercourse Avith his fellow voyagers, he sat 
 by himself, gazing from the deck of the vessel on the waste 
 of waters with which he was surrounded, and musing on 
 the strange series of mishaps of which he had so simply 
 and innocently become the victim. It was while thus cm- 
 ployed— the vessel having been now a good many hours at 
 sea, and at the moment scudding away before a fine fresh 
 breeze— that the capt-.i" npproachcd Johnny, and in very
 
 150 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 polite and civil terms, demanded his passage money. As 
 he spoke in Dutch, however, the latter did not understand 
 him. The captain observing this, and now guessing Avhat 
 countryman he was, addressed him in very good EngUsh, 
 and in that language repeated his demand. With this 
 demand, Johnny instantly compUed; and, finding that he 
 was a civil, good-natured felloAv, began to open up a little 
 conversation with him. His first remark was, that he 
 hoped they would have good weather. The captain hoped 
 so too. His second remark was, that they had a fine 
 breeze. The captain agreed with him — said it was a 
 delightful breeze — and added that, if it continued to blow 
 as it then blew for four-and-twenty hours, he expected 
 they would be all safe at Rouen! 
 
 " At whar?" shouted out Johnny, looking aghast at the 
 speaker. 
 
 " At Rouen, to be sure," repeated the captain, wondering 
 at Johnny's amazement. 
 
 "Gude's mercy!" exclaimed Johnny, with dreadful energy, 
 "are ye no gaun to Leith? — is this no a Lcith boat?" 
 
 *' Oh, nc," said the captain smiling ; '* this is the Kouen 
 packet. Were ye not aware of that, sir? You have got 
 into a sad scrape, my friend, if you were not," he added, 
 and now laughing outright at the dismal expression of 
 Johnny's countenance. 
 
 "Heaven hae a care o' me!" said Johnny despairingly. 
 " Did I no read distinctly on the ticket that was fastened 
 to yer shroods, that ye were bound for Leith ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied the captain, "you may have seen 
 6uch a ticket as you speak of, and there was certainly such 
 a ticket on our shrouds as you sny, but it did not refer to 
 this ship, but to the vessel outside of us. We allowed the 
 board to be exhibited on our shrouds merely to accommodate 
 our neighbour, as it could not be read from his — he being 
 on the outside, and we next the quay. That, my friend,
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 151 
 
 is a piece of civility very commonly practised at seaports 
 by one vessel to another, -when similarly situated as we 
 and they were. You will see it at all quays and wharfs." 
 
 Johnny Ai-mstrong groaned, but said nothing. At length, 
 however, he muttered, in a tone of Christian-like resigna- 
 tion — 
 
 " The Lord's will be dune ! I see it's settled that I am 
 never to get hame again ; but to be keepit gaun frae place 
 to place ower the face o' the earth, like anither wanderin' 
 Jew. Gude hae a care o' me, but this is awfa' ! Its judg- 
 ment like." 
 
 It certainly was very remarkable, but not in the least 
 mysterious. This new mistake of Johnny, like all the 
 rest, was a perfectly simple occurrence; and, like them, too, 
 arose as plainly and naturally out of circumstances as it was 
 possible for any effect to do from a cause. But, hoAvever 
 this may be, the captain — althoiigh he could not help laugh- 
 ing at the awkward predicament of his passenger — really 
 felt for him, seeing the distress he was in, and was so much 
 influenced by this feeling as to offer to convey him back to 
 Rotterdam, to which, he said, he would return in two days, 
 free of any charge ; adding, with a smile, and with the kind 
 intention of reconciling Johnny to what could not now be 
 helped, that it was nothing, after all — that it would make 
 a difference of only a few days — and that it would be always 
 showing him a little more of the world. 
 
 *' Mony thanks to ye," said Johnny, perceiving and ap- 
 preciating the friendly purpose of the captain ; " and Til 
 e'en tak advantage o' yer kind offer ; but as to seein' the 
 world, by my faith, I've seen now about just as muckle o't 
 as I want to see, and maybe atiifle mair — a hantle mair, at 
 ony rate, than I ever expected to see." Then, in a solilo- 
 quizing tone and manner — "God keep me, whar's Brechin 
 noo! A' that I wanted, and a' that I intended, was to 
 get to that bit paltry place; and, instead o' that, here am I
 
 152 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 ■\vltliin a stane-cast o' tlie north pole, for anglit I ken to 
 the contrar, and, to a' appearances, no half dune wi't yet. 
 Heaven kens whar I'll be sent niest! — maybe be landed on 
 Owhyhee, or on some desert island, hke another Robinson 
 Crusoe. Na, it's certain, if things gang on muckle langer 
 this way." 
 
 Of the di'ift or scope of these remarks, or, at any rate, of 
 the feelings that dictated them, the captain could make 
 nothing, not knowing Johnny's precise circumstances; nor 
 did he seek to have them explained, but contented himself 
 with repeating his ofter of conve}dng Johnny back to Rot- 
 terdam, and renewing his well-meant efforts to reconcile 
 him to his fate, in so far as his present voyage was con- 
 cerned. In the meantime, the wdnd continued to blow in 
 a manner perfectly satisfactory in every respect to all on 
 board the Jungfrau of Rotterdam and Rouen; and, in about 
 the space of time mentioned by the captain, the vessel 
 reached her destination in safety. Johnny Armstrong, 
 whose whole mind was absorbed by anxiety to reach that 
 home which he yet seemed destined never again to see, 
 took no interest Avhatevcr in the scenes presented to him 
 ill the part of the world he was now in. Indeed, he never 
 left the vessel at all, for fear she would slip through his 
 fingers; for, if he was afraid of accidents of this kind 
 before, he was ten times more so now; and, with this fear 
 upon him, that the packet might, by some chance or other, 
 escape him, he determined to stick by her — never to lose 
 sight of her for a moment, till she had conveyed him back 
 to Rotterdam; and his vigilance ultimately secured the end 
 he had in view. The Jungfrau sailed from Rouen with 
 Johnny on board, and, in due time, deposited him once 
 more at Rotterdam, But what was Johnny's surprise, what 
 Dunder Vander Dunder's amazement, when they again 
 encountered one another, and that within ten minutes of 
 the former's landing! The amazement of the latter, hoW'
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNXY ARMSTRONG. 153 
 
 ever, was, on this occasion, evidently mingled ■with a degree 
 of suspicion of the perfect uprightness of Johnny's character. 
 He began now to think, in short, that there had been more 
 in the circumstance of Johnny's apprehension than he had 
 been informed of. He did not like these frequent re- 
 appearances ; he thought them very odd — and he did not 
 hesitate to say so. 
 
 " iline Got ! vat you here again for, man? Vat is de 
 meaning of all dis, mine goot freend?" he exclaimed, with a 
 somewhat dry and doubtful manner, quite at variance with 
 the cordial tone of his former greetings. 
 
 Johnny Armstrong explained to him, but seemingly 
 without obtaining imphcit credence for all he said. When 
 he had done — 
 
 '"Tis veree odd," said Vander Dunder, coldly; "verce 
 straunge. But, you really vant to go to Scotlan, dere is 
 vessel going to sail for Leet now, and I vill see you on 
 board mineself." 
 
 It was very questionable whether Vander's civility, in 
 this case, proceeded from a desire really to serve Johnny, or 
 from a wish to get fairly rid of him. However this might be, 
 Johnny readily accepted his offer, and at once accompanied 
 him to the vessel he alluded to, Avhich was, indeed, on the 
 point of sailing. Yander, taking care that there should be 
 no mistake in this case, conducted him do^vn into the cabin, 
 and waited on the quay till he saw the vessel fairly imder 
 weigh. 
 
 Having brought the disasters of Johnny Armstrong to 
 this point, we proceed now to finish what we assure our 
 readers, is an " owcr true tale." 
 
 As Ave were strolling doA\Ti the pier of Leith, Avith a 
 friend, one afternoon in the year 18 — , Ave saAv a vessel 
 making for the harbour. It Avas high water, and the scene 
 altogether was a A^ery pleasing and a very stirring one. 
 But, amongst the various objects of interest Uiat presented
 
 154 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 themselves, there was none that attracted so much of our 
 attention as the stately vessel that, with outspread canvas, 
 was rapidly nearing the pier. We asked a seaman who stood 
 beside us, where she was from. He repUed — " Eotterdam." 
 
 On approaching the pier, the vessel shortened sail, and, 
 by this process, enabled us dehberately to scan her decks 
 from oui' elevated position, as she gUded gently along with 
 us. During this scrutiny, we observed amongst the pas- 
 sengers a stout little man in a brown gi-eatcoat, with a large 
 red comforter about his neck, and his hat secured on his 
 head — for it Avas blowing pretty hard — by a blue pocket- 
 handkerchief, which was passed beneath his chin, and gave 
 him, in a very particular manner, the pecuhar air of a 
 traveller or voyageur. There was nothing whatever in the 
 appearance of the little man in the brown greatcoat which 
 would have led any one to suppose, a priori, that there 
 possibly could bo anything remarkable or extraordinary in 
 his history; but I was induced suddenly to change my 
 opinion, or at least to take some interest in him, by my 
 friend's exclaiming, in the utmost amazement, and, at the 
 same time, pointing to him with the red comforter — 
 
 " Gracious Heaven, if there is not Johnny Armstrong I 
 Or it is his ghost!" 
 
 "No ghost at all, we wan*ant you," said we; "ghosts do 
 not generally wear greatcoats and red comforters. But 
 who in all the world is Johnny Armstrong?" 
 
 " Johnny Armstrong," replied our friend, greatly excited, 
 " is a person, a particular acquaintance of mine, who has 
 been missing these six weeks ; and who was supposed, by 
 everybody who knew him, to have perished by some acci- 
 dent or other, but of what nature could never be ascertained, 
 on his way to Brechin, where he had gone to visit some 
 relations." 
 
 We felt interested in Johnny, by this brief sketch of his 
 mysterious story; and, not a little curious to know where on
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 155 
 
 earth lie could possibly have been all the time, we readily 
 closed with our friend's proposal to run round to the berth 
 for which we saw the vessel was making, and to await his 
 coming on shore. 
 
 " But how, in all the world," said our friend, communing 
 with himself diuing this interval, " has he got into a vessel 
 from Eotterdam ? He could not have been there, surely? 
 It's impossible." 
 
 As to this we could say nothing, not knowing at the 
 time anything at all of Johnny's adventiu'es; but of these 
 we were not now long kept in ignorance. On his stepping 
 on shore, our friend seized him joyously by the hand, and 
 expressed great satisfaction at seeing him again. This satis- 
 foction appeared to be mutual; for Johnny returned his 
 friend's grasp with great cordiality and warmth. The first 
 salutations over — 
 
 " But where on all the earth, Mr. Armstrong," said our 
 friend, "have you been for these three months back?" 
 
 Johnny smiled, and said it was " ower lang a tale" to tell 
 where we then were; but, as he meant to stop either in 
 Leith or Edinburgh for the night, it being now pretty far 
 in the evening, if my friend and I would adjourn Avith him 
 to some respectable house, where he could get a night's' 
 quarters, he would give iis the whole story of his adven- 
 tures. With this proposal we readily closed; and on Johnny 
 asking if we could point out such a house as he alluded 
 to, we at once named the New Ship Tavern. Thither we 
 accordingly repaii-ed; and, in less than two hours there- 
 after, we were put, good reader, in possession, by Johnny 
 himself, of that part of his story to which the preceding 
 pages have been devoted. "Wliat follows — for Johnny's 
 misfortunes had not yet terminated — we learned afterwards 
 from another quarter. 
 
 On the next day — we mean the day succeeding the 
 evening we spent wth Johnny — the latter proceeded to
 
 156 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 Edinburgh, with the view of taking coach there for Carlisle. 
 But, in making his way up Catherine Street, and when 
 precisely opposite No. 12, Calton Street — we like to be 
 particular — Johnny found himself suddenly accosted by 
 one of his oldest and most intimate friends. This was a 
 Mr. James Stevenson, a fellow-townsman and fellow-shop- 
 keeper of his own. 
 
 The astonishment of the latter, on meeting with Johnny, 
 and, indeed, of finding him at all in the land of the living, 
 was very great ; and he sufficiently expressed this feeling 
 by the lively and highly excited manner in which he 
 addressed him. 
 
 Having put the usual queries, with that air of intense 
 interest which they naturally excited, as to where Johnny 
 had been, what he had been about, &c. &c., and having 
 obtained a brief sketch of his adventures, with the promise 
 of a fidler one afterwards, Mr. Stevenson, in reply, asked 
 Johnny what course he was now steering. 
 
 " Ilame, to be sure," said Johnny, with a smile. " It's 
 time noo, I think — I'm just sae fax on my way to tak' cot 
 a ticket for the coach." 
 
 " Ye needna do that unless ye like," replied Johnny's 
 friend. " Ye may save your siller, and no be abune an 
 hour langer tarried, by takin' a seat wi' me in the gig I hae 
 in wi' me. I'm sure ye' re welcome, and I'll be blythe o' 
 your company." 
 
 "Hae ye a gig in wi' ye?" said Johnny, looking pleased 
 by the intelligence. 
 
 "'Deed hae I, Mr. Armstrong, and ye'll just clink down 
 beside me in't." 
 
 I'll do that wi' great thankfu'ness," replied Johnny, " and 
 muckle obleeged by the offer." 
 
 The friends now walked away, arm in arm together; and 
 in about two hours afterwards — Mr. Stevenson having, in 
 tKft meantime, despatched what business he had to do in
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARilSTRONG. loi 
 
 the city— they were both seated in the gig, and birring it 
 on merrily towards Carlisle. 
 
 Neither Mr. Stevenson nor Johnny, however, were great 
 whips— a deficiency which was by no means compensated 
 for by the circumstance of their having a rather spuited 
 horse, although blind of an eye. He was, in truth, a very 
 troublesome animal; boggling and shying at everything 
 that presented itself to his solitary optic. Notwithstanding 
 this, the travellers got on very well for a time, and Avere 
 whirling over the ground at a rapid rate, when an unlucky 
 cart of hay came in their way at a narrow turn of the road. 
 How this simple occurrence should have operated so unfii- 
 vourably as it did for them, we shall explain. 
 
 A cart of hay is not a very alarming object to rational 
 creatures like ourselves, but to the one-eyed horse of the 
 travellers it appeared a very serious affair; for it had no 
 sooner presented itself to his solitary organ of vision than 
 he pricked up his ears, snorted furiously, and began to ex- 
 hibit sundry other symptoms of disquietude. By dint, 
 however, of some well-directed punishment from Jamie 
 Stevenson's whip, which Johnny increased by an energetic 
 application of his stick, the restive animal was brought vp 
 to the waggon of hay; but, for some time, the inducements 
 just mentioned failed to prevail on him to pass it. 
 
 At length, however, Johnny having added greatly to the 
 vigour of his blows with his stick, and his neighboiir to 
 that of his strokes with the whip, the horse did pass the 
 waggon, and that with a vengeance. Taking heart, or 
 rather becoming desperate, he bolted past it with tlie 
 rapidity of a cannon shot; and not only this, but when he 
 had cleared it, continued the velocity of his movements 
 with unabated energy, to the gieat discomfort and no small 
 terror of both Johnny and his companion, who now found 
 themselves going at a rate which they had neither antici- 
 pated nor desired. Indeed, tliis was so very great that
 
 158 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 both directly saw that something was wrong. Both saw, 
 in short, what was, indeed, too true, that the horse had 
 fairly run away ■with them; for he was now going like the 
 wind, Avith fury and distraction in his looks. It was a 
 shocking and most dreadfiilly alarming affair ; and so 
 Johnny and his friend felt it to be, as might be distinctly 
 seen by their horror-stricken faces. 
 
 On discovering the predicament they were in, both the 
 travellers — the one dropping his whip, and the other his 
 stick — seized on the reins, and began pulling with all their 
 might, in the desperate hope of checking the animal's speed 
 by main force; Johnny, in his terror, exclaiming the while, 
 distractedly — 
 
 " Mair o't yet, mair o't yet! Lord have a care o' me, but 
 this is awfu' ! This is waur than onything I hae met wi' 
 yet. Waiir than the Fifteen Sisters, Dutchmen, and a'. 
 God be wi' us ! arc my misfortunes never to hae an end, 
 till they hae finished me outricht ? Am I never to get safe 
 to either ae place oranither? — either to hame or to Brechin? 
 Surely ane o' them might be permitted to me. O, Jamie, 
 see hoo he's gaun ! He doesna seem to fin' us at his hurdles, 
 nae mair than if we war a pair o' preencushions." 
 
 This was true enough, The horse in his fury did not 
 indeed seem to feel either them or the vehicle they were 
 seated in, but pushed madly onwards, till he came to where 
 the road divided itself into two distinct roads — the one 
 being the right one, and the other, of course, the wrong — 
 when, as if inspired by Johnny's evil genius, he at once 
 took the latter, and in little more than twenty minutes, had 
 him and his friend fully half as many miles out of their 
 way. Now, however, the catastrophe was to be wound up. 
 A milestone caught one of the wheels of the gig, canted it 
 over, and threw Johnny sprawling on the road with a 
 broken leg; liis friend, although also throwTi, escaping 
 wholly unhurt.
 
 DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 159 
 
 " Aweel, here it's at last," said Jolinny, sitting up in the 
 mud amongst which he had been planted, and fully believ- 
 ing that his injuries were fatal. "Here it's at last. I'm 
 clean dune for noo, after a' my escapes. It may be noo 
 plaioly seen, I think," he went on, '* that some evil spirit 
 has had me in its power, for these six Aveeks past at ony 
 rate, and has been goAvfin' me about the world like a fitba', 
 to kill me wi' a gig at last." 
 
 Luckily, Johnny's injuries did not prove so serious as he 
 had feared they would do ; and no less fortunate was it that 
 the accident to which they Avere OAving happened not far 
 from a small country toAvn in which there Avas a resident 
 surgeon. To the latter place Johnny Avas immediately 
 removed on a temporary bier, hastily constructed for the 
 purpose by some labouring men Avho chanced to be near 
 the spot where the accident happened, and there he lay for 
 six entire Aveeks, Avhen the surgeon above alluded to, and 
 Avho had attended him all that time, intimated to him that 
 he might noAV venture to return home. Delighted Avith the 
 intelligence, Johnny instantly acted on it, and next day 
 entered Carlisle triumphantly in a post-chaise — not looking, 
 nor really being, after all, much the Avorse for his tmpre- 
 cedented adventures, save and except a lameness in the 
 injured limb, Avhich ever after imparted to his movements 
 the graceful up-and-doAvn motion produced by that pecuhar 
 longitudinal proportion of the nether limbs, designated by 
 the descriptive definition of " a short leg and a shorter." 
 HaAdng, Avith this last occuri'ence, concluded the story oi 
 Johnny's disasters, avc have only to add that Johnny has 
 never, to this good hour, got the length of Brechin — nor 
 will, he says, ever again make the attempt.
 
 160 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S TALES* 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 
 
 Packjian loquitur. — For several days the -wind Lad been 
 easterly, with an intense frost. At last, hoAvever, the 
 weather subsided into a calm and dense fog, under which, 
 at mid-day, it was difficult to find one's way amidst those 
 moimtain tracks along which, in general, my route lay. The 
 grass and heath were absolutely loaded with hoar-frost. 
 My cheeks became encompassed by a powdered covering ; 
 my breath was intensely visible, and floated and lingered 
 about my face with an oppressive and almost suffocating 
 density. No sun, moon, or star had appeared for upwards 
 of forty-eight hours ; when, according to my preconcerted 
 plan, I reached the farm town of Burnfbot. I was now in 
 the centre of Queensberry Hills, the most notable sheep- 
 pasturage in the south of Scotland. It was about three 
 o'clock of the fifteenth day of January, when, under a cheer- 
 ful welcome from the guidwife, I rested my pack (for, be it 
 known, I belong to this class of peripatetic merchants) upon 
 the meal ark, disengaged my arms from the leather straps 
 by Avhich the pack was suspended from my shoulders, and 
 proceeded to light my pipe at the blazing peat-fire. Re- 
 freshments, such as are best suited to the packinaii's drouth, 
 
 * Tlie autlior of these stories (to be continued), the well-known Professor 
 Thomas Gillespie, was one of tlie principftl writers in Tilnchwood during the 
 "storm and stress" period of that magazine. As an author, his peculiarity con- 
 sisted in vivid descriptions of scenery and incidents coming witliin the range of 
 a very eccentric experience, all (jiven with a vernatility ami ahumUin wliich he 
 could not restrain, and which, being the reflex of a poetical enthusiasm, formed 
 the charm of his writings. — EJ.
 
 THE MOUXTAtN STORM. IGl 
 
 ■were soon and amply supplied, and I had the happiness of 
 seeing my old acquaintances (for I visited Burnfoot twice 
 a year, on my going and coming from Glasgow to Man- 
 chester) drop in from their several avocations, one after 
 another, and all truly rejoiced to behold my face, and still 
 more delighted to inspect the treasure and the wonders of 
 " the pack." At last the guidman himself suspended his 
 plaid from the mid-door head, put off his shoes and leggings, 
 assumed his slippers, along with his prescriptive seat at the 
 head or upper end of the lang-settle. The guidwife, re- 
 turning butt from bedding the youngest of some half-score 
 of children, welcomed her husband Avith a look of the most 
 genuine affection. She put a little creepie stool under his 
 feet, felt that his clothes were not wet, scolded the dogs to 
 a respectful distance, and inspired the peats into a double 
 blaze. The oldest daughter, now " woman grown," sat 
 coml)ing the hoar-frost from her raven locks, and looking 
 oiit from beneath beautifully arched and bushy eyebrows 
 upon the interesting addition which had been made to the 
 meal-ark. Some half-a-score of healthy lads and lasses 
 occupied the bench ayont the fire, o'er-canopied by sheep- 
 skins, aprons, stockings, and footless hose. The dogs, after 
 various and somewhat noisy differences had been adjusted, 
 fell into order and position around the hearth, enjoying the 
 Avarmth, and licking, peacefully and carefully, the wet from 
 their sides. The cat, by this time, had made a returning 
 motion from the cupboard head, from which she had been 
 watching the arrangements and movements beneath. As 
 this appeared to "Ilelp" to be an infringement of the terms 
 of armistice aTid of the frontier laws, he sprang with eager- 
 ness over the hearth. Pussy, finding it dangerous, under 
 this sudden and somewhat imexpected movement, ^^ dare 
 terga,''' instantly drew up her whole body into an attitude 
 not only of defence, but defiance ; curving herself into a 
 bristling crescent, with the head of a dragon attached to it, 
 
 Vol. 1. F
 
 ^^^ TALES OF THE B0RDEE3. 
 
 and, with one liorrid hiss and sputter, compeUed Help first 
 to hesitate and then to retreat. 
 
 " Three paces back the youth retired, 
 Aud saved himself from harm." 
 
 The guidwife, however,-who seemed not unaccustomed 
 to such demonstrations, and who manifestly acted on the 
 humane principle of assisting the weaker by assailing the 
 stronger combatant-gave Help such demonstrations o^f her 
 intentions, as at once reduced matters to the status quo 
 ante helium. (I have as good a right to scholarship as my 
 brother packman, Plato, who carried oil to Egypt.) Thus 
 peace and good order being restored, the treasures of my 
 burden became an immediate and a universal subject of 
 inquiry. I was compelled, nothing loath, to unstrap my 
 various packages, and disclose to view aU the varied trea- 
 sures of the spindle and loom. Shawls were spread out 
 into enormous display, with central, and corner, and bor- 
 der ornaments, the most amazing and the most fashionable; 
 M-aistcoat pieces of every stripe and figure, from the straight 
 J me to the circle, of every hue and colouring wliich the 
 rainbow exhibits, were unfolded in the presence and under 
 tlie scrutinizing thumb of many purchasers. The guidwife 
 herself half coaxed and half scolded a fine remnant of 
 1' landers lace, of most tempting aspect, out of the guid- 
 liian s reluctant pocket. Tlie very dogs seemed anxious to 
 be accommodated, and applied their noses to some unopened 
 bales, with a knowing look of inquiry. Tilings were pro- 
 ceeding in this manner, when the door opened, and there 
 entered a young man of the most prepossessing appearance; 
 in fact, what Burns terms a " strapping youth." I could 
 observe that, at his entrance, the daughter's eye (of whom 
 I have formerly made mention) immediately kindled into 
 an expression of the most universal kindness and benevo- 
 l<nc... Hitherto slie had taken but a limited interest in
 
 TUE MOUNTAIN STORM. 163 
 
 what was going on ; l5ut now she became the most promi- 
 nent figui-e in the group — whilst the mother dusted a chair 
 for the welcome stranger with her apron, and the guidman 
 welcomed him with a — 
 
 ** Come awa, Willie Wilson, an' tak a seat. The nicht's 
 gay dark an' dreary. I wonder how ye cleared the Wliit- 
 stane Cleugh and the Side Scaur, man, on sic an eerie 
 nicht," 
 
 " Indeed," responded the stranger, casting a look, in the 
 meantime, towai'ds the guidman's buxom, and, indeed, 
 lovely daughter — " indeed, it's an imco fearfa' nicht — sic a 
 mist and sic a cauld I hae seldom if ever encountered; but 
 I dinna ken hoo it was — I coulda rest at hame till I had 
 tellt ye a' the news o' the last Langhom market." 
 
 "Ay, ay," interrupted the guidwife; "the last Langhom 
 market, man, is an auld tale noo, I trow. Na, na, yer 
 mither's son camna here on sic a nicht, and at sic an hour, 
 on sic an unmeaning errand" — finishing her sentence, how- 
 ever, by a whisper into Willie's ear, which brought a 
 deeper red into his cheek, and seemed to operate in a 
 similar manner on the apparently deeply engaged daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " But, Watty," continued my fair purchaser, " you must 
 give me this Bible a little cheaper — it's ower dear, man — 
 heard ever onybody o' five white shillings gien for a Bible, 
 and it only a New Testament, after a' ? — it's baith a sin an' 
 a shame, Watty. " 
 
 After some suitable reluctance, I was on the point of re- 
 ducing the price by a single sixpence, when Willie Wilson 
 advanced towards the pack, and at once taking up the book 
 and the conversation — 
 
 " OAver dear, Jessie, my dear ! — it's the word o' God, ye 
 ken — his ain precious word ; and I'll e'en mak ye a present 
 o' the book at Watty's ain price. Ye ken he maun live, as 
 we a' do, by his trade."
 
 ^^^ TALES OF THE BOKDEHS. 
 
 The money was instantly paid down from a purse pretty 
 
 will filled ; for William Wilson was the son of a wealthy 
 
 and much respected sheep-farmer in the neighbourhood, 
 
 and had had his name once called in the kirk, along with 
 
 that of Janet Harkness of Burnfoot, both in this parish." 
 
 liootnoo, bairns," rejoined the mother; " ye're baith 
 
 wrang that Bible winna do ava. Ye maun hae a big 
 
 ha Bible to take the bulk wi', and worship the God o' yer 
 
 ^thers nicht and morning, as they hae dune afore ye ; and 
 
 Watty will bring ye ane frae Glasgow the next time he 
 
 comes roun'; and it will, maybe, be usefu', ye ken, in 
 
 /'Tout, mither, wi' yer nonsense," interrupted the con- 
 scious bride ; "I never liked to see my name and a^e 
 marked and pointed out to onybody on oor muckle Bible : 
 sae just baud yer tongue, mither, and tak a present frae 
 W Iham and mer added she, blushing deeply, » o' that hm 
 pruned Testanient. The minister, ^I/A.oI ^tddl 
 yn the auld Bible, unless it be a bit o' the Psalms ; and yer 
 
 ned to my father there." 
 
 The father, o.^rcome by this well-timed and weU-directed 
 evidence of goodness, piety, and filial affection, rose from 
 his seat on the long-settle, and, with tears in his eyes, pro- 
 nounced a most fervent benediction over the should;rs of 
 ills cJuld. 
 
 said he-his child's tears now falling fast and faster. " Oh 
 -ay the God of thy fathers make thee happy-thee and 
 thme-hun there and his --and when thy\i;other's grey 
 hairs and mine are laid and hid in the dust, mayest tliou 
 nave children, such as thy fond and dutiful self, to bless 
 and comfort, to rejoice and support thy hearti " 
 
 There was not, by this time, a dry eye in the family; 
 and, as a painful silence was on the point of succeeding to
 
 THE MOUNTAIN STORii 1G5 
 
 this outbreaking of nature, the venerable parent slowly 
 and deliberately took do-svii the big ha' Bible from its bole 
 in the wall, and, placing it on the lang-settle table, he pro- 
 ceeded to family worship with the usual solemn prefatory 
 annunciation — "Let us worship God." 
 
 Love, filial affection, and piety — what a noble, what a 
 beautiful triumvirate ! By means of these, Scotland has 
 rendered herself comparatively great, independent, and 
 happy. These are the graces which, in beautiful union, 
 have protected her liberties, sweetened her enjoyments^ 
 and exalted her head amongst the nations, and which, over 
 all, have cast an expression and a feature irresistibly win- 
 ning and nationally characteristic. It is over such scenes 
 as the kitchen fireside of Burnfoot now presented, that the 
 soul hovers wdth ever-awakening and ever-intenser dehght ; 
 that even amidst the coldness, and unconcern, and irreli- 
 gion of an iron age, the mind, at least at intervals, is re- 
 deemed into ecstasy, and feels, in spite of habit, and ex- 
 ample, and deadened apprehensions, that there is a beauty in 
 pure and virgin love, a depth in genuine and spontaneous 
 filial regard, and an impulse in communion with Him that 
 is most high, which, even when taken separately, are hal- 
 lowing, sacred, and elevating ; but which, Avhen blended 
 and softened down into one great and leading feature, 
 prove incontestably that man is, in his origin and unalloyed 
 nature, but a little lower than the angels. 
 
 Such was the aspect of matters in this sequestered and 
 sanctified dwelling, when the house seemed, all at once, to 
 be smitten, lilce Job's, at the four corners. The soot fell 
 in showers into the grate ; the rafters creaked ; the dust 
 descended ; every door in the house rattled on its sneck 
 and hinges ; and the very dogs sprung at once from their 
 slumbers and barked. There Avas something so awfid in 
 the sviddenness and violence of the commotion, that the 
 prayer was abruptly and suddenly brought to a conclusioii.
 
 166 
 
 TALKS OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Ay, fearfii', sirs ! " were John Harkness' first words when 
 springing to his feet ; " but there's an awfo' nicht. Open 
 the outer door, Jamie, and let us see what it is like." The 
 outer door was opened ; but the drift burst in with such a 
 suffocating swirl, that a strong lad Avho encountered it, 
 reeled and gasped for breath, 
 
 "The hogs!" exclaimed the guidman, "and the gim- 
 mers !— where did ye leave them, Jamie ?" 
 
 " In Capleslacks," was the answer, " by east the Dod. 
 The wind has set in frae the nor'-east, and fifty score o' 
 sheep, if this continue, will never see the mornin' " 
 But what Avas to be done ? 
 
 "The wind blew as 'twould blawn its last," 
 and the whole atmosphere was one almost solid wreath of 
 penetratmgsnow; when you thrust forth your hand into 
 the open air, it was as if you had perforated an iceberg. 
 Burnfoot stands at the convergence of two mountain glens 
 adown one of which the tempest came as from a funnel- 
 col ected, compressed, irresistible. There was a momentary 
 look of suspense-every one eying the rest with an expres- 
 sion of indecision and utter helplessness. The young couple 
 by some law of affinity, stood together in a corner The 
 shepherd lads, with Jamie Hogg at their head, were em- 
 ployed in adjusting plaids to their persons. The guidman 
 had already resumed his leggings, and the dogs were aU 
 exceedingly excited-amazed at this unexpected movement 
 but perfectly resolved to do their duty. 
 
 " Jamie," said tlic guidman, " you and I Anil try to mak 
 oor way by the Head Scaur to Capleyetts, whore tlie main 
 arsel was left ; and Will, Tarn, and Geordie will see after 
 the hogs and gimmers ayont the Dod." 
 
 " I, too," exclaimed a voice from the corner, over which 
 however, a fair hand was pressed, and which was therefore 
 
 j!'"f"T f; '"V"' ^^'^"-(— '-^ y« lot me speak, 
 Jessie !)-I will not, I shall not be left behind-I will ac-
 
 THE MOUNTAIN STORir. 167 
 
 company the guidman, and do what I can to seek and to 
 save." 
 
 " Indeed and indeed, my dear William, ye can do nae 
 guid — ye dinna ken the gran' like my faither ; and there's 
 mony a kittle step forbye the Head Scaiir ; and, the Lord 
 be ^^"i' us I on sic a nicht too." So saying, she clasped her 
 betrothed firmly aroimd the neck, and absolutely compelled 
 him to relinquish his purpose. Having gained this one 
 object, the fair and affectionate bride rushed across the 
 room to her father, and falling down on her knees, grasped 
 him by the legs, and exclaimed — 
 
 " mither, mither ! come and help me — come and help 
 me ! faither, my dear faither, let Jamie Hogg gang, and the 
 rest ; they are young, ye ken, and as weel acquant as yer- 
 sel' wi' the ly o' the glens ! but this is no a nicht for the 
 faither o' a family to risk his life to save his substance. O 
 faither, faither ! I am soon, ye ken, to leave you and bonny 
 Burnfoot — grant me, oh, grant me this one, this last re- 
 quest!" 
 
 The mother sat all this while wringing her hands and 
 exclaiming — 
 
 "Ay, ay, Jenny, get him to stay, get him to stay!" 
 
 The father answered not a word, but, making a sign to 
 Hogg, and whistling on Help, and at the same time kissing 
 his now all but fainting child, he rushed out of the door 
 (as Mrs. Harkness said) " like a fey man," and he and his 
 companion, with a suitable accompaniment of dogs, Avcro 
 almost instantly invisible. The three other lads, suitably 
 armed and accompanied, followed the example set to them; 
 and the guid'\\arc, the two lovers, five or six younger 
 branches, and the female servants of tlie lamily, with my- 
 self, remained at home in a state of anxiety and suspense 
 which can be better conceived than expressed. 
 
 " The varnished clock that clicked behind the door," 
 with a force and a stroke loud and painful in the extreme,
 
 1 Rft 
 
 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 .'or turn A ' " f'^'""^ ^'^" *^^'^^^^ ' ^'^' ^^^^ -- 
 outer door seem to move backwards on its hin<rcs • but 
 pan ed b^ the commmuted drift, which penetrated through 
 
 ersa had perhaps less of soul-benumbing cold in it than 
 
 Im nconceavable suspense. It required WiUie Wilson's 
 
 ut^ St efforts and m„.e to keep the frantic woman fron. 
 
 ^ir^l "? ^'^ '^'^^ ^^' ''-' ^°-^ of lamentation 
 vas sad and loud amongst the chUdren and the servant 
 
 ot all but there was always an under prayer offered up for 
 
 i..st the three lads who had encompassed the Dod arrived 
 -ahve, indeed, but almost breathless and frozen to death 
 ihey had, however, surmounted incredible difficulties, and 
 bad succeeded m placing their hirsel in a position of compa- 
 
 m n7 'T'^' ,'^^' "';" "^^^ ''""'' "°SS and the gidd- 
 man ? The violence of the storm had nothing abated, the 
 snow was every moment accumulating, and the danger and 
 chmculty mcreasing tenfold. Spirits, heat, and friction 
 gradually restored the three lads to their senses, and to the 
 kuul attentions of their several favourites of the female 
 order; but tkere sat the mother and the daughter, whilst 
 he father was cither, in all probability, dead or dyin. 
 ihe very thought was distracting; n.id, accord ingh" the 
 young bnde, now turning to her lover with a look of 
 mexpressible anguish, exclaimed— 
 
 " O Willie ! my ain dear Willie, ye maun gang, after a', 
 ye maun gang this instant," (Willie was on his fc-et and 
 plaided whilst yet the sentence wa.s unfinished,) " and try 
 to rescue my dear, dear fhifluT from this awfu' and untimely
 
 THE 3I0UNTAIN STORM. 1G9 
 
 end ; but tak care, oh tak care o' the big Scaiir, and keep 
 for west by Caplecleuch, and maybe ye'll meet them com- 
 ing back that way." Those last words were lost in the 
 drift, whilst "Willie Wilson, with his faithful follower, 
 Rover, were penetrating, and flouncing, and floundering 
 their way towards the place pointed out. 
 
 In about half an hour after this, the howl and scratch of 
 a dog were heard at the door-back, and Help immediately 
 rushed in, the welcome forerunner of his master and Hogg. 
 They had, indeed, had a fearful struggle, and fearful wan- 
 derings ; but, in endeavouring to avoid the dangerous, 
 because precipitous, Head Scaur, they had wandered from 
 the track, and from the object of their travel; and, after 
 liaving been inclined once or twice to lie down and take a 
 rest (the deceitful messenger of death), they had at last got 
 upon the track of Caple Water ; and, by keeping to its 
 windings — which they had often traced at the risk of bcmg 
 dro\\Tied— they had at last weathered the old cham'er, the 
 byre, and peat-stack, and were now, thank God! witliin 
 "bigget wa's." 
 
 But where, alas ! was Wilhe Wilson ? Him, in conse- 
 quence of their deviations, they had missed; and over 
 liim, thus exposed, the tempest was still renewing at inter- 
 vals its hurricane gusts. There was one scream heard, 
 such as would have penetrated the heart of a tiger, and all 
 was still. There she lay, the beauteous, but now marbl'j 
 bride ; her head reposing on her mother's lap, her lips pale 
 as the snowdrop, her eyes fixed and soulless, her cheek 
 Avithoiit a tint, and her mouth half-open and breathless. 
 Long, long Avas the withdrawment — again and again was the 
 dram-glass applied to the mouth, to catch the first expira- 
 tion of returning breath — ere the frame began t- / quiver, 
 the hands to move, the lips and cheeks to colour, and the 
 eyes to indicate the approaching rctnrn to reason and 
 perception.
 
 1 70 
 
 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 '' I have killed him ! I have kUled him I " were the fir.t 
 ^m. accents. ^^ I W murdered, murdered n/dt 
 Wuhe ! It was me that sent him-forced him-compelled 
 h:m out-out mto the drift-the cold, cold drift. Awly - " 
 added the mamac-'' away ! I'll go after hin^-I'll p Ih 
 with l^im-where he lies, there .vill I lie, and there will 
 
 Hereupon she again sank backwards, and was prevented 
 from faUmg by the arms of a father Prevented 
 
 " my child ! " said parental love and affection-'' O 
 my dear wean !-oh, be patient !-God is guid-He h^ 
 preserved .. aU-He wHl not desert ,im in t]^ W of ht 
 
 Shortened that He cannot save-and what He can, He ^vill 
 --He never deserted any that trusted in Him. O m v 
 
 iove?^ ' " " ''''''^ ^* '^' door-back-it is 
 
 mf,«( ;„„! ■ ■' ' "" expression of the 
 
 most mplonng anxiety. Tiie poor frantic mrl spnin^ 
 from hor father's enibiaeo, and clung to the n^k „T2 
 velknown cur-she absolutely .dsse'a hini-(oh to ,' 
 Ml not love, omnipotent, virtuous love, defend IV-H 
 rising, in renewed recollection, she sat herself 1™^!' 
 
 It wa. now manifest to all that something must be 
 attempted, cse the young fanner must peril /Lt 
 though awfully exhausted, wa. the first to volunteer a n!f J 
 excursion. The whole band were at once onft r f"t
 
 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 171 
 
 but Jessie now clung to lier father, as slie had formerly- 
 done to her lover, and wotdd not let him go — indeed, the 
 guidman was in no danger of putting his purpose into 
 effect, for he could scarcely stand on his feet. He sat, or 
 rather fell down, consequently, beside his daughter, and 
 continued in constant prayer and supplication at the throne 
 of grace. The daughter listened, and said she was com- 
 forted — the voyagers were again on their way — the tem- 
 pest had somewhat abated — the moon had once or twice 
 shone out — and there was now a greater chance of success 
 in their undertaking. 
 
 How we all contrived to exist during an interval of 
 about two hours, I cannot say ; but this I know, that the 
 endurance of this second trial was worse than the first, to 
 all but the sweet bride herself. Her mind had now taken 
 a more calm and rehgious view of the case. She re- 
 peated, at intervals and pauses in her father's ejaculatory 
 prayer — 
 
 " Yes — oh, yes — His will — His holy mil be done ! The 
 
 Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away — blessed be the 
 
 name of the Lord for ever ! We shall meet again— oh, yes 
 
 — where the weary are at rest. 
 
 ' A few short years of evil past, 
 We reach the happy shore 
 Where death-divided friends at last 
 Shall meet, to part no more.' 
 
 O father, is not that a gracious saying, and worthy of all 
 acceptation!" 
 
 At length the door opened, and in walked "Williain 
 Wilson. 
 
 The reader need scarcely to be told that the sagacious 
 door had left his master floundered, and unable to extricate 
 liirasclf in a snow ■wreath ; that the same faithful guide 
 had taken the searchers to the spot, where they foimd 
 Wilson just in the act of falling into a sleep — from which,
 
 172 tai.es op the borders. 
 
 indeed, but for the providential sagacity of his dog, he 
 had never wakened ; and that, by means of some spirits 
 which they had taken in a bottle, they completely restored 
 and conducted him home. 
 
 " Lives there one with soul so dead " 
 as not now to image the happy meeting betwixt bride and 
 bridegroom, and, above all, the influence which this trial 
 had upon the happiness and religious character of their 
 future married and prosperous lot ? 
 
 It is, indeed, long since I have laid aside the pack — to 
 Avhich, after a good education, I had taken, from a wan- 
 dering propensity — and taken up my residence in the 
 flourishing village of Thornhill, Dumfriesshire ; living, at 
 first, on the profits of my shop, and now retired on my 
 little, but, to me, ample competency; but I still have great 
 pleasure in paying a yearly visit to my friends of Mitchel- 
 slacks, and in recalling with them, over a comfortable 
 meal, the interesting incidents of the snow storm 1794. 
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLARDYKES. 
 
 I DID not like the idea of having all the specimens of the 
 fine arts in Europe collected into one " bonne bouche " at 
 the Louvre. It was like collecting, while a boy, a handful 
 of strawberries, and devouring them at one indiscrimi- 
 iiating gulp. I do not like floral exhibitions, for the same 
 reason. I had rather a thousand times meet my old and 
 my new friends in my solitary walks, or in my country 
 rambles. All museums in this way confound and bewilder 
 rae; and had the Turk not been master of Greece, I should 
 have preferred a view of the Elgin marbles in the land of 
 their nativity. And it is for a similar reason that my 
 mind still reverts, Avith a kind of dreamy delight, to the
 
 THE FAIR MAID OP CELLARDTKES. 173 
 
 time ^vllen I viewed mankind in detail, and in all their 
 individual and natural pecnliarities, rather than en masFe, 
 and in one regimental uniform. Educate up ! Educate 
 up ! Invent machinery — discover agencies — saddle nature 
 •with the panniers of labour — and, at last, stand alongside 
 of her, clothed, from the peasant to the prince, in the 
 wonders of her manufacture, and merrily whistling, in idle 
 unconcern, to the tune of her unerring despatch ! But 
 w'hat have we gained ? One mass of similarities : the 
 housemaid, the housekeeper, the lady, and the princess, 
 speaking the same language, clothed in the same habili- 
 ments, and enjoying the same immunities from corporeal 
 laboui" — the colours of the rainbow whii'led and blended 
 into one glare of white ! Towards this ultimatum Ave are 
 now fast hastening. Where is the shepherd stocking- 
 weaver, with his wires and his fingers moving invisibly ? 
 Wliere the " wee and the muckle wheel," Avith the aged 
 dames, in pletted toys, singing " Tarry woo ?" Where the 
 hodden-grey clad patriarch, sitting in the midst of his 
 family, and mixing familiarly, and in perfect equality Avith 
 all the household — servant and child? My heart constantly 
 Avarms to these recolleccions ; and I feel as if Avandering 
 over a landscape A^ariegated by pleasant and contrasting 
 colouring, and overshadoAvod Avith associations Avhich have 
 long been a part of myself One exception to the general 
 progression and assimilation still happily remains to gratifv, 
 I must confess, my liking for things as they Avere. The 
 fisher population of Newhaven, Buckhaven, and Cellardykes 
 — (my observation extends no farther, and I limit my 
 remarks accordingly) — are, in fact, the Scottish highlanders, 
 the Irish, the Welsh, and the Manks of Fisherdom. I)il- 
 fering each somcAvhat from the other, they are united hy 
 one common bond of character — they are A'arieties of the 
 same animal — the different rpecles under one genus. I like 
 this. I am always in high spirits when I pass throiigh a
 
 174 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 fishing village or a fislier street. No acciimulation of filth 
 in every hue— of shell, and gill, and fish-tail — can disgust 
 me. I even smell a sweet savour from their empty 
 baskets, as they exhale themselves dry in the sunbeam. 
 And then there is a hue of robust health over all. No 
 mincing of matters. Female arms and legs of the true 
 Tuscan order— cheeks and chins where neither the rose nor 
 the bone has been stinted. Children of the dub and the 
 mire— all agog in demi-nudity, and following nature most 
 vociferously. Snug, comfortable cabins, where garish day 
 makes no unhandsome inquiries, and where rousing fires 
 and plentiful meals abide from June to January. They 
 have a language, too, of theu' OAvn — the true Muckle- 
 backet dialect ; and freely and firmly do they throw from 
 them censure, praise, or ribaldry. The men are here but 
 men; mere human machines — useful, but not ornamental — 
 necessary incumbrances rather than valuable protectors. 
 "Poor creature!" says Meg of the Mucklebacket, "she 
 canna maintain a man." SLr Walter saw through the 
 character I am labouring to describe; and, in one sentence, 
 put life and identity into it. I know he was exceedingly 
 fond of conversing with fisherwomen in particular. But, 
 whilst such are the general features, each locaUty I have 
 mentioned has its distinctive lineaments. The Newhaven 
 fisherwoman (for the man is unknown) is a bundle of snug 
 comfort. Her body, her dress, her countenance, her 
 basket, her voice, all partake of the same character of 
 enhonpointness. Yet there is nothing at all untidy about 
 her. She may ensconce her large limbs in more plaiden 
 coverings than the gravedigger in " Hamlet" had waist- 
 coats, but still she moves without constraint; and imder a 
 burden which would press my lady's waitmg-maid to the 
 carpet, she moves free, firm, elastic. Her tongue is not 
 labour-logged, her feet are not creel-retarded; but, alto- 
 gether unconscious of the presence of hundreds, she holds
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLARDTKES. 175 
 
 on her way and her discourse as if she were a cara\'an in 
 the desert. She is to be found in every street and alley 
 of Auld Eeekie, till her work is accomplished. Her voice 
 of call is exceedingly musical, and sounds sweetly in the 
 ears of the infirm and bedrid. All night long she holds 
 her stand close by the theatre, with her broad knife and 
 her opened oyster. In vain does the young spark en- 
 deavour to engage her in licentious talk. He soon dis- 
 covers that, wherever her feehngs or affections tend, they 
 do not point in his favour. Thus, loaded with pence, and 
 primed with gin, she returns by midnight to her home — 
 there to share a supper-pint with her man and her neigh- 
 bours, and to prepare, by deep repose, for the duties of a 
 new day. Far happier and far more usefid she, in her day 
 and generation, than that thing of fashion which men call 
 a beau or a belle — in whose labours no one rejoices, and 
 in whose bosom no sentiment but self finds a place. In 
 Buckhaven, again, the Sahque law prevails. There men 
 are men, and women mere appendages. The sea depart- 
 ment is here all in all. The women, indeed, crawl a little 
 way, and through a few deserted fields, into the surrounding 
 country ; but the man drives the cart, and the cart carries 
 the fish ; and the fish are found in all the larger inland 
 towns eastward. Ceirardykes is a mixture of the two — a 
 kind of William and Mary government, Avhere, side by 
 side, at the same cart, and not unfrequently in the same 
 boat, are to be found man and woman, lad and lass. Oh, 
 it is a pretty sight to see the Cellardyke fishers leaving the 
 coast for the herring-fishing in the north ! I Avitnessed it 
 some years ago, as I passed to Edinburgh ; and this year 
 I AA-itnessed it again. 
 
 Meeting and conversing with my old friend the minister 
 of the parish of Kilrenny, we laid us down on the sunny 
 slope of the brae facing the east and the Isle of May, 
 ■whilst he gave me the following narrative : —
 
 176 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 Thomas Laing and Sarah Black were born and brouglit 
 up under the same roof — namely, that double-storied tene- 
 ment which stands somewhat by itself, overlooking the 
 harbour. They entered by the same outer door, but 
 occupied each a separate story. Thomas Laing was always 
 a stout, hardy, fearless boy, better acquainted with every 
 boat on the station than with his single questions, and far 
 fonder of little Sarah's company than of the schoolmaster's, 
 Sarah was likewise a healthy, stirring child, extremely 
 sensitive and easily offended, but capable, at the same 
 time, of the deepest feelings of gratitude and attachment. 
 Thomas Laing was, in fact, her champion, her Don 
 Quixote, from the time when he could square his arms and 
 manage his fists; and much mischief and obloquy did he 
 suffer among his companions on account of his chivalrous 
 defence of Httle Sally. One day whilst the fisher boys 
 and girls were playing on the pier, whilst the tide was at 
 the fidl, a mischievous boy, wishing to annoy Thomss, 
 pushed little Sail into the harbour, where, but for Thomas's 
 timely and skilful aid (for he was an excellent swimmer,) 
 she would probably have been drowned. Having placed 
 his favourite in a condition and place of safety, Tom 
 felled the offender, with a terrible fister, to the earth. 
 The blow had taken place on the pit of the stomach, and 
 was mortal. Tom was taken up, imprisoned, and tried for 
 manslaughter ; but, on account of his youth — being then 
 only thirteen — he was merely imprisoned for a certain 
 number of months. Poor Sally, on whose account Tom 
 had incurred the punishment of the law, visited him, as 
 did many good-natured fishermen, whUst in prison, where 
 he always expressed extreme contrition for his rashness. 
 After the expiry of his imprisonment, Tom returned to 
 Cellardykes, only to take farewell of his parents, and his 
 now more than ever dear Sally. He could not bear, he 
 said, to face the parents of the boy whose death he hud
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLARDYKES. 177 
 
 occasioned. The parting was momentary. He promised 
 to spend one night at home; but he had no such intention 
 — and, for several years, nobody knew what had become of 
 Thomas Laing. The subject was at first a speculation, 
 then a wonder, next an occasional recollection ; and, in a 
 few months, the place which once knew bold Tom Laing, 
 knew him no more. Even liis parents, engaged as they 
 were in the active pursuits of fishing, and surrounded as 
 they were by a large and dependent family, soon learned 
 to forget him. One bosom alone retained the image of 
 Tom, more faithfully and indelibly than ever did coin the 
 impression of royalty. MeauAvhile, Sarah grew — for she 
 was a year older than Tom — into womanhood, and faiily 
 took her share in all the more laborious parts of a fisher's 
 life. She could row a boat, carry a creel, or drive a cart 
 Avith the best of them ; and, whilst her frame was thus 
 hardened, her limbs acquired a consistency and proportion 
 which bespoke the buxom woman rather than the bonny 
 lass. Her eye, however, Avas large and broAVTi, and her lips 
 had that variety of expression which Hps only can ex- 
 hibit, ^lany a jolly fisher wished and attempted to press 
 these lips to his ; but was always repulsed. She neither 
 spoke of her Thomas, nor did she grieve for him much in 
 secret ; but her heart revolted from a union "W'ith any other 
 person whilst Thomas might still be alive. Upon a per- 
 son differently situated, the passion (for passion assuredly 
 it was) which she entertained for her absent lover, might 
 and would have produced very different eficcts. Had 
 Sarah been a young boarding-school miss, she would 
 assuredly either have eloped with another, or have died in 
 a madhouse; had she been a sentimental sprig of gentility, 
 consimiption must have followed: but Sarah was neither of 
 these. She had a heart to feel, and deeply too ; but she 
 knew that labour was her destiny, and that when " want 
 came in at the door, love escapes by the window." So slie
 
 178 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 just laboured, laughed, ate, drank, and slept, very much 
 like other people. Yet few sailors came to the place 
 whom she did not question about Thomas ; and many a 
 time and oft did she retire to the rocks of a Sabbath eve, 
 to think of and pray for Thomas Laing. People imagine, 
 from the free and open manner, and talk of the fisher- 
 women, that they are aU or generally people of doubtful 
 morahty. Never was there a greater mistake. To the 
 pubUc in general they are inaccessible ; they almost uni- 
 versally intermarry with one another ; and there are fewer 
 cases (said my reverend informant) of pubUc or sessional 
 \eproof in CeUardykes, than in any other district of my 
 parish. But, from the precarious and somewhat solitary 
 nature of their employment, they are exceedingly super- 
 stitious ; and I had access to know, that many a sly six- 
 pence passed from SaUy's pocket into old Elfie the wise 
 woman's, ^vith the view of having the cards cut and cups 
 read for poor Thomas. 
 
 Time, however, passed on— with time came, but did not 
 pass misfortune. SaUy's father, who had long been ad- 
 dicted, at intervals, to hard drinking, was found one morn- 
 ing dead at the bottom of a cliff, over which, in retui-ning 
 home inebriated, he had tumbled. There were now three 
 sisters, aU below twelve, to provide for, and SaUy's mother 
 had long been almost bedrid with severe and chronic 
 rheumatism ; consequently, the burden of supporting this 
 helpless family devolved upon Sarah, who was now in the 
 bloom and in the strength of her womanhood. Instead 
 of sitting down, however, to lament what could not be 
 helped, Sarah immediately redoubled her diligence. She 
 even learned to row a boat as well as a man, and contrived, 
 by the help of the men her father used to employ, to keep 
 his boat stUl going. Things prospered with her for a 
 while ; but, in a sudden storm, wherein five boats perished 
 with all on board, she lost her whole resources. They are
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLAEDYIiES. 179 
 
 a high-minded people those Cellardyke fishers. The 
 Blacks scorned to come upon the session. The yonng 
 girls salted herrings, and cried haddocks in small baskets 
 through the village and the adjoining bui'ghs, and Sarah 
 contrived still to keep up a cart for country service. Mean- 
 uhile, Sarah became the object of attention through the 
 whole neighbourhood. Though somewhat larger in feature 
 and limb than the Venus de Medicis, she was, notwith- 
 standing, tight, clean, and sunny — her skin white as snow, 
 and her frame a well-proportioned Doric— just such a help- 
 mate as a husband who has to rough it through hfe might 
 be disposed to select. Captain Wilham M'GufFock, or, as 
 he was commonly called. Big Bill, was the commander 
 of a coasting craft, and a man of considerable substance. 
 True, he was considerably older than Sally, and a mdower, 
 but he had no family, and a "bien house to bide in." 
 You see that manse-looking tenement there, on the broad 
 head towards the east — that was Captain M'Guffock's resi- 
 dence when his seafaring avocations did not demand his 
 presence elsewhere. Well, Bill came acourting to Sally ; 
 but Sally " looked asclent and unco skeich." Someway 
 or other, whenever she thought of matrimony — which she 
 did occasionally — she at the same time thought of Thomas 
 Laing, and, as she expressed it, her heart scunnered at the 
 thought. Consequently, Bill made little progress in his 
 courtship ; which was likewise liable to be interrupted, for 
 Aveeks at a time, by his professional voyages. At last a 
 letter arrived from on board a king's vessel, then lying in 
 Lcith Roads, apprising Thomas Laing's relatives that he 
 had died of fever on the West India station. This news 
 affected SaUy more than anything Avhich had hitherto 
 happened to her. She shut herself up for two hours in her 
 mother's bedroom, weeping aloud and bitterly, exclaiming, 
 from time to time — "Oh! my Thomas! — my own dearest 
 Thomas ! I shall never love man again. I am thine in
 
 180 TALES OF THK BOEDfiUS. 
 
 life and in death— in time and in eternity !"' In vain did 
 the poor bedrid woman try to comfort her daughter. 
 Nature had her way ; and, in less than three houi's, Sarah 
 Black was again in the streets, following, A^-ith a confused 
 hut a cheerful look, her ordinary occiipation. This gi'ief 
 of Sarah's, had it been well nursed, might well have lasted 
 a twelvemonth ; but, luckily for Sarah, and for the laboui'- 
 ing classes in general, she had not time to nurse her grief 
 to keep it warm. " Give us this day our daily bread," said 
 a poor helpless mother and three somewhat dependent 
 sisters— and Sarah's exertions were redoubled. 
 
 " Oh, what a feelingless woman ! " said Mrs. Paterson to 
 me, as Sarah passed her door one day in my presence, 
 absolutely singing—" Oh, what a feelingless woman !— 
 and her father dead, and her mother bedrid, and poor 
 Thomas Laing, whom she made such a fuss about, gone 
 too — and there is she, absolutely singing after all ! " 
 
 Mrs. Paterson is now Mrs. Eobson, having married her 
 second husband just six weeks after the death of the first, 
 whom her improper conduct and unhappy temper contri- 
 buted first to render miserable here, and at last to convey 
 to the churchyard ! VerUy (added the worthy clergyman), 
 the heart is deceitful above all #iings. But Avhat, after 
 aU, could poor Sarah do, but mafry WiU M'Guffock, and 
 thus amply provide, not only for herself, but for her 
 mother and sister? Had Thomas (and her heart heaved 
 at the thought) still been alive, she thought, she never 
 would have brought herself to think of it in earnest ; but 
 now that Thomas liad long ceased to think of her or of 
 anything earthly, why should she not make a man happy 
 who seemed distractedly in love with her, and at the same 
 time honourably provide for her poor and dependent rela- 
 tives? In the meantime, the sacramental occasion came 
 round, and I had a private meeting previous to the first 
 communion with Sarah Black. To me, in secret, she laid
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLAEDVKES. 181 
 
 open lier -svliole heart as if in the presence of her God ; 
 and I found her, though not a well-informed Christian by 
 any means on doctrinal points, yet well disposed and ex- 
 ceedingly humble ; in short, I had great pleasure in put- 
 ting a token into her hand, at Avhich she continued to look 
 for an instant, and then returned it to me. I expressed 
 surprise, at least by my looks. " I fear," said she, " thJt 
 I am unworthy; for I have not told you that I am thinking 
 of marrying a man whom I cannot love, merely to provide 
 for our famUy. Is not this a sin? — and can I, with an 
 intention of doina; what I know to be wronff, safelv --rv^- 
 municate?" I assured her that, instead of t'^iinkinir it a 
 sin, I thought her resolution commendable, particularly as 
 the object of her real affection Avas beyond its reach ; and 
 I mention the circumstance to show that there is often 
 much honour, and even delicacy of feeling, natural as well 
 as religious, under very uncongenial circumstances ana 
 appearances. Ha-\dng satisfied her mind on this subject, I 
 had the pleasure to see her at the comimiuion table, con- 
 ducting herself Avith much seeming seriousness of spirit. I 
 could see her shed tears, and formed the very best opinion 
 of her from her conduct throughout. 
 
 In a few days or weeks after this, the proclamation lines 
 were put into my hands, and I had the pleasui'c of uniting 
 her to Captain M'Guffock in due course. They had, hoAV- 
 cvcr, only been married a few weeks, wlien an occiurence 
 of a very aAvkward character threw her and her husband, 
 who was, in fact, an ill-tempered, passionate man, into 
 much perplexity. Tlie captain was absent on a coasting 
 voyage, as usual; and his Avife Avas superintending the 
 washing of some clothes, Avhilst the sun Avas setting. It 
 was a lovely evening in the month of July, and the fishing 
 boats Avere spread out all over the mouth of the Firth, 
 from the East Neuk to the Isle of May, in the same man- 
 ner in Avhich you see them at present. Mrs. M'Guffock's
 
 182 TAI.ES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 mind assumed, notwithstanding tlie glorious scenery around 
 her, a serious cast, for she could not help recalling many 
 such evenings in which she had rejoiced in company and 
 in unison with her beloved Thomas. She felt and knew 
 that it was wrong to indulge such emotions ; but she could 
 not help it. At last, altogether overcome, she threw her- 
 self forward on the green tm-f, and prayed audibly—" O 
 my God, give me strength and grace to forget my own 
 truly beloved Thomas ! Alas ! he knows not the struggles 
 which I have to exclude him from my sinful meditations. 
 Even suppose he were again to arise from the dead, and 
 appear in all the reality of his youthful being, I must, and 
 would fly from him as from my most dangerous foe." She 
 lifted up her eyes in the t\vilight, and in the next instant 
 felt herself in the arms of a powerful person, who pressed 
 her in silence to his breast. Amazed and bewildered, she 
 neither screamed nor fainted, but, putting his eager kisses 
 aside, calmly inquired who he was who dared thus to insidt 
 her. She had no sooner pronounced the inquiry, than she 
 heard the words, " Thomas— your o\vn Thomas ! " pro- 
 nounced in tones which could not be mistaken. This, 
 indeed, overpowered her ; and, with a scream of agony, 
 she sank down dead on the earth. This brought imme- 
 diate assistance ; but she was found lying by herself, and 
 talking wildly about her Thomas Laing. Everybody who 
 heard her concluded that she had either actually seen her 
 lover's ghost, or that her mind had given way under the 
 pressure of regret for her marriage, and that she was now 
 actually a lunatic. For twelve hours she continued to 
 evince the most manifest marks of insanity ; but sleep at 
 last soothed and restored her, and she immediately sent 
 for me. I endeavoured to persuade her that it must be 
 all a delusion, and that the imagination oftentimes created 
 such fancies. I gave instances from books which I had 
 read, as well as from a particular friend of my o^vn who
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLARDYKES. 183 
 
 had long been subject to such delusive impressions, and at 
 last she became actually persuaded that there had been no 
 reality in what she had so vividly perceived, and still most 
 distinctly and fearfully recollected. I took occasion then 
 to urge upon her the exceeding sinfulness of allowing any 
 image to come bct^dxt her and her la-\vful married hus- 
 band ; and left her restored, if not to her usual serenity, 
 at least to a con\'iction that she had only been disturbed 
 by a vision. 
 
 When her husband returned, I took him aside, and 
 explained my views of the case, and stated my most 
 decided apprehension that some similar impression might 
 return upon her nerves, and that her sisters (her mother 
 being now removed by death) shoidd dwell in the same 
 house with her. To this, however, the captain objected, 
 on the score that, though he Avas wilhng to pay a person 
 to take care of them in their own house, he did not deem 
 them proper company, in short, for a captain's wife. I dis- 
 liked the reasoning, and told him so ; but he became pas- 
 sionate, and I saw it was useless to contend further. From 
 that day, however, BUI M'Guffock seemed to have become 
 an altered man. Jealousy, or something nearly resembling 
 it, took possession of his heart ; and he even ventured to 
 affirm that his wife had a paramoiir somewhere concealed, 
 Avith Avhom, in his long and necessary absences, she asso- 
 ciated. He alleged, too, that in her sleep she Avould 
 repeat the name of her favourite, and in terms of present 
 love and fondness. I now saw that I had not known the 
 depth of " a first love," othenvisc I should not have 
 adA-jsed this unhappy man-iage, all advantageous as it was 
 in a Avorldly point of A-iew. A sailor's Hfe, hoAvever, is 
 one of manifest risk, and in less than a tAvelvemonth Sarah 
 M'Guffock Avas a young AvidoAV, AA'ithout incumbrance, and 
 with her rights to her just share of the captain's effects. 
 Her sorroAv for the death of her husband Avas, I believe.
 
 ^^^ TALES OF THE BOKDEES. 
 
 sincere ; but I observed that she took an early opportunity 
 of joining her sisters in her old habitation, immediately 
 beneath that still tenanted by the friends of Laing. 
 
 Matters were in this situation, when I was surprised one 
 evening, whilst sitting meditating in the manse of Kilrenny 
 about dusk, with a visit from a taU and well-dressed 
 stranger. He asked me at once if I could give him a 
 private interview for a few minutes, as he had something 
 of importance to communicate. Having taken him into 
 my study, and shut the door, I reached him a chair, and 
 desired him to proceed. 
 
 "I had left the parish," said the stranger, "before you 
 were minister of Kilrenny, in the time of worthy Mr 
 BroATO, and therefore you will probably not know even my 
 name. I am Thomas Lain"-'" 
 
 "I did not indeed," said I, "know you, but I have 
 heard much about you; and I know one who has taken 
 but too deep an interest in your fate. But how comes 
 It," added I, beginning to think that I was conversing 
 either with a vision or an impostor-" how comes it that 
 you are here, seemingly aUve and well, whilst we have aU 
 been assured of your death some years ago?" 
 ^^ Tlie stranger started, and immediately exclaimed— 
 " Dead .'—dead !— who said I was dead ? " 
 
 " Why," said I, " therf was a letter came, I think, to 
 your own father, mentioning j-our death by fever in the 
 West Indies." 
 
 " Do I look like a dead man? " said the stranger; but, 
 immediately becoming absent and embarrassed, he sat for 
 a while silent, and then resumed:-" Some one," said he, 
 " has imposed upon my dear Sarah, and for the basest of 
 purposes. I now see it all. My dear giri has been sadly used." 
 
 "This is, indeed, strange," said I; "but let me hear 
 how It 18 that I have the honour of a visit from you at 
 this time and in this place?"
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLAKDYKES. 185 
 
 " Ob," replied Thomas Laing (for it was lie in verity), 
 " I will soon give you the whole story : — 
 
 " Wlien I left this, fourteen years ago come the time, I 
 embarked at Greenock, working my way out to New York. 
 As I was an excellent hand at a rope and an oar, I early 
 attracted the captain's notice, who made some inquiries 
 respecting my place of birth and my views in life. I told 
 him that I was Hterally " at sea," having nothing particu- 
 larly in view — that I had been bred a fisher, and under- 
 stood saihng and rowing as well as any one on board. Th • 
 captain seemed to have something in his head, for h 
 nodded to me, saying, 'Very well, we wiU see what car. 
 be done for you when we arrive at New York.' When we 
 were off Newfoundland, we were overtaken by a terrible 
 storm, which drove us completely out of our latitude, till, 
 at last, we struck on a sandbank — the sea making for 
 several hours a complete breach over the deck. Many 
 were swept away into the devouring flood ; whilst some of 
 us — amongst several others the captain and myself — clung 
 to what remained of the ship's masts till the storm some- 
 what abated. We then got the boat launched, and made 
 for land, which we could see looming at some distance 
 ahead. We got, however, entangled amongst currents ; nd 
 breakers ; and, within sight of a boat which was making 
 towards us from the shore, we fairly upset — and I remem- 
 ber nothing more till I awoke, in dreadful torment, in 
 some fishermen's boat. Beside me lay the captain, the 
 rest had perished. When we arrived at the land, we were 
 ])laced in one of the fishermen's huts, where we were most 
 kindly treated — assisting, as we did occasionally, in the 
 daily labours of the cod fishery. I displayed so much 
 alertness and skill in this employment, that the factor on 
 the station made me an advantageous ofFer, if I would 
 remain with them and assist in their labours. With this 
 offer, having no other object distinctly in view, I complied.
 
 ^^^ TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 But my kind and good-hearted captain, possessing less 
 dexterity in this employment, was eariy sliipped at his 
 own request for England. The most of the hands, about 
 two hundred in aU, on the station where I remained, were 
 Scotch and Irish, and a merry, jovial set we were. The 
 men had mves and famihes ; and the governor or factor 
 hved m a large slated house, very like your manse, upon a 
 gentle eminence, a little inland. Towards the coast the 
 land is sandy and flat; but in the interior there is much 
 wood, a very rich soil, and excellent fresh water. Where 
 we remained the water was brackish, and constituted the 
 chief inconvenience of our station. The factor or agent, 
 commonly caUed by the men the governor, used to visit us 
 almost every day, and remained much on board when 
 ships were loading for Europe. One fine summer's day we 
 were aU enjoying the luxury of bathing, when, all on a 
 sudden, the shout was raised—' A shark ! a shark ! ' I 
 had just taken my place in the boat, and was stiU un- 
 dressed, when I observed one man disappear, being dragaed 
 under the water by the sea monster. The factor, who 
 was swimming about in the neighbourhood, seemed to be 
 paralyzed by terror, for he made for the boat, plashing 
 like a dog, with his hands and arms frequently stretched 
 out of the water. I saw his danger, and immediately 
 plunged in to his rescue, which, with some difficulty, I at 
 last effected. 
 
 "Poor Pat Moonie was seen no more; nor did the 
 devouring monster reappear. The factor immediately 
 acknowledged his obligations to me, by carrying me home 
 with him, and introducing me to his lady and an only 
 daughter— I think I never beheld a more beautiful crea- 
 ture ; but I looked upon her as a being of a different order 
 from myself, and I stiU thought of my own dear Sally and 
 Bweet home at Cellardykes. Through the factor's kindness, 
 ^ got the management of a boat's crew, with considerable
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF CELLARDYKES. 187 
 
 emolument -wliicli belonged to the situation. I then be- 
 hoved to dress better, at least while on land, than I used 
 to do, and I was an almost daily visitor at Codfield House, 
 the name of the captain's residence. My affairs prospered; 
 I made, and had no way of spending money. The factor 
 was my banker, and his fair daughter wrote out the 
 acknowledgments for her father to sign. One beautiful 
 Sabbath-day, after the factor — who officiated at our small 
 station as clergyman — had read us prayers and a sermon, 
 I took a walk into the interior of the country, where, witli 
 a book in her hand, and an accompaniment of Ne^vfound- 
 laud dogs, I chanced to meet with Miss Woodburn, the 
 factor's beautiful child. She was only fourteen, but quite 
 grown, and as blooming a piece of womanhood as ever 
 wore kid gloves or black leather. She seemed somewhat 
 embarrassed at my presence, and blushed scarlet, entreating 
 me to prevent one of her dogs from running away with 
 her glove, which he was playfully tossing about in his 
 mouth. The dog would not surrender his charge to any 
 one but to his mistress ; and, in the struggle, he bit my hand 
 somewhat severely. You may see the marks of his teeth 
 there still " (holding out his hand while he spoke). " Poor 
 ^Miss Woodburn knew not what to do first; she imme- 
 diately dropped the book which she was reading — scolded 
 the offending dog to a distance — took up the glove, which 
 the dog at her bidding had dropped, and -wrapped it close 
 and firmly around my bleeding hand ; a band of long grass 
 served for thread to make all secure, and in a few days my 
 hand was in a fair way of recovery — but not so my heart ; 
 I felt as if I had been all at once transformed into a gentle- 
 man — the soft touch of Miss Eliza's fair fingers seemed to 
 have transformed me, skin, flesh, and bones, into another 
 species of being. I shook like an aspen leaf whenever I 
 thought of our interesting interview ; and I coidd observe 
 that EUza changed colour, and looked out of the wiadow
 
 188 
 
 TALLS OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 w onever I entered the room. But, sh, I am too particu- 
 a and I wiU now hasten to a close." I entreated him 
 aid the parson) to go on in his own way, and .vithout 
 any reference to my leisure. He then proceeded :-" Well 
 sir from year to year I prospered, and from year to yea^ 
 got more deeply in love with the angel which moved 
 about in my presence. At last our attachment became 
 manifest to the young lady's parent; and, to my great 
 snrpnse, xt was proposed that we sho^dd make a voyage to 
 ^ew York, and there be united in matrimony. All this 
 while sir, I thought of my own dear Sally, and the 
 though not unfrequently made me miserable; but what 
 was SaUy to me now ?-perhaps she was dead- perhaps 
 she was married-perhaps-but I could scarcely think it- 
 she had forgot me ; and then the blooming rosebud was 
 ever in my presence, and hallowed me, by its superior 
 purity and beauty, into a complete gentleman. Well 
 married we were at New York, and for several months i 
 was the happiest of men, and my dear wife (I know it) 
 the happiest of women; but the time of her labour ap- 
 proached-and chUd and mother lie buried in the ceme- 
 tery at New York, where we had now fixed our residence " 
 (ITore poor Thomas wept pFentifully, and, after a pause, 
 proceeded.)-"! could not reside longer in a place which 
 was so disma ly associated in my mind; so, haWng wound 
 up n>y worldly affairs, and placed my little fortuncl-about 
 one thousand pounds-in the bank, I embarked for Europe 
 along with my fatlier and mother-in-law, who were goL 
 home to end their days in the place of their nativity! 
 Belfast in reland. I determined upon landing at the 
 Cove of Cork, to visit once more my native village, and to 
 have at least one interview >vith Sally. I learned, on my 
 arrival at Largo, that SaUy was married to the old cap- 
 tain I resolved, however, ere I went finally to settle in 
 Belfast, to have one stolen peep at my first love-my oM-n
 
 THE S*Ain aiAID OP CELLAIIDYKE3. 189 
 
 dear Sally. I came upon her whilst repeatmg my name 
 in her prayers — I embraced her convulsively — repeated 
 her name t^\^.ce in her hearing — ^heard her scream — saw 
 her faint — kissed her fondly again and again — and, 
 strangers appearing, I immediately absconded. " 
 
 " This," said the minister, " explains all ; — but go on — 
 I am anxioiis to hear the conclusion of your somewhat 
 eventful history." 
 
 " Why, I was off immediately for Belfast, where I at 
 present reside with my father-in-law, whose temper, since 
 the loss of his child, has been much altered for the worse. 
 But I am here on a particular errand, in which your kind 
 offices, sir — ^for I have heard of your goodness of heart — • 
 may be of service to me. I observed the death of the old 
 captain in the newspaper, and I am here once more to 
 enjoy an interview with his widow. I wish you, sir, to 
 break the business to her ; meanwhile, I will lodge at the 
 Old Inn, Mrs. Laing's, at Anstruther, and await your retui'n." 
 
 I agreed (continued the parson of KUrenny) to wait 
 upon the mdow ; and to see, in fact, how the wind set, in 
 regard to " first love." I found her, as I expected, neatly 
 clad in her habiUments of widowhood, and employed in 
 maldng some dresses for a sister's marriage. I asked and 
 obtained a private interview, when I detailed, as cautiously 
 as I could, the particulars of Thomas Laing's history. I 
 could observe that her whole frame shook occasionally, and 
 that tears came, again and again, into her eyes. I was 
 present, but a fortnight ago, at their first interview at the 
 inn ; and I never saw two human beings evince more real 
 attachment for each other. On their bended knees, and 
 with faces turned towards heaven, did they unite in thank- 
 ing God that he had permitted them to have another 
 interview with each other in this world of uncertainty and 
 death. It has been since discovered that the letter 
 announcing Laing's death was a forgery of the old captain,
 
 190 TALES OF TUE BOllDERS, 
 
 wMch has reconciled his widow very nuich to the idea of 
 shortening her days of mourning. In a word, this even- 
 ing, and in a few hours, I am going to unite the widower 
 and the widowed, together with a younger sister and a 
 fine young sailor, in the holy bonds of matrimony; and, 
 as a punishment for your giving me aU this trouble in 
 narrating this story, I shaU insist upon your eating fresh 
 herring, with the fresh-herring Presbytery of St. Andrew's, 
 which meets here at Mrs. Laing's to-day, and afterwards 
 witnessing the double ceremony. 
 
 To this I assented, and certainly never spent an even- 
 ing more agreeably than that which I divided betmxt the 
 merry lads of St. Andi-ew's Presbytery, and the fair dames 
 and maidens of CeUardykes, who graced the marriage 
 ceremony. Such dancing as there was, and such scream- 
 ing, and such music, and such laughing; yet, amidst it all, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Laing preserved that decent decorum, which 
 plainly said, " We wiU not mar the happiness of the young; 
 but we feel the goodness and providence of our God too 
 deeply, to permit us to join in the noisy part of the 
 festivity." 
 
 " The fair maid of CeUardykes," with her kind-hearted 
 husband— I may mention, for the satisfaction of my fair 
 readers in particular— may now be seen daily at their own 
 door, and in their own garden, on tlie face of the steep 
 wliich overlooks the village. They have akeady lived 
 three years in complete happiness, and have been blessed 
 with two as fine healthy childi-en as a CeUardykes sun 
 ever rose upon. Mr. Laing has become an elder in the 
 churcli, and both husband and wife are most exemplary in 
 the discharge of their rehgious, as well as relative duties. 
 God has blessed them with an ample competence ; and 
 sure is the writer of this narrative, that no poor fisherman 
 or woman ever appUed to this worthy couple without ob- 
 taining reUef.
 
 TIIK FAIR MAID OF CELLARDTIiES. 191 
 
 One circumstance more, and my narrative closes. As 
 IMr. Laing was one evening taking a walk along the sea- 
 shore, viewing the boats as they mustered for the herring 
 fishing, he was shot at from behind one of the rocks, and 
 severely wounded in the shoulder — the ball or slug-shot 
 having lodged in tha clavicle, and refusing, for some days, 
 to be extracted. The hue-and-cry was immediately raised; 
 but the guilty person was noAvhere to be seen. He had 
 escaped in a boat, or had hid himself in a crevice of the 
 rock, or in some private and friendly house in the village. 
 Poor Thomas Laing was carried home to his distracted 
 wife more dead than ahve ; and Dr. Goodsii" being called, 
 disclosed that, in his present state, the lead could not be 
 extracted. Poor Sarah was never a moment from her 
 husband's side, who fevered, and became occasionally 
 delirious — talldng incoherently of murder and shipwreck, 
 and AVoodburn, and love, and marriage, and Sarah Black. 
 All within his brain was one mad wheel of mixed and con- 
 fused colours, such as children make when they wheel a 
 stick, dyed white, black, and red, rapidly around. Sus- 
 picion, from the first, fell upon the brother of the boy Eob 
 Paterson, whom Laing had killed many years before. 
 Eevenge is the most enduring, perhaps, of all the passions, 
 and rather feeds upon itself than decays. Like fame, " it 
 acquii-es strength by time ; " and it was suspected that Dan 
 Paterson, a reckless and a dissipated man, had done the 
 deed. In confirmation of this supposition, Dan was no- 
 where to be found, and it was strongly suspected that his 
 wife and his son, who returned at midnight mth the boat, 
 had set Dan on shore somewhere on the coast, and tliat 
 he had efiected his escape. Death, for some time, seemed 
 every day and hour nearer at hand ; but at last the symp- 
 toms softened, the fever mitigated, the swelling subsided, 
 and, after much careful and sldlful surgery, most admir- 
 ably conducted by Dr. Goodsir's son, the ball was extracted.
 
 ^^2 TALES OF THE BOKDEUS. 
 
 The wound closed mthout mortification ; and, in a week 
 or two, Mr. Laing was not only out of danger, but out of 
 bed, and walking about, as he does to this hour, wth hia 
 arm in a shng. It was about the period of his recovery, 
 that Dan Paterson was taken as he was skulking about in 
 the west country, apparently looking out for a ship in 
 which to sail to America. He was immediately brought 
 back to Cellardykes, and lodged in Anstruther prison. 
 Mr. Laing would willingly have forborne the prosecution; 
 but the law behoved to have its course. Dan was tried 
 for " maiming with the intention of murder," and was con- 
 demned to fourteen years' transportation. This happened 
 in the year 1822, the year of the King's visit to Scotland. 
 llr. and Mrs. Laing actually waited upon his Majesty King 
 George the Fourth, at the palace of Dalkeith, and, backed 
 by the learned judge and counsel, obtained a commutation 
 of the punishment, from banishment to imprisonment for a 
 limited period. The great argument in his favour was the 
 provocation he had received. Dan Taterson now inhabits 
 a neat cottage in the village, and ^Ir. Laing has quite set 
 him up with a boat of his own, ready rigged and filled for 
 use. He has entirely reformed, has become a member of 
 a temperance society, and his wife and family are as happy 
 as the day is long. Mr. and Mrs. Laing are supplied with 
 the very best offish, and stockings and mittens are manu- 
 factured by the Patersons for the little Laings, particularly 
 during boisterous weather, when fishing is out of the 
 question. Thus has a wise Providence made even the 
 wrath of man to praise him. The trutli of the above 
 narrative may be tested any day, by waiting upon the 
 Kov. Mr. Dickson, or upon the parties themselves at Brae- 
 head of Cellardykes.
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 193 
 
 PEESCRIPTION; 
 
 OR, THE 29TH OF SEPTEMBER, 
 
 The serene calmness and holy inspiration of some of our 
 cottage retreats in Scotland are often the envy of the to-ivn- 
 poet or philosopher, who looks tipon the sequestered spots 
 as possessing all the beauty and repose of the beatific 
 Beulah, Avhere the feet of the pilgrim found repose, and 
 his spirit rest. The desire arises out of that discontent 
 ■which, less or more, is the inheritance of man in this 
 sphere; it is the residuum of the worldly feelings which, 
 like the clay that, in inspired hands, gave the power of 
 sight to the blind, opens the eyes to immortality. The wish 
 for retirement belongs to good, if it is not a part of the great 
 principle that inclines us to look far away to purer regions 
 for the rest which is never disturbed, and the joy that 
 knoAvs no abatement. Yet how vain are often our thoughts 
 as we survey the white-washed hut in the valley, covered 
 with honeysuckle and white roses; the plot before the 
 door ; the croonin dame on her tripod ; the lass with the 
 lint-white locks, singing, in snatches of Nature's own lan- 
 guage, her purest feelings, like the swelling of a mountain 
 spring ! The heart is not still there, any more than in tlie 
 crowded mart. The birds whistle, but they die too; the 
 rose blooms, but it is eaten in the heart by tlie palmer 
 worm; the sun shines, but there is a shade at his back, 
 Alas for mortal aspirations — there is nothing here of one 
 side. Like the two parties who fought for the truth of 
 the two pleas— that the statue was white, or that it was 
 black — we find, after all our labour lost, that one side is of 
 
 the one coloui-, and the other of the opposite. These thoughts 
 Vol. I Q
 
 194 
 
 •TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 arise in us at this moment, as we recollect the Httle cottage 
 of Homestead, situated in a coUateral valley on the Borders. 
 We were horn at a stone-cast from it ; and, even in tlie 
 dream of age, see issuing from it, or entering it, a creatvu-e 
 who might have stood for Wordsworth's Highland Girl— 
 a slender, gracile thing, retiring and modest; as delicate 
 in her feehngs as in the hue of her complexion; her 
 thoughts of her glen and waterfall only natm-al to her 
 —all others, fearful even to herself, glenting forth through 
 a flushed medium, which equaUy betrayed the workings ''of 
 the blood in the transparent veins— a being of young°life, 
 elasticity, and sensitiveness, such as, like some m°odest 
 flower, we find only in certain recesses of the valleys in 
 mountain-lands. Such were you, Alice Scott, when you 
 first darted across our path on the hiUs. We have said that 
 Ave see you now through the dream of age; and, holding 
 to the parallel, there is a change o'er the mood of our vision, 
 for we sec you again in a form like that of " The Ladye 
 Gcraldino"-your mountain russets off"; the bandeau that 
 bound the flying locks laid aside; the irritability and flush 
 of the young spirit abated; and, instead of these, the gown 
 of silk, the coif of satin, and the slow and dignified step 
 of conscious worth and superiority. And whence this 
 change? 
 
 Tlic young female we have thus apostrophised, was tlie 
 daughter of Adam Scott, a cottar, who occupied the small 
 cottage of Homestead, under the proprietor of Wliitccraigs 
 —a fine property, lying to the south of the cottage; and 
 the mansion of which is yet to be seen by the traveller who 
 seeks the Tweed by the windings of the river Lyne. Old 
 Adam died, and left his widow and daiighter to the pro- 
 tection of his superior, Mr. Hayston, who, recollecting the 
 services and stanch qualities of his tenant, did not despise 
 the charge. The smaU bield was allowed to the mother 
 and daugliter, rent free; and some assistance, in addition
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 196 
 
 to tBe produce of their hands, enabled them to live as 
 thousands in this country live, whose capability of support- 
 inpr life might be deemed a problem difficult of solution by 
 those whose only care is how to destroy God's gifts. Nature 
 is as curious in her disposal of qualities as the great 
 genius of chance ar convention is of the distribution of 
 means. Literature has worn out the characteristic and 
 gloomy lines of the description of the fair and the good; 
 and the impatience of the mind of the nineteenth century 
 — a mind greedy of caricature, and regardless of written 
 sentiment — may warn us from the portrajTTient of what 
 people now like better to see than to read or. hear of. 
 Away,, then, with the usual terms, and let old Dame Scott 
 and her daughter be deemed as of those beings who have 
 interested you in the quiet recesses of humble poverty, 
 where Nature, as if in sport or satire, loves to play fan- 
 tastic tricks. If yoxi have no living models to go by, call 
 up some of the pages of the thousand volumes that have 
 been multiplied on a subject v.-hich has been more spoiled 
 by poetical imagery, than benefited by sober observation. 
 
 "Within about five years of the death of the husband and 
 father, old Hayston died, and left Whitccraigs to his only 
 son. Hector, Avho was kind enough to continue the gift, of 
 the father to the inmates of Homestead ; but he loaded 
 them with a condition, unspoken, yet implied. The young 
 laird and the pretty cottage maiden had foregathered often 
 amidst the romantic scenes on the Lyne; and that which 
 Nature probably intended as a guard and a mean of segrega- 
 tion — the shrinking timidity of her o^vn mountain child, 
 when looked upon by the eye of, to her, aristocracy — only 
 tended to an opposite eflect. A poet has compared love to 
 an Eastern bird, which loses all its beauty when it flies ; 
 and it is as true as it is a pretty conceit; but if there was 
 any feathered creature whose mngs, reflecting, from its 
 monaul tints, the sun in greater splendour, when on the
 
 190 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 ■wing, It would supply as applicable and not less poetical 
 
 an emblem of the object of the little god's heart-stirrings; 
 
 and so it seemed to the young laird of "Wliitecraigs, that, 
 
 as Alice Scott boimded away over the green hills, or down 
 
 by the Lyne banks, at his approach, her flight added to the 
 
 interest which she had already inspired when she had no 
 
 means of escape. But, as the wildest doe may be caught 
 
 and tamed, so was she, who was as a white one removed 
 
 from the herd. The young man possessed attractions 
 
 beside those of imputed wealth and station ; and probably, 
 
 though Ave mean not to be severe upon the sex, the process 
 
 by which his affection had been increased was reversed 
 
 in its effects upon her, to whom assiduous seeking was as 
 
 the assiduous retreating had been to him. 
 
 Yet all was, we believe, honourable in the intentions of 
 
 young Ilayston ; and, as for Alice, she was in the primeval 
 
 condition of a total unconsciousness of evil. The " one 
 
 blossom on earth's tree," as the poet has it, was by her yet 
 
 unplucked, nor knew she how many thousands have had 
 
 cause to sing — 
 
 " I have plucked the one blossom that hangs on earth's tree ; 
 I have lived — I have loved, and die." 
 
 Her former timidity was the a priori ^rooi of the strength 
 of the feeling that followed, when the sensitiveness of fear 
 gave way to confidence. Town loves are a thing of sorry 
 account: the best of them are a mere preference of the 
 one to the many; and he who is fortimate enough to out* 
 tihinc his rivals, may pride himself in the possession of some 
 superior recommendations which have achieved a triumph. 
 Were he to look better to it, he might detect something, 
 too, in the force of resources. At best, a few hundred 
 pounds will turn the scale ; for he is by all that a better 
 man ; and the trained eye of town beaiities has a strange 
 responsive twinkle in the glare of the one thing needful. 
 In the remote and beautiful parts of a romantic country,
 
 PKESCRIPTION. 107 
 
 things are otherwise ordered: affection there, is as the 
 mountain flower to the gallipot rose ; and it is a mockery 
 to tell us that the difference is only perceptible to those 
 who are weak enough to be romantic. A doughty warrior 
 would recognise and acknowledge the difference, and fight 
 a great deal better too, after he had blubbered over a 
 mountain or glen born love for a creature who would look 
 upon him as the soiJ of the retreat, and hang on his breast 
 in the outpourings of Nature's feelings. That young White- 
 craigs appreciated the triumph he had secured, there can 
 be no reason to doubt. He had been within the drying 
 atmosphere of toAvns, and had sung and waltzed, probably, 
 with a round hundred of creatures who understood the 
 passion, much as Audrey understood poetry — deeming it 
 honest enough, but yet a composition made up of the ele- 
 ments of side glances, arias, smorzando-sighs, and quadrilles. 
 With Alice Scott on his bosom, the quiet glen as their 
 retreat, the green umbrageous woods their defence, its birds 
 as their musicians, and the wimpling Lyne as the speaking 
 Naiad, he forgot, if he did not despise, the scenes he had 
 left. She flew from him now no longer. The fowler had 
 succeeded to captivate, not intentionally to kill. 
 
 Two years passed over in this intercourse. There was 
 no secret about it. The dame was well apprised of their 
 proceeding ; and the open frankness of the youth dispelled 
 all the fears of wrong which the innocence of the daughter, 
 undefended by experience, might have scarcely guaranteed 
 to one who, at least, had heard something of the ways of the 
 world. The income from Whitccraigs, somewhere about 
 seven hundred a-ycar, was more than sufficient for the 
 expenditure of the older Ilaystons; and Hector, at this 
 time, did not seem inclined to alter the line of life followed 
 by his fathers. He had not spoken of marriage to the 
 mother; but he had not hesitated to breathe into the ear ot 
 Alice all thot was necessary to lead her to the conclusion,
 
 198 TALES OF THE iiOKDEKS. 
 
 to wliich her lieart jumped, that she was to be the lady of 
 the stately white mansion that, at one time, had appeared 
 to her as a great temple where humble worshippers of the 
 glen and the wood might not lay their sandals at the door- 
 way. She had entered the vestibule only as an alms-seeker 
 and trembled to think she might have been observed throw- 
 ing a side glance into the interior, where pier-glasses might 
 have reflected the form of the russet-clad child of the valley 
 and hill. The tale has been told a thousand times, and 
 the world is not mended by it. The young master pressed 
 her to his bosom, imprinted a kiss, and was away into the 
 mazes of life in the metropolis, whither some affiiirs, left 
 imsettled by his father, carried him. Six months passed 
 away, and the rents of the succeeding term were collected 
 by ]\Ir. Pringle, the agent of the fomily, in Peebles. There 
 was no word for poor Alice, though the small aUowanco 
 was handed in by the agent, who, ignorant of the state of 
 matters between the young couple, informed the motlier 
 that the master of Whitecraigs was on the eve of beino- 
 married to a young lady of some wealth in the metropolis. 
 The statement was heard by the daughter; and what 
 henceforth but that of Thclda's song : — 
 
 " The clouds are flying, the woods are sighing — 
 The maiden is walkbig the grassy shore ; 
 And as the wave breaks with might, with might, 
 She singeth aloud through the darksome night ; 
 But a tear is in her troubled eye." 
 
 Alice Scott was changed; yet, who shall tell what that 
 change was ? If the slow and even progress of the spirit 
 may defy the eye of the metaphysician, wlio may describe 
 its moods of disturbance? Poetry is familiar witli these 
 things, and we have fair rhymes to tell us of the wander- 
 ings, and the lonely musings by mountain streams, and the 
 eye that looks and sees not, and the wasting form, and the 
 •words tliat come like the sounds from deep caves ; yet,
 
 1"KESORIFTIOX. 199 
 
 after all, they tell lis but little, and that Httle is but to 
 tickle us with the resonance of spoken sentiment, leaving 
 the sad truth as little understood as before. True it was, 
 that Alice Scott did all these things, and more too : the 
 charm of the hills and the water banks was gone : the 
 light spirit that carried her along, as if borne on the Avinds, 
 was quenched ; the songs by which she gladdened the ears of 
 her mother, as she plied her portable handwork on the green, 
 was no more heard mingling its notes with the music of the 
 Lyne; and the face that shone transparently, like painted 
 alabaster, as if part of the light came from -within, was as 
 the poet says — 
 
 " Like an April mom 
 Clad in a ivintry cloud." 
 
 Nor did additional time seem to possess any power save 
 that of increasing the pain of the heart-stroke. Most of 
 the griefs of mortals have their appointed modes of alle- 
 viation — some are complaining griefs, some are talkative, 
 and some sorrows are sociable for selfishness. But the 
 heart-woimd of her who has only those scenes of nature 
 which were associated with the imasrc of the tmkind one, 
 to wear off the impressions of which, rmder other hues, they 
 form a part, is a silent mourner. There is enough of a pain- 
 ful eloquence aroimd her, and her voice would be only the 
 small whisper that is lost in the Availings of the storm iu 
 the glen. Yet painful as the language is, she courts it in 
 silence, even whUe it mixes and blends Avith the poison 
 which consumes her. It was in vain that her mother, 
 who saw with a parental eye the malady which is the 
 best understood by those of her class and age, urged her 
 with kindness to betake herself to her household duties. 
 She was seldom to be prevailed upon to remain within 
 doors ; the hill-side, or the bosom of the glen, or the 
 back of the -wdllows by the water-side, were her choice. 
 Ordinary meal times were forgotten or imheeded, where
 
 200 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 NatT-ire had renounced her cravings, or given all her 
 energies to the heart. 
 
 The next intelligence received at Homestead was that 
 of the marriage of Hector Hayston, and his departure for 
 France. The servants at Whitecraigs were discharged, as 
 if there had been no expectation, for a long period, of the 
 return of the young laird. The supply to the two females 
 was increased, and paid by Mr. Pringle, who, now probably 
 aware of the situation of Alice, delicately avoided any allu- 
 sion to his employer. Report, hoAvever, was busy with her 
 tales ; and the absence of the youth was attributed to the 
 workings of conscience or of shame. There was little truth 
 in the report. The object of his first affections might easily 
 have been banished from Whitecraigs, and he who had been 
 guilty of leaving her may be supposed capable of removing 
 her from scenes which could only add to her sorrow. A 
 true solution of his conduct might have been found in the 
 fact, that Hayston was now following his pleasures in the 
 society of his wife's friends— a gay and lavish circle— and 
 did not msh to detract from his enjoyment by adding 
 banishment and destitution to a wrong now irremediable. 
 Little more was heard of him for some time, with the ex- 
 ception of a floating report, that he had borrowed, through 
 his agent, the sum of ten thousand pounds from a Mr. 
 Colville, a neighbouring proprietor, and pledged to him 
 Whitecraigs in security. The circumstance interested 
 greatly the neighbouring proprietors, who shook their 
 heads in significant augiiry of the probable fate of their 
 young neighbour in the whirlpool of continental life. Yet 
 the allowance to Dame Scott at the next term was regularly 
 paid; and if there was a tear in her eye, as she looked, 
 first at the money, and then at the thin, pallid creature 
 who sat silent at the window, it was not that she dreaded 
 its discontinuance from the result of the extravagance of 
 the giver. The effect of the act of payment of the money
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 2vU 
 
 had, on a former occasion, been noticed by Pringle on the 
 conduct of Alice : it was on this occasion repeated. She 
 rose from her seat, looked steadfastly for a moment at the 
 gift as it lay on the table, placed her hand on her forehead, 
 and flitted out of the room. The eye of the agent followed 
 lier from the window: her step was hui-ried, without an 
 object of impulse. She might go— but whither? probably 
 she knew not herself; yet on she sped till she was lost 
 among the trees on the edge of the glen. 
 
 Thus longer time passed, but there seemed no change to 
 AHce, save in the continual decrease of the frame, under 
 the pressure of a mind that communed mth the past, and 
 only looked to the future as containing some day that 
 would witness the termination of her sorrows. The anglers 
 on the Lyne became familiar with her figure, for they had 
 seen it on the heights, wdth her garments floating in the 
 breeze, and had come up to her as she sat by the water- 
 side, but they passed on. At the worst she could be 
 but one whose spirit was not settled enough to admit of 
 her according -with the ways of honest maidens ; and they 
 might regret that the beauty that still lurked amidst the 
 ravages of the disease of the heart, had not been turned to 
 better account. It is thus that one part of mankind sur- 
 veys another: they form their theory of a condition whose 
 secret nature is only knoAvn to its possessor ; draw their 
 moral from false premises, formed as a compliment to 
 their own conduct and situation, and pass on to their 
 pleasure. 
 
 Yet there occurred an important exception to these 
 remarks:— One day Alice had taken up her seat on the 
 banks of a small pond in front of the house of Whitecraigs. 
 She sat opposite to the front of the dwelling, and seemed 
 to survey its closed -windows and deserted appearance, with 
 the long grass growing up through the gravel of the walks-^ 
 the broken pailings and decayed out-houses ; a scene that
 
 202 
 
 TALES OF TUJB BOKL»JiKS. 
 
 might be supposed to liarmonize Avith the feeHugs of a mind 
 broken and desolate. There might seem even a consan- 
 gmmty m the causes of the condition of both. The scene 
 might have suited the genius of a Danby. There was no 
 livmg creature to disturb the sUence. The house of faded 
 wlnte among the dark trees, cheerless and forsaken ; the 
 ace of Alice Scott emaciated and pale, with the lustre of 
 the loch, shming in the sun, reflected on it, directed towards 
 the habitation of which she should have been mistress: her 
 eyes, which had forgotten the reHef of tears, fixed on the 
 scene so pregnant with unavailing reminiscences— with 
 these we would aid the artist. 
 
 But the charm was gone, as a voice sounded behind her. 
 bhe started, and, according to her custom, woidd have 
 fled as the hare that remembers the snare; but she was 
 detamed A man, advanced in years, poorly clad, with 
 hair weU smitten with snow tints, and a staflf in his hand, 
 stood beside her, holding her by the skirt of the gown 
 
 "I am weary," said he; "I have walked from Moffat, 
 and would sit here for a time, if you would speak to me 
 of tlie scenes and people of these parts." And the anpU- 
 cation of his hand again to her gown secured a compliance 
 dictated more by fear than inclination. She sat, while she 
 trembled. "You are fair," continued he; "but my ex- 
 perience of sorrow tcUs me that grief has been busier with 
 your young heart than years. I wiU not pry into your 
 secrets. To whom does WLitecraigs now belong ?" 
 
 The name had not been breathed by her to mm-tal since 
 that day she had heard of the intended marriage. She 
 made an effort to pronounce it, failed, and fixed her eyes 
 on the pond. The stranger ga.ed on her, waiting for her 
 rej)ly. 
 
 "Hector Hayston," she at length muttered. 
 . "And why has he left so fair a retreat to the desolation 
 that has overtaken it?" rejoined he again. The question
 
 PKESCKIPTION, 203 
 
 was still more unfortunate. She had no power to reply. 
 Her face was turned from him, and repressed breathings 
 heaved her bosom. " You may tell me, then, if one Dame 
 Scott Kves in these parts?" he said again, as he marked 
 her strange manner, and probably augured that his prior 
 question was fraught with pain. 
 
 " Yes — yes," she repHed, with a sudden start, as if re- 
 lieved from pain, whUe she regained her feet; "yonder 
 lives my mother." 
 
 The stranger stood with his eyes fixed upon her, as if in 
 deep scrutiny of the inexplicable features of her character 
 and appearance ; but he added not a word, till he saw her 
 move as if she wished to be gone. 
 
 ".You will go with me ?" he said. 
 
 But the words were scarcely uttered, when she was 
 away through the woods, leaving him to seek his Avay to 
 the house of her mother, whither, accordingly, he directed 
 his steps, from some prior knowledge he possessed of the 
 locaUty about which he had been making inquiiies. As 
 he went along, he seemed wrapt in meditation — again and 
 again looking back, to endeavour to get another sight of 
 the gu'l, who was now seated on the edge of the stream, 
 and again seized by some engrossing thought that claimed 
 all the energies of his spirit. On coming up to the door 
 of the cottage, he tapped gently with his long staff; and, 
 upon being required by the dame to enter, he passed into 
 the middle of the floor, and stood and surveyed the house 
 and its inmate. 
 
 " I have nothing for you," said the latter ; " so you 
 must pass on to those whom God has ordained as the dis- 
 tributors of what the needy require. Alas ! I am myself 
 but a beggar." 
 
 The words seemed to have been wi'ung out of her by 
 the meditative mood in which the stranger had found her, 
 and, whether it was that the interest which had been ex-
 
 204 
 
 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 cited in him by the appearance of the daughter had been 
 increased by the confession of the mother, or that there 
 was some secret cause working in his mind, he passed his 
 hand over his eyes, and for a moment turned away his 
 head. 
 
 " I have been both a beggar and a giver in my day," he 
 replied, as he laid down his hat and staff, and took a chair 
 opposite to the dame ; "and I am weary of the one cliarac- 
 ter and of the other. I have got with a curse ; and I have 
 given for ingratitude. But I may here give, and you may 
 receive, without either. There is an unoccupied bed ; I 
 am weary of wandering, and have enough to pay for rest." 
 
 "That is better than charity," rejoined the dame— "ay, 
 even the charity of the stranger." 
 
 "And why of the stranger, dame?" added he. "I have 
 hitherto thought that the charity o^ friends was that which 
 might be most easily borne. And who may be your bene- 
 factor ?" 
 
 " Hector Ilayston of Whitecraigs," replied she, hanging 
 her head, and drawing a deep breath. 
 
 The stranger detected the same symptoms of pain in the 
 mother as those he had observed in the daughter. 
 
 "Then forgets he not his cottars in his absence," he 
 added. " But why has he left a retreat foirer than any I 
 have yet seen throughout a long pilgrimage over many 
 lands ?" '' 
 
 " We will not speak of that," she replied, rising slowly, 
 and going to the window, where she stood for a time in 
 silence. 
 
 " You have a daughter, dame," resumed the man, as he 
 watched the indications of movement in the heart of the 
 iiiotluir. "I saw her sitting looking at the mansion of 
 Wliitccraigs. I fear she can lend you small aid; yet, if 
 lier powers of mind and body were equal to the beauty 
 that has too clearly faded from her cheeks, methinks you
 
 PRESCRIPTIOK. 205 
 
 ■would liave had small need to have taken the charity of 
 either friends or strangers." 
 
 "Ay, poor Alice! poor Alice!" rejoined the mother, 
 turning suddenly, and applying her hand to something 
 which required not her care at that time — "Ay, poor Alice!" 
 she added. 
 
 "Is it a bargain, then," said he, wishing to retreat from 
 a subject that so evidently pained her, " that I may remain 
 here for a time, on your o^vn terms of remuneration ?" 
 
 " It may be as you say," repHed she, again taking her 
 seat ; " but only on a condition." 
 
 " What is it ?" inquired he. 
 
 " That you never mention the name of Hector Hayston, 
 or of Wliitecraigs, while Alice is by. She harms no one ; 
 and I would not see her harmed." 
 
 " I perceive," said he, muttering to himself, " that I am 
 not the only one in the world who carries in his bosom a 
 secret. But," he continued, in a louder tone, "your con- 
 dition, dame, shall be fulfilled ; and now I may hold my- 
 self to be your lodger." And he proceeded to take from 
 the stuffed pockets of his coat some night-clothes of a 
 homely character, and handed them to the dame. " And 
 now," he said, " you may be, now or after, wondering who 
 he may be who has thus come, like a weary bird from the 
 waste that seeks refuge among the sere leaves, to Uve in 
 the habitation of sorrow. But you must question me not; 
 and farther than my name, which is Wallace, you may 
 know nothing of me till after the 29 th day of September — 
 ay, ay," he continued, as if calculating, "the 29th day of 
 September." 
 
 The dame started as she heard the mention of the day, 
 looked steadfastly at him, and was silent. 
 
 " Yes," he continued, " that day past, and I will once 
 more draw my breath freely in the land of my fathers ; 
 and my foot, which has only bowed tlio head of tlie
 
 206 
 
 TALES or THE BORDERS. 
 
 hcatl^er-bell in the valley, may yet collect energy enough 
 trom my unstrung nerves to press fearlessly the sod of the 
 moimtam. How long is it since your husband died ? » 
 " Seven years," replied she. 
 
 "Well, short as our acquaintance has yet been," said 
 he, our words have been only of unpleasant things 
 JNow I reqiure refreshment; and here is some smaU pay 
 m advance, to remove the ordinary prejudice against 
 strangers. We shaU be better acquainted by times I 
 will take, now, what is readiest in the house ; for you may 
 guess from my attire, that I have been accustomed to 
 hat fare by which the poor contrive to spin out the weary 
 term of their pilgrimage." 
 
 So much being arranged, the dame set about preparing 
 a meal; and Mr. Wallace, as he had called himself, pro- 
 ceeded to transform his staff into a fishing-rod, and arrange 
 us other small matters connected with his future residence 
 A^ hen the humble dish was prepared, the dame went out, 
 and, takmg her position on a green tumulus that rose 
 between the cottage and the Lyne, stood, and, placing her 
 l^ands over her eyes, looked down the water. Her eye 
 accustomed to the search, detected the form of her daugh- 
 ter far down the stream, and, waving her hand to her, she 
 beckoned her home. But she came not; and the two 
 mmatcs sat dovm to their repast. 
 
 "This shaU be for my poor Alice," said the mother, as 
 she laid aside a portion of the frugal fare; "but she will 
 take it at her own time, or perhaps not at all." 
 
 "And yet how much she needs it," added the stranger 
 her wasted form and pale face too plainly show." 
 " There is a sad change there, sir," rejoined she. "There 
 was not a fairer or more gentle creature from Tweedscross 
 to Pweedmouth than Alice Scott; nor did ever the foot of 
 Ijght-hearted innocence pass swifter over the hill or down 
 tlie glen. You have seen her to-day where she is often to
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 207 
 
 be seen — hj the pond opposite the closed-up honse of 
 Whitecraigs — and may wonder to hear how one so vrasted 
 may still reach the hill-heads ; yet there, too, she is some- 
 times seen. I have strnggied sore to make her what she 
 once was ; but in vain. She will wander and wander, 
 and return and wander again ; nor will this cease till I 
 some day find her dead body among the scggs of the Lyne, 
 or in the lirk of the hill. When I know you better, I 
 may tell you more. At present, I am eating the bread 
 of one who is more connected with this sad subject than 
 I may now confess ; and I have never been accounted un- 
 grateful." 
 
 The stranger was moved, and ate his meal in meditative 
 silence. In an hour afterwards, Alice returned to the 
 house, and, as she entered, started as her eye met that of 
 him who had, by his questions, stirred to greater activity 
 the feelings that were already too busy with her heart ; 
 but her fears Avere removed, by his avoidance of the sub- 
 ject which had pained her ; and a few hours seemed to 
 have rendered him as indifferent to her as seemed the 
 other objects around her. Some days passed, and the 
 widow would have been as well satisfied with her lodger 
 as he was mth her, had it not been that he enjoined 
 secrecy as to his residence in the house — retiring to the 
 spence when any one entered ; and if at any time he went 
 along the Lyne in the morning, he avoided those whom he 
 met ; and betook himself to private acts in the inner apart- 
 ment during the day. At times he left the cottage in tlie 
 evening, and did not return for two days ; but whither lie 
 went, the inmates knew not. The dame conjectured ho 
 had been as far as Peebles ; but her reason was merely 
 that he brought newspapers with him, and intelligence of 
 matters transacting there. The secrecy was not suited to 
 the open and simple manners to which she had been 
 accustomed ; but she recollected his words, that on the
 
 2)8 tALES O^ THE BORDERS, 
 
 29tli of September, she would know all concerning him. 
 Now these words were connected hy a chain of associations 
 that startled her. The 29th of September bad been set 
 apart by her deceased husband as a day of prayer. He 
 had never allowed it to pass without an offering of the 
 contrite heart to God ; this practice he had continued till 
 his death, and she had witnessed the act repeated for 
 fifteen years. She was no more superstitious than the rest 
 of her class ; she was, indeed, probably less so ; and her 
 theories, formed for an adequate explanation of the start- 
 ling coincidence, were probably as philosophical as if they 
 had been formed by reason acting under the astute direc- 
 tion of scepticism. Yet where is the mind, untutored or 
 
 learned, that can throw away at all times, at all houi'S 
 
 when the heart is in the sunshine of the cheerful day of 
 worldly intercourse, or in the deep shadow of the wing of 
 eternity— all thoughts of all powers save those of natm-al 
 causes, which are themselves a mystery? We may sport 
 Avith the subject ; but it comes again back on the heart, 
 and we sigh in whispering words of fear, that in the hands 
 of God we are nothing. 
 
 One day Mr. Wallace was seated at breakfast ; he had 
 been away for two nights ; Alice was sitting by the side of 
 the fire, looking into the heart of the red embers, and the 
 mother was superintending the breakfast ; he took out a 
 newspaper from his pocket, and, without a word of pre- 
 monition, read a paragraph in a deep, solemn voice. 
 
 " Died at Street, London, Maria Knight, wife of 
 
 Hector Hayston, Esq., of Whitccraigs, in the county of 
 Peebles, in Scotland." 
 
 A pecuUar sound struggled in the tlu'oat of Ahcc ; but 
 it passed, and she was silent. The mother sat and looked 
 Wallace in the face, to ascertain what construction to put 
 upon the occurrence which he had thus read with an em- 
 phasis betokening a greater interest than it might demand
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 209 
 
 from one, as yet, all but ignorant, as she thonglit, of the 
 true circumstances of the condition of her daughter. He 
 made no commentary on what he had read ; but looking 
 again at the paper, and turning it over, as if searching for 
 some other news, he fixed his eyes on an advertisement in 
 the fourth page. He then read — 
 
 " On the 1st day of October next, there wiU be exposed 
 to pubHc roup and sale, within the Town-HaU of Peebles, 
 by virtue of the powers of sale contained in a mortgage 
 granted by Hector Hayston, Esq., of Whitecraigs, in favoiir 
 of George Colville of Haughton, all and hail the lands and 
 
 estate of Whitecraigs, situated in the parish of , and 
 
 shire of Peebles, with the mansion-house, offices, &c." 
 
 He then laid down the paper, and, looking the widow 
 fuU in the face — 
 
 " The day of sale of Wliitecraigs," said he, " is the second 
 day after the 29th of September. It would have been too 
 much had it been on that day itself." 
 
 No reply was made to his remark. The announcement 
 called up in the mind of the dame more than she could 
 express ; but that which concerned more closely herself, 
 was too apparently veiled with no mystery. The sale of 
 Wliitecraigs was the ejection of herself and daughter from 
 Homestead ; and she knew not wliither she and her 
 daughter were now to be driven, to seek refuge and sus- 
 tenance from a world from Avhich she had been so long 
 estranged. 
 
 *' AU things come to a termination," she said. " For 
 many years I haA'e lived here, wife and widow ; and if I 
 have felt sorrow, I have also enjoyed. The world is A\dde; 
 and if I may be obliged to ask and to receive charity, the 
 God who moves the hand to give it, may not again — now 
 that His purpose may be served by my contrition — select 
 that of the destroyer of my child. But there is another 
 that must be taken from these haunts ; " and, turning to
 
 210 TALES OP TOE BORDERS. 
 
 Alice, whose foce was still directed to the fire, she gazed 
 on her hapless daughter, , while the tear stole do-vvn her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Wallace's eye was fixed on the couple. He seemed to 
 understand the allusion of the mother, which indicated 
 plainly enough, that though the hills and glens of White- 
 craigs had been the scene of the ruin of her daughter's 
 peace, she anticipated still more fetal consequences from 
 taking her away from them. Meanwhile, Alice, who had 
 listened to and understood all, arose fi:om her seat. 
 
 "I will never leave Whitecraigs, mother," she said; and 
 bent her steps towards the door. 
 
 " Let her follow her fancy," said Wallace, Then relaps- 
 ■ ing into a fit of musing, he added— "the 29th of September 
 of this year will soon be of the time that is. For twenty 
 years I have looked forward to that day— under a burning 
 sun, far from my native land, I have sighed for it — in the 
 midnight hour I have counted the years and days that 
 Avere between. Every anniversary was devoted to the God 
 who has chastened the heart of the sinner ; and there was 
 need, when that heart was full of the thoughts inspired by 
 that day, and penitence came on the wings of terror. Now 
 it approaches ; and I have not miscalculated the benefits 
 it may poiu- on other heads than mine." 
 
 "Alasl" said the widow, as she cast her eye through 
 the window after her daughter, "there is no appointed 
 day for the termination of the sorrows of tliat poor crea- 
 ture. To the broken-hearted, one day as another, sunshine 
 or shower, is the same. But what hand shall bear Alice 
 Scott from Wliitecraigs ? " 
 
 "Perhaps none," replied Wallace, as, taking up the 
 newspaper, he retired to an inner apartment, where he 
 usually spent the day. Some hours passed ; and, in the 
 afternoon, Mr. Pringle, while passing, took occasion to call 
 at Homestead, and informed the widow that it would be
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 21 1 
 
 her duty to look out for another habitation, as Whitecraigs 
 was to be sold by the creditor, Mr. Colville, whose object 
 in granting the loan was, if possible, to take advantage of 
 the difficulties into which extravagance had plunged the 
 young proprietor, and to bring the property into the 
 market, that he might purchase it as an appanage of the 
 old estate of Haughton, from which it had been disjoined. 
 He represented it as a cruel proceeding, and that its 
 cruelty was enhanced by the circumstance of the sale 
 being advertised in the same paper which contained the 
 intelligence of the death of Hector's young ^vife. Another 
 Ustener might have replied that God's ways are just ; but 
 Dame Scott, if she thought at the time of her daughter, 
 considered also that Hayston had supported her for many 
 years. 
 
 " Good dame," added the agent, " it might havr "jeen 
 well for my young friend if he had remained at V/hite- 
 craigs. I never saw the wife he married, and has just lost 
 in the bloom of youth ; but she must have been fair in- 
 deed, if she was fairer than she whom he left. Yet 
 Hector's better principles did not, I am satisfied, entirely 
 forsake him. The disinclination he has shown to visit his 
 paternal property, was the result of a clinging remem- 
 brance of her he left mourning in the midst of its glens; 
 nor do I wonder at it, for even I have turned aside to 
 avoid the sight of Alice Scott, Misfortunes, however, are 
 sometimes mercies; and the change of residence you will 
 be now driven to, may aid in the cure of a disease that is 
 only fed by these scenes of Whitecraigs." 
 
 He here paused, and, putting his hand in his pocket, 
 took out some money. 
 
 " This may be the last gift," he said, as he presented it 
 to her, " that Hector Hayston may ever send you. These 
 are his words. His fortunes are ruined, his wife is dead, 
 and, worse than all, his peace of mind is fled."
 
 212 
 
 TALKS OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Heaven have mercy on him!" replied the wiJow. 
 " One word of reproach has never escaped the lips of me 
 or my daughter. I have suffered in this cottage without 
 murmuring, and the glens and hoUows of Whitecraigs 
 have alone heard the complainings of Alice Scott. She 
 will cling to these places to the last; but were the windows 
 of the deserted house again opened, with strange faces 
 there, and maybe the lights of the entertainments of the 
 happy shining through them, she might feel less pleasure 
 m sitting by the pond from which she now so often sur- 
 veys the deserted mansion. This last gift, sir, moves my 
 tears— yea, for all I and mine have suffered from Hector 
 Hayston." 
 
 The agent had performed his duty, and departed with 
 the promise that he would, of his own accord, endeavour 
 to prevail upon some of his employers to grant her a cot- 
 tage, if the purchaser of Whitecraigs should resist an 
 appeal for her to remain. He had no sooner gone, than 
 the stranger Wallace, who had heard tlie conversation, 
 entered. He asked her how much money Hector had 
 sent as his last gift ; and, on being informed — 
 
 " That young man," he said, "has fallen a victim to the 
 allurements of a town life. The story of your daughter 
 has been known to me ; but I have avoided the mention 
 of the name of Hayston, which could only have yielded 
 pain without an amelioration of its cause. That gift speaks 
 to me volumes. Even fashion has not sterilized the heart 
 of that young man. He has erred — he may have trans- 
 gressed—but for all, all, there is a 29th of September! " 
 
 The allusion he thus made was as inscrutable as ever. 
 Again she redected upon her husband's conduct upon that 
 day of the year ; and again, as she had done a hundred 
 times, searched the face of the speaker. But she abstained 
 from question ; and the day passed, and others came, till 
 tlie eventful morning was ushered in by sunshine. Wallace
 
 PRESCRiraON. 213 
 
 was up by times ; aud his prayers were heard directed to 
 the Throne of Mercy, in thanks and heart-expressed con- 
 trition. In the forenoon he went forth with freedom, 
 cHmbed the hills, and conversed with the anglers he met 
 on the Lyne. He seemed as if relieved from some Aveighty 
 burden; and the dame, who had carefully watched his 
 motions, waited anxiously for the secret. He had not, 
 however, pledged himself to reveal it on that day. He 
 had only said that all would be made known some time 
 after the day had passed ; and, accordingly, he made no 
 declaration. Yet, at bedtime, he was again engaged in 
 prayers, and even during the night he was heard mutter- 
 ing expressions of thanksgiving to the Author of the day, 
 aud what the day brmgeth. 
 
 On the following morning, he announced his intention 
 of going to Peebles, whither he was supposed to have gone 
 before ; but now his manner of going was ch;«:?ged. He 
 purposed taking the coach, which, as it passed within some 
 miles of Whitecraigs, he intended to wait for, and on de- 
 parting — 
 
 "You will not hear of me tiU to-morrow night," he said. 
 " I can now face man ; would that I could with the same 
 confidence hold up my countenance to God. Alice Scott," 
 he continued, as he looked to the girl, "I will not forget 
 you in my absence. Your day of sorrow has been long ; 
 but there may yet be a 2'Jth of September even to you." 
 
 And, taking the maiden kindly in his arms, he whispered 
 some words in her ear, in which the magic syllables of a 
 name she trembled to hear Avere mixed. Her eyes exhi- 
 bited a momentary briglitness, a deep sigh heaved hor 
 bosom, and again her head declined, with a whisper on her 
 lips — "Never, O never!" In a moment after, he was 
 gone; and the Avidow Avas left to ascertain from Alice 
 what he had said, to bring again, even for a moment, the 
 blood to her cheek.
 
 21-i TALES OF THE BOKJJERS. 
 
 On the day after, there ^vas a crowd of people in the 
 ToAvn-Hall' of Peebles, and the auctioneer Avas reading 
 aloud the articles of roup of the lands of Whitecraigs. Mr. 
 Colville was there in high hopes ; but there were others 
 too, who seemed inclined to disappoint them. The pro- 
 perty was set up at the price of fifteen thousand pounds, 
 and that sum was soon offered by the tolder of the mort- 
 gage. Other bodes quickly followed, and a competition 
 commenced, which soon raised the price to eighteen 
 thousand, at which it seemed to be destined to be given to 
 Ilaughton. The other competitors appeared timid; and 
 several declared themselves done, one by one, untH no one 
 was expected to advance a pound higher. All was silence, 
 save for the voice of the auctioneer ; and he had already 
 begun his ominous once, twice, when a voice which had not 
 yet been heard, cried— "Eighteen thousand two himdrcd." 
 The hammer was suspended, and all eyes turned to view 
 the doughty assailant, who would, at the end of the day, 
 vanquish the champion who had as yet retained the field. 
 Those eyes recognised in the bidder a man poorly clothed, 
 and more hke an alms-seeker than the purchaser of an 
 estate— no other was that man than Mr. Wallace. The 
 auctioneer looked at him ; others looked and wondered ; 
 and Ilaughton gloomed, as he advanced another hundred ; 
 and that was soon followed by a hundred more, which led 
 to a competition that seemed to be embittered on the one 
 part by pride and contempt, and on the other by determi- 
 nation. Hundred upon hundred followed in rapid succes- 
 sion, till Ilaughton gave up in despair, and a shout rung 
 through the hall as the hammer feU, and the estate was 
 declared the property of the humble stranger, whom no 
 one knew, and whom no one would have considered worth 
 more tlian the clothes he carried on his back. A certifi- 
 cate of a banker at Peebles— that he held in his hands 
 funds, belonging to the purchaser, of greater amount than
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 215 
 
 the price — satisfied tlie judge of the roup ; and the party 
 were divided in cii'cles, conversing on the strange turn 
 •which had been given to the sale of Wliitecraigs. 
 
 On the same night, Wallace returned to Homestead, and 
 sat down composedly to the humble meal that had been 
 prepared for him by the widow. Alice was in her usua. 
 seat : and the placidity of manner which distinguished 
 them from ordinary sufferers, spoke their usual obedience 
 to the Divine will. 
 
 "This day the property of Wliitecraigs has changed 
 masters ! " said he. 
 
 "And who has purchased it?" inquired the mother. 
 
 " He who is now sitting before you !" replied he. 
 
 Alice turned her head to look at him ; the mother sat 
 mute vdih surprise ; while he rose and fastened the door. 
 
 " It is even so," he continued, as he again sat down ; 
 "David Scott, the brother of yoiir husband, and the uncle 
 of Alice, has this day purchased Whitecraigs." 
 
 A faint scream from the mother followed this annoimce- 
 ment, and, recovering herself, she again fixed her eyes on 
 the stranger. 
 
 " It is true," continued he ; " I am the brother of your 
 deceased husband. For two years after you were married 
 to Adam, you would, doubtless, hear him speak of me, as 
 then engaged in a calling of which I may now be ashamed, 
 for I was one of the most daring smugglers on the Solway. 
 The 29th of September, 17 — , da-\\Tied upon me, yet with 
 hands -unsullied in the blood of man ; but the sun of that 
 day set upon me as proscribed by God and my country, 
 ^ly name was read on the house walls, and execration 
 followed my steps, as I flew from cave to cave. Yet who 
 could have told that that day in which my evil spirit 
 >vrought its greatest triumph over good, was that whose 
 evening shades closed upon a repentant soul!" 
 
 He paused, and placed his hand on his brow.
 
 216 TALES OF THE BOUPEKS. 
 
 " These things are to me as an old dream,'' replied the 
 widow, looking round her, as if in search of memorials of 
 stationary space. "^ly husband never afterwards men- 
 tioned your name, save to inform me that you had died in 
 the "West Indies ; yet now I see the import of his devotion, 
 in the coming round of the day that shamed the honest 
 family to whom he belonged." 
 
 " And it was to save that shame, and to secure my 
 safety under my assumed name, that, after I flew to the 
 islands of the west, I got intelligence of my death sent to 
 Scotland. "V\'Tiat other than the issue of this day must 
 have been in the view of the great Disposer of events, 
 Avhen, in addition to the grace He poxired on the heart of 
 the sinner. He invested the arm that had been lifted 
 against His creatures with the prosperity that filled my 
 coffers! But, alas! though I may have reason to trust 
 to the forgiveness of Heaven, that of man I may never 
 expect." 
 
 " And punishment still awaits you ? " rejoined she. 
 " No, no ! " he cried, as he rose and placed his foot 
 firmly on the floor. *' I am free — the heart may hate me, 
 tlie tongue may scorn me, the hand may point at me, but 
 it dare not strike. On the 29th of September I was no 
 longer amenable to the laws for the crime Avhich drove me 
 to foreign lands : twenty years free the culprit from the 
 vengeance of man ; the last day of that period was the 
 29th of September — it is past; and now God is my only 
 judge." He again paused, "But I must live still as 
 David Wallace. The name of Scott shall not be sullied 
 by me. As David Wallace I have made my fortune, and 
 as David Wallace made my supplications to Heaven. By 
 the same name I have bought Whitccraigs, and by that 
 name I shall make it over to one who may yet retrieve the 
 honour of our humble house— to Alice, who should, through 
 other means, have been mistress. Come to your natu'-al
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 2 1 7 
 
 protector, Alice, and tell him if you will consent to be tlie 
 lady of Whitecraigs." 
 
 The girl, on whom the ordinary occtuTences of life now 
 seldom made any impression, had listened attentively to the 
 extraordinary facts and intentions thus evolved; and, at 
 his bidding, rose and stood by his side. He took her hand, 
 and looked into her face. 
 
 "I knew," said he, "that I was pledged not to mention 
 a certain name whUe you were by ; and I kept my word, 
 with the exception of the whisper I stole into your ear on 
 the day I set out for Peebles. But things are now changed. 
 The rights of WTiitecraigs are now in the act of being made 
 out in your name. Within a month you will be mistress 
 of that mansion, and of those gi-een dells and hills you 
 have loved to wander among in joy and in sorrow. Now, 
 wiU you answer me a question ? " 
 
 " I wiU ! " she repHed. 
 
 " What Avould be your answer to Hector Hayston — who 
 is now no longer a husband, and no longer rich — were he 
 to come to Whitccraigs and make amends for all that is 
 by and gone ? Would you receive him kindly, or turn 
 him from the door of the house of his fathers ? " 
 
 The question was too sudden, or too touchingly devised. 
 She looked for a moment in his face, burst into tears, and 
 hid her face in his breast. 
 
 "Try her poor heart not thus!" cried the mother 
 " Time, that as yet has done nothing but made ravages, 
 may now, when things are so changed, work miracles. Do 
 not press the question. A woman and a mother knows 
 better than you can do what are now her feelings. The 
 answer is not asked — Alice, your uncle has taken back his 
 question ! " 
 
 " I have — I have !" replied he, as he pressed her to his 
 breast. " Look up, my dear Alice. I have, in my pride 
 -«»jjcl Dower, been hasty, and thought J -jould r'lle the h'^ai-t
 
 "•^^ TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 of woman as I have done my o^yn, even in its rebeUion 
 agamst God. I have yet aU to learn of those secret work- 
 ings of the spirit, in aU save repentance. I never myself 
 knew what it was to love, far less what it is to love and be 
 forsaken. No more-no more. I will not again touch 
 those strings." 
 
 And, rising hurriedly, he consigned the maid to her 
 mother, and went out, to afford her time to collect a^ain 
 her thouglits. During the foHowing week the fm-niture 
 of Whitecraigs was disposed of by Mr. Pringle, for behoof 
 of the other creditors of Hayston, and purchased by the 
 imcle, who took another journey to Peebles, for the pur- 
 pose of negotiating the sale, and making further prepara- 
 tions for obtauiing entry. In a fortnight after, the keys 
 were sent to Homestead by a messenger, while the making 
 up of the titles was in the course of progress. It was no 
 part of the intention of WaUace to reside in the mansion- 
 liouse: his object was still secrecy; and, though the form 
 and character of the transaction might lead ultimately to 
 a discovery, he cared not. By the prescription of the 
 crime he had committed, he was free from punishment; 
 while, by retaining his name, and living ostensibly in a 
 liiunble condition, he had a chance of escaping a detection 
 of his true character, at the same time that he might, by 
 humility and good services, render himself more acceptable 
 to that Great Power whose servant he now considered him- 
 self to be. 
 
 On the twenty-first day of October, the house of ^Vliite- 
 craigs was again open. Servants had been procured from 
 Peebles; the fires were again burning; the ^vreaths of 
 smoke again ascended from among the trees ; and hfe and 
 living action were taking the place of descrtedness On 
 the forenoon of that day, Wallace took tlie two females 
 from Homestead, and conducted them, hanging on his 
 arms, to their new place of residence. To speak of^feelings
 
 PltESCBLPTlON. 219 
 
 ■\vliere a change comprehended an entire revolution of a 
 life of habit, thought, and sentiment, would be as vain as 
 unintelligible. From that day, when the uncle had put 
 the trying question to his niece, a change might have been 
 detected working a gradual influence on her appearance 
 and conduct. Might we say that hope had again lighted 
 her taper within the recesses where all had been so long 
 dreary darkness ! Tlie change would not authorize an 
 affirmative — it would have startled the ear that might have 
 feared and yet loved the sounds. One not less versed in 
 human nature might be safer in the construction derived 
 from the new objects, new duties, new desires, new thoughts, 
 from all the thousand things that act on the mind in this 
 wonderfal scene of man's existence ; but would he be 
 truer to the nature of the heart that has once loved? We 
 may be contented with a mean, where extremes shoot into 
 the darkness of our mysterious nature. Ahce Scott took 
 in gradually the interests of her new sphere ; did not 
 despise the apparel suited to it; did not reject the manners 
 that adorned it ; did not turn a deaf ear or a dead eye to 
 the eloquent ministers that lay around amidst the beauties 
 of "VVliitecraigs and hailed her as mistress, where she was 
 once a servant, if not a beggar. 
 
 Meanwhile the house of Homestead was enlarged, to 
 fit it as a residence for the tmcle. Mr. Pringle was con- 
 tinued agent for the proprietress of Whitecraigs ; and, 
 while many, doubtless, speculated on a thousand theories 
 as to these strange occurrences, we may not deny to Hec- 
 tor Hayston, wherever he was, or in whatever circum- 
 stances, some interest in what concerned him so nearly as 
 the disposal of his estate, and the fortune of her by whom 
 his first affections had been awakened. Neither shall we 
 say that Wallace and Pringle had not, too, their secret 
 views and understandings, and that the latter was not 
 sUcnt where the interests of his old employer called for
 
 2^0 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 coufideuce. In aU wliich we may be justified by the fact 
 that, one day, the agent of Wliitccraigs introduced to the 
 bachelor of Homestead a young man : it was the former 
 proprietor of AVlutecraigs. 
 
 " It is natural, Mr. Wallace," said Mr. Pringle, " that 
 one should wish to re^dsit the scenes of his youth— espe- 
 cially," he added, with a smile, "when these have been 
 one's own property, come from prior generations; and lost 
 by the thoughtlessness of youth." 
 
 " It is," replied WaUace, renouncing his usual gravity, 
 " even though there should be no one there who might 
 claim the hand of old friendship. But this young man has 
 only, as yet, seen the hill-tops of his father's lands ; and 
 these claim no seclusion from the eye of the traveller. He 
 might wish, with greater ardency, to see tlie bed where liis 
 mother lay when she bore him, or the cradle (which 
 may still be in the house) where she rocked him to 
 sleep." 
 
 "God be mercifid to me!" replied the youth, as he 
 turned away his head. " This man touches strings whose 
 vibrations harrow me. Sir," he added, " were you ever 
 yourself in the situation of him whose feelings you have 
 tluis, from good motives, quickened so painfully?" 
 
 " T\liat Whitccraigs and she who lives now in the house 
 yonder were or are to you, Scotland and my kindred were 
 to me ; but the house where I was born knows me not, 
 and tlie bed and the cradle do not own me. But Alice 
 Scott recognised me as a fellow-creature, whatever more I 
 say not ; and even that, from one so good, and, even yet, 
 so beautiful— is something to live for. No more. I knovv 
 all. "Will you risk a meeting?" 
 
 "Mr. Pringle will answer for me," rcpHed he, as he 
 turned, with a full heart, to the window. 
 
 "And I will answer for Mr. Pringle," said Wallace. 
 
 "But who will answer for hcrV rejoined the other.
 
 PRESCRIPTION. 221 
 
 " Stay there," said Wallace. " I will return in a few 
 minutes." 
 
 And, bending his steps to "VVliitecraigs House, he was, 
 for a time, engaged with Alice and her mother. He again 
 returned to Homestead ; and, in a few minutes after, the 
 tliree were walking towards the mansion. The eye of the 
 young man glanced furtively from side to side, as if to 
 catch ghmpses of old features which had become strange 
 to him ; but in the direction of the house he seemed to 
 have no power to look — lagging behind, and displaying an 
 anxiety to be concealed, by the bodies of the others, from 
 the view of the windows. On arriving at the house, Wal- 
 lace and Pringle went into an apartment where the mother 
 was seated. Hector stood in the passage : he feared that 
 Alice was there, and would not enter. 
 
 " Think you," whispered Wallace, quickly returning to 
 him, "that I, Avhom yoiT accused of touching tender chords, 
 am so little acquainted with human nature as to admit of 
 witnesses to your meeting with Alice Scott? There, the 
 green parlour in the west "vving," he continued, pointing 
 up the inside stair to a room well known to the youth. 
 " If you cannot effect it, who may try ? Go — go ! " 
 
 "I cannot — I cannot!" he replied, in deep tones. "My 
 feet will not carry me. That room was my mother's fa- 
 vouiite parlour. A thousand associations are busy with 
 me. And now, who sits there?" 
 
 " Come, come !" said Pringle, as he came forth, in con- 
 sequence of hearing Haystou's irresolution. " "What did 
 you expect on coming here ? Ahce to come and fly to 
 you with open arms ? " 
 
 "No, sir; to reject me Avith a wove of disdain !" replied 
 the youth. " I am smitten from within, and confidence 
 has left me. Let me see her mother first. My cruehy to 
 her has been mixed vnth kindness, and she may give me 
 some heart."
 
 222 
 
 TALES OP THE EORDEKs. 
 
 And he turned to the apartment wliere the mother sat. 
 
 " Your confidence will not be restored by anything the 
 mother can say !" rejoined Pringle, whowasgetting alarmed 
 for the success of his efforts. "AUce is now mistress here, 
 and must be won by contriti6n, and a prayer for forcvive' 
 ness." ° 
 
 "Ho!" interjected Wallace. '-'To what tends this 
 mummery ? Must I take you by tlie hand, and lead you 
 to one who, for years, has seen you in every flitting shade 
 of the hills, and heard you in every note of the sighinf^ 
 winds of the valley?" '^ 
 
 "To hate me as I deserve to be hated !" replied Hay- 
 ston, still irresolute. ''None of you can give me any 
 ground for hope, and seem to push me on to experience a 
 i-ejection which may seal my misery for ever ! " 
 
 Wallace smiled in silence, beckoned Pringle into the 
 room beside the mother, and taking Hayston by the arm, 
 with a show of humour that accorded but indifferently 
 Avitli the real anguish of doubt and dismay by which the 
 young man's mind was occupied, forced him on to the first 
 step of the inside stair. 
 
 "You are now fairly committed!" said he, smiling; 
 "to retreat, is ruin; to advance, happiness, and love, and 
 peace." 
 
 And he retreated to the room where Pringle was, leaving- 
 tlie youth to the strength or weakness of his own resolu° 
 tion. His tread was now heard, slow and hesitating, on 
 the stair. Some time elapsed before the sound of the 
 opening door was heard; and that it remained for a time 
 oj^eu, held by the doubtful hand, might also have been 
 observed. At last it was shut ; and (piick steps on the 
 fioor indicated that the first look had not been fraught 
 with rejection. 
 
 The party below were, meanwhile, speculating on the 
 result of the meeting. Even the mother was not certain
 
 pRKScniPTiON. 223 
 
 that it -would, at first, be attended with success. Alice 
 had yielded no consent; and it was only from the mother's 
 constructibn of her looks, that she had given her aiithority 
 for the interview. 
 
 " All is now decided, for good or evil," said Wallace. 
 " Go up stairs, and bring us a report of the state of 
 affairs." 
 
 The mother obeyed ; and, after a considerable time, 
 returned, with her eyes swdmming in tears. 
 
 " Is it so ? " said her friend. " Is it really so ? Has all 
 my labour been fruitless ?" 
 
 " No," replied she ; " but I could not stand the sight. 
 I found her lying on the breast of Hector, sobbiog out the 
 sorrows of years. Her eyes have been long dry. The 
 heart is at last opened." 
 
 " Too good a sight for me to lose," replied her friend. 
 " For twenty years I have only known the tears of peni- 
 tence : I will now experience those that flow from the 
 happiness of others." 
 
 And, with these words, he hurried up stairs. Yv^'e 
 would foUow, but that we are aware of the dancrer of 
 treading ground almost forbidden to inspiration. Within 
 two hours afterwards. Hector Hayston and Alice Scott 
 were again among the glens of Whitecraigs, seeking out 
 those places where, before, they used to breathe the ac- 
 cents of a first affection. The one had been true to the 
 end ; and the other had been false only to learn the beauty 
 of truth. We have given these details from a true record, 
 and have derived pleasiu'e from the recollections they have 
 awakened ; but we fairly admit, that we would yield one 
 half of what we have experienced of the good, to have 
 marked that day the workings of the retrieved spirit in the 
 eyes, and speech, and manners of Alice Scott. These are 
 nature's true magic. The drooping flower that is all but 
 dead in the dry, parched soil, raises its head, takes on
 
 o-> 
 
 2i TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 fre.sh colours, and gives forth fresh odours, as the spring 
 sliowers fall on its withered leaves. Oh ! there is a niao-ic 
 there that escapes not even the eye of dull labour, retiring 
 home sick of all but the repose he needs. But the process 
 in the frame that is the temple of beauty, worth, intelli- 
 gence, sensibility, rearing all in lovehness afresh, out of 
 v.-hat was deemed the ruins only of what is the greatest 
 and best of God's works — to see this, and to feel it, is to 
 rty'oice that we are placed in a world that, with all its ele- 
 ments of vice and sorrow, is yet a place where the good 
 and the virtuous may find something analogous to that 
 for which the spirit pants in other worlds. 
 
 Yet, though we saw it not, we have enough of the con- 
 ception, througli fancy, to be thankful for the gift even of 
 the ideal of the good ; and here we are satisfied that we 
 ha\e more. Hector Ilayston and Alice Scott were mar- 
 ried. David Wallace's history was long concealed, but 
 curiosity finally triumphed ; yet with no effect calculated 
 to impair the equanimity of a mind which repentance, 
 and a reliance on God's grace, had long rendered indepen- 
 dent of the opinions of men. lie had wrought for evil, 
 and good came of it; and he lived long to see, in the house 
 of Whitecraigs, its master, mistress, and children, the 
 b»!nefits of the prescription which the 29th of September 
 effected — a principle of the law of Scotland that was long 
 deemed inconsistent with the good of the land, but now 
 more properly considered as being no less in unison with 
 the feelings of man than it is with divine mercy.
 
 THE COUKTESS OF WISTONDURV 225 
 
 THE COUNTESS OP WISTONBURY. 
 
 In tho summer of 1836 I had occasion to make a journey 
 into Wiltshire, in EngLand. As the business that called 
 me there, although of suilicient importance to me, woidd 
 have no interest whatever for the reader, I will readily be 
 excused, I dare say, from saying of what nature that 
 business was. It will more concern him, from its connec- 
 tion -with the sequel, to know that my residence, while in 
 England, was in a certain beautiful little villnge at the 
 southern extremity of the shu-e above named, and that 
 mine host, during my stay there, was the worthy landlord 
 of the "White Hart Inn, as intelligent and well-informed a 
 man as it has often been my good fortune to meet with. 
 The nature of the business which made me a guest of 
 Michael Jones, left me a great deal more spare time than 
 I knew well what to do with. It hung heavy upon my 
 hands; and my good host, perceiving this, suggested a Httle 
 excursion, which, he said, he thought would dispose of one 
 day, at any rate, agreeably enough. 
 
 "I would recommend you, sir," he said, " to pay a visit 
 to Oxton Ilall, the seat of the Earl of Wistonbury.* It 
 is one of the finest residences in England ; and, as the 
 family are not there just now, you may see the whole 
 house, both inside and outside. If you think of it, I will 
 give you a line to the butler, a very old friend of mine, 
 and he will be glad to show you all that's worth seeing 
 about the place." 
 
 " How far dis^tant is it ? " I inquired. 
 
 * Under this name we choose, for obrious reasons, to c<.nceal the real 
 one— E<l. 
 
 Yoi,. I H
 
 226 TALES OF THE BOKDER?. 
 
 *' Oil, not more than three miles and a half— little more 
 than an hour's easy walk," replied mine host. 
 
 " ExceUent !" said I ; « thank you for the hint, landlord. 
 Let me have the introduction to the butler you spoke 
 about, and I'll set off directly." 
 
 In less than five minutes, a card, addressed to Mr. John 
 Grafton, butler, Oxton Hall, was put into my hands, and 
 in two minutes more I was on my way to the ancient seat 
 of the Earls of Wistonbury. The directions given me as 
 to my route, carefully noted on my part, brought me, in 
 little more than an hour, to a spacious and noble gateway, 
 secured by a magnificent gate of cast-iron. This I at once 
 recognised, from the description given me by Mr. Jones, to 
 be the principal entrance to Oxton Hall. Satisfied that it 
 was so, I unhesitatingly entered— and the house of one of 
 the proudest of England's aristocracy stood before me, 
 in all its lordly magnificence. A spacious lavm, of the 
 brightest and most beautiful verdure, dotted over Avith 
 noble oaks, and tenanted by some scores of fallow-deer, 
 stretched far and wide on every side. In the centre of this 
 splendid park— such a park as England alone can exhibit- 
 arose the mansion-house, an ancient and stately pile, of 
 great extent and lofty structure. 
 
 Having found the person to whose civilities I was recom- 
 mended by mine host of the White Hart— a mild and 
 pleasant-looking old man, of about seventy years of age— 
 I put my credentials into his hands. On reading it, the 
 old man looked at me smilingly, and said that he would 
 have much pleasure in obhging his good friend ]\Ir. Jones, 
 by showing me all that was worth seeing both in and 
 about the house; and many things both curious and rare, 
 and, I may add, both costly and splendid, did I see ere 
 another hour had passed away; but fearing the reader's 
 patience would scarcely stand the trial of a description of 
 them, I refrain from the experiment, and proceed to say,
 
 THE COUNTESS OF \nSTONBIIRY. 227 
 
 that, just as our survey of the house was concluded, my 
 cicerone, as if suddenly recollecting himself, said— 
 
 '*By-the-by, sir, perhaps you would like to see the 
 pictTU-e gallery, although it is hardly worth seeing just now 
 — most of the pictures having been removed to our house 
 in Grosvenor Square last winter; and, being in tliis 
 denuded state, I never think of shomng it to visitors. 
 There are, however, a few portraits of different members 
 of the family still left, and these you may see if you have 
 any curiosity regarding them." 
 
 Such curiosity I avowed I felt, and was immediately 
 conducted into the presence of a number of the pictorial 
 ancestry of the illustrious house of "Wistonbuiy. The 
 greater part of the pictures had been removed, as my con- 
 ductor had informed me; but a few still remained scattered 
 along the lofty walls of the gaUery. 
 
 " That," said my cicerone, pointing to a grim warrior, 
 clad from head to heel in a panoply of steel, — " that is 
 Henry, first Earl of Wistonbury, who fell in Palestine 
 during the holy wars; and this," directing my attention 
 to another picture, " is the grandfather of the present Earl." 
 
 " A very handsome and pleasant-looking young man," 
 said I, struck ■\\'ith the forcible representation of these 
 quahties which the painting exhibited. 
 
 "Ay," replied the old man, "and as good as he was 
 handsome. He is the pride of the house; and the covmtry 
 around yet rings with his name, associated with all that is 
 kind and charitable." 
 
 " And who is this lovely creature?" said I, now pointing 
 in my turn to the portrait of a young female of the most 
 exquisite beauty — the face sti'ilcingly resembling some of 
 the best executed likenesses of the unfortunate Queen 
 Mary — which hung beside that of the Good Earl of 
 Wistonbury, as the nobleman of whom my cicerone had 
 just spoken was called throughout the coimtry
 
 228 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Tliat lady, sir," replied the latter, "was his -wife— 
 the Countess of Wistonbiiry. She was one of the most 
 beautiful women of her time; and, like her husband, was 
 beloved by all around her, for the gentleness of her manners 
 and benevolence of her disposition." 
 
 "But what's this ?" said I, advancing a little nearer the 
 picture, to examine something in her attire that puzzled 
 me. "A Scotch plaid!" I exclaimed in considerable sur- 
 prise, on ascertaining that this was the article of dress 
 which had perplexed me. "Pray, what has the Scotch 
 plaid to do here ? How happens it that we find a Countess 
 of Wistonbury arrayed in the costtune of Caledonia ? " 
 
 " VThj, sir, the reason is good — perfectly satisfiictory," 
 rephed Mr. Grafton, smilingly. " She was a native of that 
 country." 
 
 "Indeed!" said L "A countrywoman of mine! Of 
 what family?" added I. 
 
 My conductor smiled. 
 
 " Truly," said he, after a pause, " that is a question easier 
 put than answered." 
 
 "What!" said I, "was she not of some distinguished 
 house?" 
 
 " By no means, sir," replied Mr. Grafton. " She was a 
 person of the humblest birth and station; but this did not 
 hinder her from becoming Countess of Wistonbury, nor 
 from being one of the best as well as most beautiful that 
 ever bore the title." 
 
 "Ah, ha!" said I to myself, "here's a story for tha 
 ' Tales of the Borders.'" I did not say this to Mr. Grafton, 
 however; but to him I did say— "There must be some 
 interesting story connected mth this lady. The history of 
 her singular good fortune must be curious, and well worth 
 hearing." 
 
 " Why, it certainly is," replied my conductor, with the 
 air of one who, while he cannot but acknowledge that there
 
 THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURY. 229 
 
 is interest in a certain piece of information wliicli he pos- 
 sesses, is yet so familiar with it himself, has owned it so 
 long, and communicated it so often, that his feehngs seem 
 to belie his words — the former remaining unmoved by the 
 tale which the latter unfolds. " There is certainly some- 
 thing curious in the Countess's story," said Mr. Grafton ; 
 "and, now that we have seen everything that is worth 
 seeing, if you will come with me to my little refectory, I 
 will tell you all about it over a tankard of fine old ale and 
 a sHce of cold round." 
 
 Need I say, good reader, that I at once and gladly 
 accepted an invitation that so happUy combined the in- 
 tellectual and the sensual ? You will give me credit for 
 more sense; and the following story will prove at once 
 that your good opinion is not misplaced, that I must have 
 been an attentive listener, and, lastly, that I must be blessed 
 with a pretty retentive memory. I relate the story in my 
 own Avay, but without taking the shghtest Uberty with any 
 single one of the details given me by my informant, who, 
 from having been upwards of forty-five years La the service 
 of the Earls of Wistonbury, and, dm'ing the greater part of 
 that time their principal and most confidential domestic, 
 was minutely and accurately informed regarding every 
 remarkable event that had occurred in the family for 
 several generations back. 
 
 " But, before we leave this part of the house," resumed 
 Mr. Grafton, " be so good as step with me a moment into 
 this small room here, till I show you a certain Uttle article 
 that cuts some figure in the story which I shall shortly tell 
 you." 
 
 Saying this, he led the way into the small apartment he 
 aUuded to, and, conducting me towards a handsome ebony 
 or blackwood cabinet that occupied one end of the room, 
 he threw open its little folding doors, and exliibited to me, 
 uot some rich or rare cui'iosity, as I had expected, but a
 
 230 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 small, plain, very plain— or I should, perhaps, rather say 
 very coarse — country-looking, blue-painted chest. 
 
 "Do you see that Uttle chest, sir?" said Mr. Grafton, 
 smilingly. 
 
 " I do," said I; " and it seems a very homely article to be 
 so splendidly entombed, and so carefidly kept." 
 
 *' Yet," replied Mr. Grafton, " homely as it is, and small 
 as is its intrinsic value, that is one of the heir-looms of 
 the family, and one of the most fondly-cherished of them 
 aU." 
 
 "Indeed !" said I, in some surprise. "Then I am very 
 sure it cannot be for its marketable worth. It wouldn't 
 bring sixpence." 
 
 "I veiily believe it wovld not," replied Mr. Grafton. 
 " Yet the Earl of Wistonbury would not part with that 
 little chest for a good round sum, I warrant ye." 
 
 " Pray, explain, my good sir." 
 
 " I will. That Httle, blue-paiuted chest contained all the 
 worldly wealth— a few articles of female di-ess— of the lady 
 whose portrait you were just now so much admiring, when 
 she became Countess of AYistonbury," 
 
 " Why, then," said I, " that is proof that riches, at any 
 rate, had nothing to do with her promotion to that high 
 rank." 
 
 " They certainly had not," replied my aged friend. " But 
 all this you will learn more particularly in the story which 
 I shall tell you presently. You will then Iciirn, also, how 
 the little, blue-painted chest comes to figure in the history 
 of a countess." 
 
 Saying this, Mr. Grafton shut the doors of the cabinet, 
 when we left the apartment, and, in a few minutes after 
 I found myself in what my worthy old host called his 
 refectory. This was a snug little room, most comfortably 
 furnished, and in which I observed a very large quantity of 
 silver plate, — being, I presumed, the depository of tliat
 
 TLLS COUNTESS Or WISTONUURY. 2a 1 
 
 j^ortion of the family's Avealtli. "My good old friend now 
 rung his bell, when a female servant appeared. 
 
 " Let's have summut to eat, Betsy," said the old man; and 
 never was order more promptly or more effectively obeyed- 
 
 In an instant the table, which occupied the centre of the 
 floor, absolutely creaked under the load of good things with 
 which it was encumbered. The " slice of cold round," I 
 foimd, was but a nomme de guerre with the old man, and 
 meant everything in the edible way that was choice and 
 savoury. To tliis conclusion I came from seeing the table 
 before me covered with a great variety of good things, 
 amongst Avhich rose, conspicuous in the centre, a huge 
 venison pasty. When the loading of the table was com- 
 pleted, and the servant had retired — 
 
 " Now," said the old man, looking at me with a signifi- 
 cant smile, and at the same time drawing a bunch of small 
 keys from his pocket, from Avhich he carefully singled out 
 one, " since Betsy has done her part so well, let me see if 
 I can't do mine as creditably." 
 
 Saying this, he opened what I thought a sly-looking 
 little cupboard, and brought forth from its mysterious 
 recess an aristocratic-looking bottle, sealed with black wax, 
 and whose shoulders were still thickly coated with sawdust. 
 Handhng this venerable bottle with a lightness and deli- 
 cacy of touch which a long practice only could have given, 
 and with a degree of reverence which an a priori knowledge 
 of its contents only could have inspired, my worthy host 
 tenderly brushed off its coating of sawdust, gently inserted 
 the screw, drew the cork, Avitli a calm, cautious, steady 
 pull, and, in the next moment, had filled up two brimmers 
 of the finest old port that the cellars of Oxton Ilall could 
 produce. Having done ample justice to the good thing? 
 before us — 
 
 " Now, my good sir, the story, the story, if you please," 
 said I.
 
 232 
 
 TA1.es of TlIK BOUDERS. 
 
 " Oh, to be sui'c," replied my kind host, smiling. " The 
 story you shall have. But first let us take another glass of 
 wine, to inspire me wdth fortitude to begin so long a story, 
 and you with patience to listen to it." 
 
 The procedure thus recommended having been complied 
 with, the good old man immediately began : — 
 
 " About a hundred and thirteen years since," he said, 
 " there lived in the neighbourhood of one of the principal 
 cities in Scotland, a farmer of the name of Flowerdew. He 
 was a man of respectable character, and of sober and 
 industrious habits. His flimily consisted only of himself, 
 liis wife, and an only child— a daughter, named Jessy. 
 Gentle and aifcctionate, of the most winning manners, and 
 surpassingly beautiful in form and feature, Jessy was not 
 only the darling of her fother, but the favourite character 
 of the neighbourhood in which she lived. All yielded the 
 homage of admiration to her supreme loveliness, and of the 
 tenderest esteem to her worth. 
 
 For many years, Jessy's father contrived, notwithstand- 
 ing of an enormous rent, to keep pace with the world, and 
 eventually to raise himself a little above it ; but, in despite 
 of all his industry and all his prudence, reverses came. 
 A succession of bad crops was followed by a scries of losses 
 of various kinds, and James Flowerdew found himself a 
 ruined man. 
 
 ' It's not for myself I care,' said the honest man, when 
 speaking one day with his wife of the misfortunes which 
 had overwhelmed them—' it's for our puir bit lassie, guid- 
 wife. God help her ! I thought to have left her indepen- 
 dent ; but it's been ordained otherwise, and we must sub- 
 mit. But what's to become of her I know not. Iking 
 brocht up a little abune the common, she cannot be asked 
 to enter into the service of ony o' our neebors ; yet, I see 
 nac other way o't. It naust oome to that in the lang 
 
 run.
 
 THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURY. 253 
 
 ' I suppose it must, guidman— I suppose it must,' replied 
 his •wife, raising the corner of her apron to her eye, and 
 then bursting into tears. ' My puir, dear, gentle lassie,' 
 she exclaimed, * it's a sad change to her ; but I ken she'll 
 meet it cheerfully, and mthout repining. But, guidman, 
 if to service she must go, and I fancy there's little doot o' 
 that, wouldna it be better if we could get her into the 
 service of some respectable family in the toon, than to put 
 her wi' ony o' our neebors, where she might be reminded 
 o' her fall, as they ■will call it ? ' 
 
 'It's a good thought, Lizzy,' replied her husband, 
 musingly, as he gazed in sadness on the fire that burned 
 before him. * It's a good thought,' he said. ' She mil 
 be there unknown, and her feelings saved from the taunts 
 of callous impertinence. I will think of it,' added Flower- 
 dew. * In the meantime, guidwife, prepare Jessy, the best 
 way you can, for the change of situation in life which she 
 is about to meet with. I canna do it. It would break uiv 
 heart a'thegither.' 
 
 This painful task Mrs. Flowerdew undertook ; and, as 
 she expected, foiuid her daughter not only reconciliid to 
 the step which was proposed for her, but eager and 
 anxious to be put in a way of doing for herself, and, as 
 she fondly hoped and affectionately said, of aiding her 
 parents. 
 
 Shortly after this, the ruin which had overtaken James 
 Flowerdew began to present itself in its most instant and 
 most distressing shapes. Arrestments were laid on his 
 funds in all quarters. Visits of messengers were frequent 
 almost daily ; and his whole stock and crop were seques- 
 trated by the landlord, and a day for the sale fixed. This 
 last was a sight from which Flowerdew anxioiisly wished 
 to save his daughter, and he meant to do so, if he could, 
 by finding her 'a place' previous to the day of sale. 
 
 The duty of looking out for a situation for Jessy in tow^
 
 23i TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 Flowerdew took upon himself, from the drcumstance of his 
 having been in the habit for many years of supplying a 
 number of respectable families \nth the produce of his 
 farm, which he generally delivered himself, his simple 
 character and industrious habits not permitting him to see 
 any degradation in driving his own cart on these occasions. 
 Flowerdew had thus formed a personal acquaintance with 
 many famihes of the better class, which he thought might 
 be useful to him in his present views. 
 
 Amongst the oldest and most respected of his customers 
 was a learned professor, whom, to avoid what might be an 
 inconvenient identification of circumstances, we shall call 
 Lockerby. With this gentleman Flowerdew resolved to 
 Ijegin his inquiries respecting a situation for his daughter. 
 He did so, and on being introduced to him, explained the 
 purpose of his visit. 
 
 'Dear me, Mr. Flowerdew!' said the worthy professor, 
 in surprise at the application, 'I thought — I all along 
 thought, that your circumstances would entitle your 
 daughter, whose modesty of demeanour and great beauty 
 of person I have had frequent opportunities of admiring — 
 she having called here frequently, as you know, on various 
 occasions connected with our little traffic — I say, I thought 
 your circumstances would entitle your daughter to look 
 for something higher than the situation of a domestic 
 sei'vant.' 
 
 ' I once thought so myself, professor,' replied Mr. Flower- 
 dew, with a tear standing in his eye ; ' but it has turned 
 out otherwise. The truth is, that I have lately met with 
 such reverses as have entirely ruined me. I am about to 
 be ejected from my fiirm, and must betake myself to daily 
 labour for a subsistence. In this explanation you will see 
 the reason why I apply to you for a situation in your 
 family for my daughter.' 
 
 * Too clearly — too clearly,' replied the worthy professor
 
 THB COUNTESS OP WISTONBURT, 235 
 
 sincerely grieving for the misfortunes of a man whom he 
 had long kno-\vn, and whose uprightness of conduct and 
 character he had long appreciated. ' I am seriously dis- 
 tressed, Mr. Flowerdew,' he added, 'to learn all this — 
 seriously distressed, indeed ; but, in the meantime, let us 
 consult Mrs. Lockerby on the subject of your present 
 visit.' And he rang the bell, and desired the servant who 
 answered it, to request his wife to come to him. She 
 came, and on being informed of Mr. Flowerdew's applica- 
 tion in behalf of his daiighter, at once agreed to receive 
 her into her service ; adding, that she might, if she chose, 
 enter on her duties immediately. It was finally arranged 
 that Jessy should take possession of her situation on the 
 following day. 
 
 Highly gratified at ha\dng got admission for his daugh- 
 ter into so worthy and respectable a family, Flowerdew 
 returned home with a Ughter heart than he had possessed 
 for some time before. He felt that his Jessy was now, in 
 a manner, provided for ; and that, although the situation 
 was a humble one, and far short of what he had once 
 expected for her, it was yet a creditable one, and one 
 presenting no mean field for the exercise of some of the 
 best quahties which a woman can possess. 
 
 Equally pleased vnih her father at the opening that had 
 been foimd for her, the gentle girl lost no time in making 
 such preparations as the impending change in her position 
 in life rendered necessary. Part of these preparations, all 
 cheerfully performed, consisted in packing a small trunk 
 with her clothes, and in other procedures of a similar 
 kind. In this employnient her mother endeavovu-ed to 
 assist her, but was too much afiected by the sadness of the 
 task to afford any very eflicient aid, although her daughter 
 did all she could, by assuming a hght-heartedness which 
 she could not altogether feel, to assuage the grief to which 
 her mother was every moment giving way.
 
 236 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 * Why grieve yourself in that way, mother?' she would 
 say, pausing in her operations, and flinging her arms 
 around her parent's neck. ' I assure you I am happy at 
 the prospect of being put in a way of doing for myself; I 
 consider it no hardship— not in the least. I will take a 
 pride in discharging my new duties faithfully and dili- 
 gently; and I hope that, even in the humble sphere in 
 which I am about to move, I shall contrive to make myself 
 both esteemed and respected.' 
 
 * That I dinna doubt— that I dinna doubt, my dear 
 lassie,' replied her mother ; ' but, oh, it goes to my heart 
 to see you gaun into the service o' ithers. I never ex- 
 pected to see the day. Oh, this is a sad change that's 
 come over us a' ! ' And again the poor woman burst into 
 a paroxysm of grief. 
 
 ' Mother,' said the girl, ' you will dishearten me if you 
 go on in this way.' Then smiling through the tears of 
 affection that glistened on her eye, and assuming a tone of 
 affected cheerfulness, * Come now, dear mother, do drop this 
 desponding tone. There's better days in store for us yet. 
 We'll get above all thisby-and-by. In the meantime it is 
 our duty, as Christians, to submit to the destiny that has 
 been decreed us with patience and resignation. Come, 
 mother, I'll sing you the song you used always to like so 
 well to hear me sing.' And, without waiting for any 
 remark in reply, or pausing in her employment, the girl 
 immediately began,, in a voice whose richness of tone and 
 deep pathos possessed the most thrilling power: — 
 
 A cbeerfu' heart's been always mine, 
 
 "Whatever might betide me, O! 
 In foul or fair, in shade or shine, 
 
 I've aye had that to guide me, 1 
 
 When luck cam cliappin' at my door, 
 Wi' right goodwill I cheered Iiim, O! 
 
 And whan misfortune cam, I swore 
 The ne'er a bit I feared him, O ! '
 
 THE COUNTESS OP -WaSTOXBURy. 237 
 
 ' lassie, lassie ! ' exclaimed Jessy's mother, hefe inter- 
 rupting her, and now smiling as she spoke — ' how can ye 
 think o' singing at such a time ? But God lang vouchsafe 
 ye sae Hght and cheerfu' a heart ! It's a great blessing, 
 Jessy, and canna be prized too highly.' 
 
 ' I'm aware of it, mother,' replied her daughter, * and 
 am, I trust, thankful for it. I dinna see, after a', that 
 anything should seriously distress us — but guilt. If we 
 keep free o' that, what hae we to fear? A' ither mis- 
 chances will mend, or if they dinna, they'll at least smooth 
 doon ■\\T.' time.' 
 
 ' But why are ye no puttin' up your silk goun, Jessy ?' 
 here interposed her mother, abruptly; seeing her daughter 
 laying aside the article of dress she referred to, as if she 
 did not intend it should have a place in the little chest she 
 was packing. 
 
 ' The silk go-\^Ti, mother, I'U no tak wi' me,' rephed 
 Jessy, smiling ; ' I'U leave't at hame till better times come 
 roun'. It would hardly become my station now, mother, 
 to be gaun flaunting about in sUks.' 
 
 ' Too true, Jessy,' said her mother with a sigh. * It 
 may be as weel, as ye say, to leave't at hame for a wee, till 
 times mend wi' us at ony rate, although God only knows 
 when that may be, if ever.' 
 
 ' I'll keep it for my wedding gown, mother,' said Jessy, 
 laughingly, and with an intention of counteracting the 
 depressing tendency of her inadvertent remarks on the 
 propriety of her leaving her sUk gown behind. ' I'll keep 
 it for my wedding dress, mother,' she said, ' although it's 
 mair than likely that a plainer attire Avill be mair suitable 
 for that occasion too.' 
 
 ' Nae sayin', Jessy,' replied her mother. ' Ye'll maybe 
 get a canny laird yet, that can ride to market >\'i' siUcr 
 spurs on his boots and gowd lace on his hat.' 
 
 ' Far less wiU please me, mither,' replied Jessy, blush-
 
 238 TALES OF THE CORDKKS. 
 
 ing and laughing at the same time. ' I never, even in our 
 best days, looked so high, and it wonld ill become me to 
 do so now.' 
 
 With such conversation as this did mother and daughter 
 endeavour to divert their minds from dwelling on the 
 pamful reflection which the latter's occupation was so weU 
 calculated to excite. 
 
 An early horn- of the foUo^ving morning saw Jessy 
 Flowerdew seated in a little cart, well Hned with straw 
 by her doting father, who proposed driving her himself 
 into the city. A small, Uuc-pamted chest, a bandbox, and 
 one or two smaU bundles, formed the whole of her travel- 
 ling accompaniments. She herself was wrapped in a 
 scarlet mantle, and wore on her head a light straw bonnet, 
 of tasteful shape, and admirably adapted to the complexion 
 and contour of the fine countenance which it gracefully 
 enclosed. 
 
 After a delay of a few minutes— for the cart in which 
 Jessy was seated was stiU standing at the door — her 
 father, dressed in his Sunday's suit, came out of the house, 
 stepped up to the horse's head, took the reins in his hand,' 
 and gently put in motion the little humble conveyance 
 which was to bear his daughter away from the home of 
 her childhood, and to place her in the house of the 
 stranger. Unable to sustain the agony of a last parting, 
 Jessy's mother had not come out of the house to see her 
 daughter start on her journey; but she was seen, when 
 the cart had proceeded a Httle way, standing at the door, 
 with her apron at her eyes, looking after itmth an expres- 
 sion of the most heartfelt sorrow. 
 
 •There's my mother, father,' said Jessy, in a choking 
 voice, on getting a sight of the former in the affecting atti- 
 tude above described— but she could add no more. In 
 the next instant her face was buried in her handkerchief. 
 Her father turned round on her calling his attention to her
 
 THE COUKTESS OP WISTONBURT 239 
 
 motlier, but instantly, and without saying a word, resumed 
 the silent, plodding pace wliich the circumstance had for a 
 moment interrupted. 
 
 In little more than an hour the humhle equipage, whose 
 progress we have been tracing, entered the city. Humble, 
 however, as that equipage was, it did not prevent the 
 passers-by from marking the singular beauty of her by 
 whom it was occupied. IMany were they who looked 
 roimd, and stood and gazed in admiration after the little 
 cart and its occupant, as they rattled along the * stony 
 street.' Their further progress, however, was now a short 
 one. In a few minutes Flowerdew and his daughter found 
 themselves at the professw's door. The former now ten- 
 derly hfted out Jessy from the cart— for her sylph-like 
 form, so light and slender, was nothing in the arms of the 
 robust farmer — and placed her in safety on the flag-stones. 
 Her little trunk and bandbox were next taken out by the 
 same friendly hand, and deposited beside her. This done, 
 Flowerdew rapped at the professor's door. It was opened. 
 The father and daughter entered ; and, in an hour after — 
 long before which her father had left her — the latter was 
 engaged in the duties of her new situation. 
 
 Days, weeks, and months, as they will always do, now 
 passed away, but they still found Jessy in the ser\dce of 
 her first employers, whose esteem she had gained by the 
 gentleness of her nature, the modesty of her demeanour, 
 and the extrenie propriety of her conduct. 
 
 At the time of her first entering into the service of 
 Professor Lockcrby, Jessy Flowerdew had just completed 
 her sixteenth year. The charms of her person had not 
 then attained their full perfection. But now that two 
 years more had passed over her head — for this interval 
 must be understood to have elapsed before we resxime 
 our tale — her face and figure had attained the zenith of 
 their beauty, a beauty that struck every beholder, and
 
 240 TALES OF THE BORDEKS- 
 
 in every beholder excited feelings of unqualified admira- 
 tion. 
 
 It was about the end of two years after Jessy's advent 
 into the family of the professor, that the latter one morn- 
 ing, raising his head from a letter which he had just been 
 reading, and, turning to the former, who was in the act of 
 removing the breakfast equipage, said — 
 
 ' Jessy, my girl, will you be so good as put the little 
 parlour and bedroom up stairs in the best order you can, 
 as I expect a young gentleman to-morrow, who is to be- 
 come a boarder with us.' 
 
 Jessy courtseyed her acquiescence in the order just 
 given her, and retired from the apartment to fulfil it. 
 
 On the following day a travelling carriage, whose panels 
 were adorned with a coronet, drove up to the door of 
 Trofessor Lockerby. From this carriage descended a 
 young man, apparently between nineteen and twenty 
 years of age, of the most prepossessing appearance. His 
 countenance was pale, but bore an expression of extreme 
 mildness and benevolence. His figure was tall and 
 slender, but handsomely formed ; while his whole man- 
 ner and bearing bespoke the man of high birth and 
 breeding. 
 
 On descending from his carriage, the young mam was 
 received by the professor with the most respectful defer- 
 ence — too respectful it seemed to be for the taste of him 
 to whom it was addressed, for he instantly, broke through 
 the cold formality of the meeting, by grasping the profes- 
 sor's hand, and shaking it with the heartiest and most cor- 
 dial goodwill, saying wliile lie did so— 
 * I hope I see you well, professor.' 
 
 ' In perfect health, I thank you, my lord,' replied the 
 professor. ' I hope you left your good lady mother, the 
 countess, weU.' 
 
 'Quite well— I'm obliged to you, nrofessor — as lively
 
 THE COUNTESS OF AVISTONBURY. 241 
 
 and stirring, and active as ever. Hot and hasty, and a 
 little queenly in her style no-w and then, as you know, but 
 stUl the open heart and the open hand of the Wistonburys.' 
 
 ' I have the honour of knowing the countess well, my 
 lord,' replied the professor, ' and can bear testimony to 
 the nobleness of her nature and disposition. I have known 
 many, many instances of it' 
 
 With such conversation as this, the professor and his 
 noble boarder — for such was the yoimg man whom we 
 have just introduced to the reader — entered the house. 
 "Who this young man was, and what was his object in 
 taking up his abode with Professor Lockerby, we Avill ex- 
 plain in a few words, although such explanation is rendered 
 in part nearly unnecessary by the conversation just re- 
 corded between him and the professor. It may not be 
 amiss, however, to say, in more distinct terms, that he was 
 the Earl of Wistonbury, a rank which he had attained just 
 a year before, by the sudden and premature death of his 
 father, who died in the forty-fifth year of his age. Since 
 his accession to the title of his ancestors, the young earl 
 had continued to live in retirement with his mother, a 
 woman of a noble, elevated, and generous soul, well be- 
 coming her high lineage — for she, too, was descended of 
 one of the noblest families in England — but in whose tem- 
 per there was occasionally made visible a dash of the 
 leaven of aristocracy. 
 
 On her son, the young carl, her only surviving cliild, 
 she doted with all the affection of the fondest and tcnderest 
 of mothers ; and well worthy was that son of all the love 
 she could bestow. His was one of those natures which no 
 earthly elevation can corrupt, no factitious system deprive 
 of its innate simplicity. 
 
 The promotion of the young earl to the head of his 
 
 illustrious house, was, however, a premature one in more 
 
 respects than one. One of these was to be found in the 
 
 H 2
 
 242 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 circumstance of the young man's being found unprepared 
 — at least so he judged himself — in the matter of educa- 
 tion, to fill with credit the high station to Avhich he was so 
 unexpectedly caUed. His education, in truth, had been 
 rather neglected ; and it was to make up for this neglect, 
 to recover his lost ground with all the speed possible, that 
 he was now come to reside for a few months Avith Professor 
 Lockerby, who had once acted as tutor in Ivs father's 
 family to a brother who had died young. 
 
 Such, then, was the professor's boarder, and such was 
 the purpose for which he became so. 
 
 The favourable impression Avhich the youthful earl's first 
 appearance had made, suffered no diminution by length of 
 acquaintance. Mild and unpresuming, he won the love of 
 all who came in contact with him. The little personal 
 services he required, he always solicited, never commanded; 
 and what he could with any propriety do himself, he always 
 did, without seeking other assistance. 
 
 A quiet and unostentatious inmate of the professor's, 
 time rolled rapidly, but gently and imperceptibly, over the 
 head of the young earl, until a single week only inter- 
 vened between the moment referred to, and the period 
 fixed on for his return to Oxton IlaU. 
 
 Thus, nearly six months had elapsed, not a very long 
 period, but one in which much may be accomplislied, and 
 in which many a change may take place. And by such 
 features were the six months marked, which the young 
 Earl of Wistonbury had spent in the house of Professor 
 Lockerby. In that time, by dint of unrelaxing assiduity 
 and intense application, he had acquired a respectable 
 knowledge of both Latin and Greek, and in that time, too, 
 he had taken a step which was to affect the whole tenor of 
 his after life, and to make him cither happy ot- miserable, 
 as it had been fortunately or unfortunately made. What 
 that step was we shall divulge, through precisely the same
 
 THE COUNTESS OP AVISTONBURT. 243 
 
 singular process by wliicli it actually came to tlie know- 
 ledge of the other parties interested. 
 
 One evening, at the period to -which we a short wliile 
 since alluded — namely, about a week . previous to the ex- 
 piry of the proposed term of the earl's residence with Pro- 
 fessor Lockerby — as Jessy FLowerdew was about to remove 
 the tea equipage from the table of the little parlour in 
 which the professor and his noble pupil usually conducted 
 their studies, the latter suddenly rose from his seat, and, 
 looking at their fair handmaiden with a serious counte- 
 nance, said — 
 
 ' Jessy, my love, you must not perform this service again, 
 nor any other of a similar kind. You are now my wife — 
 you are now Countess of Wistonbury.' 
 
 We leave it to the reader to imagine, after his own sur- 
 prise has a little subsided, what was that of the worthy 
 professor, on hearing his noble pupil make so extraordinary, 
 so astounding a declaration — a declaration not less remark- 
 able for its import, than for the occasion on wliich, and the 
 manner in which it was made. 
 
 On recovering from his astonishment, 'My lord,' said 
 the good professor, with a grave and stern countenance, 
 'be good euotigh to inform me what this extraordinary 
 conduct means? What can have been your motive, my 
 lord, for using the highly improper and most unguarded 
 language which I have just now heard you utter?' 
 
 The young earl, with the greatest calmness and defer- 
 ence of manner, approached the professor, laid his hand 
 upon his heart, and, ^nth a graceful inchnatiou, said, slowly 
 and emphatically — 
 
 ' Upon my honour, sir, she is my wife ! ' 
 
 ' AYliat, my lord ! ' exclaimed the still more and more 
 amazed professor — and noAV starting fi-om his chair in his 
 excitation — 'do you repeat your most unbecoming and 
 incredible assertion?'
 
 244 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 *I do, sir,' replied tlie earl, in the same calm and re- 
 spectful manner. 'I do repeat it, and say, before God, 
 that Jessy Flowerdew is the lawfully married wife of the 
 Earl of Wistonbury.' 
 
 * "Well, my lord, well,' said the professor, in angry agi- 
 tation, ' I know what is my duty in this most extraordinary 
 case. It is to give instant notice to the countess, your 
 mother, of what I must call, my lord, the extremely rash 
 and imadvised step you have taken.' 
 
 To this threat and rebuke, the earl replied, with the 
 utmost composure and poUteness of manner — 'I was not 
 unprepared, sir, for your resentment on this occasion. 
 Neither do I take it in the least amiss. You merely do 
 your duty when you tell me I have forgotten nune. But 
 the step I have taken, sir, allow me to say, although it may 
 appear unadvised, has not been so in reality. I have 
 weighed well the consequences, and am quite prepared to 
 abide them.' 
 
 'Be it so, my lord, be it so,' replied the professor. 'I 
 have only now to remark that, as you say you were pre- 
 pared for my resentment, I hope you are also prepared for 
 yoiir mother's, my lord — a matter of much more serious 
 moment.' 
 
 'My mother, sir, I. will take in my o^vn hands,' replied 
 the earl; 'she can resent, but she can also forgive.' 
 
 *I have no more to say, my lord, no more,' rejoined 
 Mr. Lockerby; 'the matter must now be put into the 
 hands of those who have a better right to judge of its pro- 
 priety than I have. I shall presume on no fiu-ther remark 
 on the subject.' 
 
 'Come, sir,' said the carl, smiling and extending his 
 hand to the professor, ' let this, if you please, be no cause 
 for difference between us. I propose that we allow the 
 matter to lie in abeyance until my mother has been ap- 
 pealed to ; she being the only person, you know, Avho has
 
 THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURT. 245 
 
 a right to be displeased mth my proceeding, or whose 
 ■wishes I was called upon to consult in this matter.' 
 
 'Excuse me, my lord,' replied the worthy professor; 
 * but I must positively decline all interchange of courtesies 
 which may, by any possibility, be construed into an over- 
 looking of this very extraordinary affair.' 
 
 '"Well, well, my good sir,' said the earl, smiling, and 
 still maintaining the equanimity of his temper, 'judge ot 
 me as charitably as you can. In the morning, we shall 
 meet, I trust, better friends.' Saying this, he took up one 
 of the candles which were on the table before him, bade 
 the professor a polite and respectful good night, and retired 
 to his own apartment. 
 
 The earl had no sooner withdrawn than Mr. Lockerby, 
 after collecting himself a little, commenced inditing a letter 
 to the Countess Dowager of Wistonbury, apprising her of 
 what had just occurred. In speaking, however, of the 
 ' degrading ' connection which her son had made, the 
 honest man's sense of justice compelled him to add a 
 qualifying explanation of the term which he had employed 
 — ' degrading, I mean,' he said, ' in point of wealthy ranky 
 and accomplishments ; for, in all other respects, in conduct 
 and character, in temper and disposition, and, above all, 
 in personal appearance — for she is certainly eminently 
 beautiful — I must admit that her superior may not easily 
 be found.' 
 
 The letter that contained these remarks, with the other 
 information connected with it, the professor despatched 
 on the same night on which it was written ; and, ha\'ing 
 done this, awaited with what composure and fortitude he 
 could command, the dreadful explosion of aristocratic ^vrath 
 and indignation, which, he had no doubt, would speedily 
 follow. 
 
 Leaving matters in this extraordinary position in the 
 house of Professor Lockerby we shall shift the scene, for
 
 246 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 a moment, to the Countess Dowager of Wistonbvu-y's sitting 
 apartment in Oxton Hall ; and ^xe shall choose the mo- 
 ment when her favourite footman, Jacob Asterley, has 
 entered her presence, after his return from a call at the 
 post-office in the neighbouring village ; the time being the 
 second day after the occurrence just previously related — 
 namely, the despatch to Oxton Hall of Professor Lockerby's 
 letter. 
 
 'Well, Jacob, any letters for me to-day?' said the 
 countess, on the entrance of that worthy official. 
 
 'One, my lady, from Scotland,' replied the servant, 
 deferentially, and, at the same time, opening the bag in 
 which the letters were usually carried to and from the 
 ,post-house. 
 
 ' Ah ! from the earl,' said the countess. 
 
 'No, my lady, I rathor think not. The address is not 
 in his lordship's haivJ writing.' 
 
 ' Oh ! the good Professor Lockerby,' said the countess, 
 contemplating for a moment the address of the letter in 
 question, which was now in her ladyship's hands. *I 
 hope nothing unpleasant has occurred to my son.' And 
 while she spoke, she hurriedly broke the seal, and, in the 
 next instant, was intently engaged in perusing the intelli- 
 gence which it had secured from the prying curiosity of 
 parties whom it did not concern. 
 
 It would take a much abler pen than that now employed 
 in tracing these lines, to convey anything like an adequate 
 idea of the mingled expression of amazement, indignation, 
 and grief exhibited on the countenance, and in every act 
 and attitude of the proud Countess of Wistonbury, on 
 reading the story of her son's degradation. The flush of 
 haughty resentment was succeeded by the sudden paleness 
 of despair ; and in frequent alternation did these strong 
 expressions of varied feeling flit across the fine countenance 
 
 till fine, although it had looked on fifty summers — of
 
 TUB COUNTESS OF WISTONBUKY. 247 
 
 the lieart-strickcn mother, as she proceeded in her perusal 
 of the fatal document. On completmg the perusal, the 
 countess threw herself in silent distraction on a sofa, and, 
 still holding the open letter in her hand, sank into a maze 
 of "wild and wandering thoughts. These, however, seemed 
 at length to concentrate in one decisive and sudden resolu- 
 tion. Starting from the reclining posture into which she 
 had 'thrown herself, she advanced towards the bell-pull, 
 rung furiously, and, when the servant entered to know 
 what were her commands — 
 
 ' Order the travelling carriage instantly, Jacob,' she said 
 — ' instantly, instantly ; and let four of my best horses bo 
 put in the harness. Wliat do you stare at, fool?' she 
 added, ii-ritated at the look of astonishment which the 
 inexplicable violence of her manner had called into the 
 countenance of her trusty domestic. 'Do as you are 
 ordered, directly.' The man bowed and withdrew ; and 
 in pursuance of the commands he had received, proceeded 
 to the stables. 
 
 'Here's a start, Thomas! he said, addressing a jolly- 
 looking fellow, who was busily employed in brushing up 
 some harness ; the travelling carriage directly, and four of 
 your best horses for my lady.' 
 
 ' Why, what the devil's the matter now ? ' replied 
 Thomas, pausing in his operations; 'where's the old gii-l 
 a-going to? ' 
 
 ' Not knowing, can't say,' replied Jacob ; ' but she's in a 
 woundy fuss, I warrant you. Never seed her in such a 
 quandary in my life. Something's wrong somewhere, I 
 guess.' 
 
 ' Well, well, all's one to me,' said Thomas, with philo- 
 sophical indifference ; but it looks like a long start, where- 
 ever it may be to; so I'll get my traps in order.' And this 
 duty was so expeditiously performed, that, in less than 
 fifteen minutes, the very handsome travelling carriage of
 
 248 TALES OF TUB BORDERS. 
 
 tlie Earl of Wistonbury, drawn by four spanking bays, 
 flashed up to the door oi* Oxton Hall. In an instant after, 
 it -was occupied by the dowager countess, and in another, 
 was rattling away for Scotland, at the utmost speed of the 
 noble animals by which it Avas dra^vn. 
 
 Changing here, once more, the scene of our story, we 
 return to the house of Professor Lockerby. There matters 
 continued in that ominous state of quiescence, that signi- 
 ficant and portentous calm, that precedes the bursting of 
 the storm. Between the professor and the young earl, not 
 a word more had passed on the subject of the latter's extra- 
 ordinary declaration. Neither had made the slightest subse- 
 quent allusion to it, but contimied their studios precisely as 
 they had done before; although, pcrliaps, a degree of restraint 
 — a consciousness of some point of difference betAveen them 
 — might now be discerned in their correspondence. Both, 
 in short, seemed to have tacitly agreed to abide the result 
 of the professor's letter to the countess, before taking any 
 other step, or expressing any other feeling, on the subject 
 to which that letter related. The anticipated crisis which 
 the professor and his noble pupil were thus composedly 
 awaiting, soon arrived. On the third day after tliat re- 
 markable one on which the young Earl of Wistonbury had 
 avowed the humble daughter of an humble Scotch farmer 
 to be his wife, a carriage and four, which, we need scarcely 
 say, was the same we saw start from Oxton Hall, drove 
 furiously up to the door of Professor Lockerby. The 
 horses' flanks sent forth clouds of smoke ; their mouths and 
 fore-shoulders were covered with foam ; and the carriage 
 itself was almost encased in mud. Everything, in short, 
 told of a long and r.apid journey. And it was so. Night 
 and day, Avithout one hour's intermission, had that carriage 
 prosecuted its journey. In an instant after, the carriage 
 stopped ; its steps were down, and, bridling wdth high and 
 lofty indignation, the Dowager Countess of Wistonbury
 
 THE COUNTESS OF WISTOXBURT. 249 
 
 descended, and, ere any one of the professor's family were 
 aware of her arrival, she had entered the house, the door 
 being accidentally open, and was calling loudly for ' her 
 boy.' 
 
 'AMiere is my son?' she exclaimed, as she made her 
 way into the interior of the house : ' where is the Earl of 
 "Wistonbury?' 
 
 In a moment after the Earl of "Wistonbury, who had 
 heard and instantly recognized his mother's voice, was 
 before her, and was about to rush into her arms, when she 
 haughtily thrust him back, saying — 
 
 'Degraded, spiritless boy, dare not too approach me! 
 You have blotted the noblest, the proudest scutcheon of 
 England. Where is Professor Lockerby?' 
 
 The professor was by her side before she had completed 
 the sentence, when, seeing her agitation — 
 
 * My good lady,' he said, in his most persuasive tone, 
 ' do allow me to entreat of you to be composed, and to 
 have the honour of conducting you xip stairs.' 
 
 ' Anywhere ! — anywhere, professor ! ' exclaimed the 
 countess ; ' but, alas ! go where I ■v\'ill, I cannot escape the 
 misery of my own thoughts, nor the disgrace which my 
 unworthy son has brought upon my head.' 
 
 Without making any reply to this outburst of pas- 
 sionate feeling, the professor took the countess respectfully 
 by the hand, and silently conducted her to his drawing- 
 room. With stately step the countess entered, and walked 
 slowly to the further end of the apartment ; this gained, 
 she turned round, and, when she had done so, a sight 
 awaited her for which she was but little prepared. This 
 was her son and Jessy Flowerdew, kneeling side by side, 
 and, by their attitude, eloquently imploring her forgive- 
 ness. It was just one of those sights best calculated to 
 work on the nobler nature of the Countess of Wistonbury, 
 and to call up the finer feelings of her generous heart
 
 250 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 For some seconds she looked at the kneeling pair in silent 
 astonishment; her eye, however, chiefly fixed on the 
 beauteous countenance of Jessy Flowerdew, pale Avith ter- 
 ror and emotion, and wet with tears. Having gazed for 
 some time on this extraordinary sight, without betraying 
 the slightest symptom of the feelings beyond that of sur- 
 prise, with which it had inspired her, the countess slowly 
 advanced toward? the kneeling couple. She still, however, 
 uttered no word, and discovered no emotion ; but a sud- 
 den change had come over her proud spirit. That spirit 
 ■was now laid, and its place occupied by all the generous 
 impulses of her nature. Keeping her eye steadily fixed 
 on the kneeling fair one before her, she approached her, 
 paused a moment, extended her hand, placed it on the 
 ivory forehead of Jessy Flowerdew, gently laid back her 
 rich auburn hair, and, as she did so, said, in a tremulous, 
 but emphatic voice — 
 
 ' You are, indeed, a lovely girl ! God bless you ! Alfred, 
 my son, rise,' she added, in a Ioav, but calm and solemn 
 tone ; ' I forgive you.' And she extended her hand to- 
 Avards him. The earl seized tt, Idssed it affectionately, and 
 bathed it with his tears. 
 
 ' Rise, my lady — rise, my fair Countess of "VVistonbury,' 
 she now said, and herself aiding in the act she commanded, 
 ' I acknowledge you as my daughter, and we must now 
 see to fitting you to the high station to which my son's 
 favour has promoted you, and of which, I trust, you will 
 prove as wortliy in point of conduct as you assuredly 
 already are in that of personal beauty. God bless you 
 both ! And may every happiness that the conjugal state 
 affords, be yours! Professor,' she added, and now turn- 
 ing round to that gentleman, ' you will think this weak- 
 ness — a motlicr'a weakness — and perhaps it is so — but I 
 would myself fain attribute it to a more worthy feeling, 
 and, if I know my own heart, it is so. But let that pass,
 
 THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURT. 251 
 
 I am reconciled to the step my son has taken, and reve- 
 rently leave it to God, and fearlessly to man, to judge of 
 the motives by which I have been infliienced. I tmst 
 they are such as to merit the approbation of both.' 
 
 Surprised, and gi-eatly affected by the unexpected turn 
 •which matters had taken, so contrary to what he had antici- 
 pated, the worthy professor had listened to these expres- 
 sions of the countess with averted head, and making the 
 most ingenious use of the handkerchief which he held to 
 his face that he could, to conceal the real purpose for 
 which he employed it. When she had done — 
 
 * Madam,' he said, with great agitation and confusion of 
 manner, and still busily plying the handkerchief in its pre- 
 tended vocation — ' !Madam, I — I — I am surprised — ^much 
 affected, I assure you — much affected, my lady — ^^vith this 
 striking instance of what a noble and generous nature is 
 capable. I Avas by no means prepared for it. It does 
 you infinite honour, my lady — infinite honoiu' ; and will, I 
 trust, in its result, be productive of all that happiness 
 to you which yoiir magnanimous conduct so eminently 
 deserves.' 
 
 ' I trust I have acted rightly, professor,' was the brief 
 reply of the countess, as she again turned to the young 
 couple, who were now standing on the floor beside her, ' I 
 hope I have ; and, if my heart does not deceive me, I am 
 sure I have.' 
 
 ' You are warranted, my lady, in the confidence you 
 express in the uprightness, the generosity of your conduct 
 on this very remarkable occasion — perfectly warranted,' 
 replied the professor. ' It is an imexampled instance of 
 greatness, of liberality of mind, and as such I must always 
 look on it.' 
 
 Thus, then, terminated this extraordinary scene. It was 
 subsequently arranged that the marriage of the earl should, 
 in the meantime, be kept as secret as possible, and that
 
 252 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 the young countess should, in the interim, be sent for a 
 year or two to one of the most celebrated seminaries 
 of female education in England, under an assumed name, 
 and that, when she should have acquired the attain- 
 ments and the poHsh befitting her high station, she 
 should be produced to the world as the Countess of 
 Wistonbury. 
 
 Acting upon this plan of proceedings, the same carriage 
 that brought down the earl's mother, bore away, on the 
 following day, together with that lady, the young earl and 
 his bride ; the latter, to commence her educational novi- 
 ciate in England ; the former, to while away the time as 
 he best could until that noviciate should expire, a period 
 which he proposed to render less irksome by a tour on 
 the continent. 
 
 About two years after the occurrence of the events just 
 related — it might be more, perhaps nearly three — Oxton 
 Hall presented a scene of prodigious confusion and bustle. 
 Little carts of provender were daily seen making frequent 
 visits to the house. Huge old grates, in deserted kitchens, 
 that had not been in use for a century before, were cleared 
 of their rubbish, and glowing with blazing fires, at which 
 enormous roasts were solemnly revolving. Menials were 
 running to and fro in all directions, and a crowd of 
 powdered and richly-liveried lackeys biistled backwards 
 and forwards through the gorgeous apartments, loaded 
 vnih silver plate, and .bearing huge baskets of wine. 
 Everything at Oxton Ilall, in short, betokened prepara- 
 tions fur a splendid fete — and such, in truth, was the case. 
 To this fete all the nobility and gentry, within a circuit of 
 ten to fifteen miles were invited ; and such an affair it 
 promised to be, altogether, as had not been seen at Oxton 
 Hall since the marriage of the last earl— a period of nearly 
 thirty years. None of those invited knew, or could guess, 
 what was the particular reason for so extensive a merry--
 
 IHE COUNTESS Of WlSTONBURt. 253 
 
 making. Its scale, they learned, was most magnificent, 
 and the invitations unprecedentedly numerous. 
 
 The whole affair was thus somewhat of a puzzle to the 
 good people who were to figure as guests at the impending 
 fete; but they comforted themselves with the reflection 
 that they would know all about it by and by. In the 
 meantime, the day appointed for the celebration of the 
 proposed festival at Oxton Hall arrived ; and, amongst the 
 other preparations which more markedly characterized it, 
 was the appearance of several long tables extended on the 
 lawn in front of the house, and which were intended for 
 the accommodation of the earl's tenantry, who were also 
 invited to share in the coming festivities. Towards the 
 afternoon of the day aUuded to, carriages and vehicles of 
 all descriptions, and of various degrees of elegance, were 
 seen, in seemingly endless numbers, streaming along the 
 spacious and weU-gravelled walks that led, by many a 
 graceful curve, through the surrounding lawn, to the noble 
 portals of Oxton Hall. These, by turns, drew up in front 
 of the principal entrance to the house, and delivered their 
 several cargoes of lords and ladies, knights and sqiiires, all 
 honouiable personages, and of high degree. An inferior 
 description of equipages, again, and occupied by persons 
 of a different class, sturdy yeomen and their wives and 
 daughters, foimd ther way, or rather were guided as they 
 came, to a different destination, but with no difference in 
 the hospitality of their reception. All were alike welcome 
 to Oxton Hall on this auspicious day. By and by the 
 hour of dinner came, and, when it did, it exhibited a 
 splendid scene in the magiiificcnt dining-room of the Earl 
 of Wistonbury, In this dining-room were assembled a 
 party of at least a hundred-and-fifly ladies and gentlemen, 
 all in their best attire. Down the middle of the spacious 
 apartment ran a table of ample length and breadth, and 
 capable of accommodating with ease even the formidable
 
 254 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 array by which it was shortly to be surrounded. On this 
 spacious board glittered as much wealth, in the shape of 
 silver plate, as would have bought a barony, while every- 
 thing around showed that it was still but a small portion 
 of the riches of its noble owner. At the further end of 
 the lordly hall, in an elevated recess or interior balcony, 
 were stationed a band of musicians, to contribute the 
 choicest specimens of the art to the hilarity of the evening. 
 Altogether the scene was one of the most imposing that 
 can well be conceived, an eiFect which was not a little 
 heightened by the antique character of the noble apart- 
 ment in which it was exhibited, one of whose most striking 
 features was a large oriel Avindow, filled with the most 
 beautifully stained glass, which threw its subdued and 
 sombre light on the magnificent scene beneath. Hitherto 
 the young earl had not been seen by any of the company ; 
 his mother, the countess-dowager, having discharged the 
 duties of hospitality in receiving the guests. Many were 
 the inquiries made for the absent lord of the mansion ; 
 but these were all answered evasively, although always 
 concluded with the assurance that he would appear in 
 good time. 
 
 Satisfied with this assurance, the subject was no further 
 pressed at the moment ; but, as the dinner hour ap- 
 proached, and the earl had not yet presented himself, 
 considerable curiosity and impatience began to be mani- 
 fested amongst the assembled guests. These feeUngs 
 increased every moment, and had attained their height, 
 when the party found themselves called on to take their 
 scats at table, and yet no earl had appeared. The general 
 surprise was further excited on its being observed that the 
 countess-dowager did not, as usual, take the chair at the 
 head of the table, as was expected, but placed herself on its 
 right. The chair at the foot of the table remained also yet 
 unoccupied ; and great was the wonder what all this could
 
 THJE COUNTESS OF WISTOXBLRY. 255 
 
 mean. It was now soon to be explained. Just as the 
 party had taken their seats, a folding-door, at the fiu'ther 
 end of the hall, flew open, and the young Earl of Wiston- 
 buiy entered, leading by the hand a young female of 
 exceeding beauty, attired in a dress of the most dazzling 
 splendour, over Avhicli was gracefully thrown a Scottish 
 plaid. Bowing slightly, but "with a graceful and cordial 
 expression, and smiling affably as he advanced, the earl 
 conducted his fair charge to the head of the table, where, 
 after a pause of a few seconds, which he purposely made 
 in order to afford his guests an opportunity of marking 
 the extreme loveliness of the lady whom he had thus so 
 unexpectedly introduced to them — an opportunity which 
 was not thrown away, as was evident from the murmur ot 
 admiration that ran round the brilliant assembly — the earl 
 thus shortly addressed his wondering guests — 
 
 ' Permit me, my friends,' he said, ' to introduce to you 
 the Countess of Wistonbury ! ' 
 
 ' A shout of applause from the gentlemen, and a waving 
 of handkerchiefs by the ladies, haded the pleasing and 
 unexpected intelligence— an homage whose duration and 
 intensity was increased by the singiUarly graceful manner 
 with which it was received and acknowledged by her ta> 
 whom it was paid. Nothmg could be more captivating 
 than the modest, winning sweetness of her smile, nothing 
 more pleasing to behold than the gentle grace of her 
 every motion. On all present the impression was that she 
 was a woman of birth, education, and high breeding, and 
 nothing in the part she subsequently acted tended in the 
 slightest degree to affect this idea. The young and lovely 
 countess conducted herself throughout the whole of this 
 eventful evening, as she did throughout the remainder 
 of her hfe, with the most perfect propriety; and thus 
 evinced that the pains taken to fit Jessy Flowerdew 
 for the high station to which a singular good fortune
 
 25 G TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 had caUed her, was very far from having been taken in 
 vain. 
 
 At the conclusion of the banquet, the earl entreated the 
 indulgence of the company for an absence for himself and 
 the countess of a quarter of an hour. This being of course 
 readily acquiesced in, the earl and his beauteous young 
 wife were seen, arm and arm, on the lawn, going towards 
 the tables at which his tenantry were enjoying his hospi- 
 tality. Here he went through precisely the same cere- 
 mony of introduction with that which we have described 
 as having taken place in the banquet-hall; and here it 
 was greeted with the same enthusiasm, and acknowledged 
 by the countess with the same grace and propriety. This 
 proceeding over, the earl and his young bride returned to 
 their party, when one of the most joyous evenings followed 
 that the banquet ing-room of Oxton Hall had ever wit- 
 nessed. There is only now to add, that Jessy Flowerdew's 
 subsequent conduct as Countess of Wistonbiiry proved her 
 in every respect worthy of the high place to which she 
 liad been elevated. A mildness and gentleness of disposi- 
 tion, and a winning modesty of demeanour, which all the 
 wealth and state with which she was surrounded could not 
 in the slightest degree impair, distinguished her through 
 life ; and no less distinguished was she by the generosity 
 and benevolence of her nature, a nature which her change 
 of destiny was wholly unable to pervert." 
 
 Such, then, good reader, is the history of the lady whose 
 portrait, in which she appears habited in a Scottish plaid, 
 adorns, with others, the walls of the picture gallery of 
 Uxtou Hall, in Wiltshire.
 
 SlIDSIDE MAGGr. 2i)7 
 
 MIDSIDE MAGGY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BANNOCK O' TOLLISHILL. 
 
 "Every bannock had its maik, but the bannock o' Tollishill." 
 
 Scottish Proverb* 
 
 Belike, gentle reader, thou hast often heard the proverb 
 quoted above, that " Every bannock had its maik, but the 
 bannock o' Tollishill." The saying hath its origin in a 
 romantic tradition of the Lammermoors, which I shall relate 
 to thee. Tollishill is the name of a sheep-farm in Berwick- 
 shire, situated in the parish of Lauder. Formerly, it was 
 divided into three farms, which were occupied by different 
 tenants ; and, by way of distinguishing it from the others, 
 that in which dwelt the subjects of our present story was 
 generally called Midside, and our heroine obtained the 
 appellation of Midside flaggy. Tollishill was the property 
 of John, second Earl, and afterwards Duke of Lauderdale — 
 a personage whom I shall ■ more than once, in these tales, 
 have occasion to bring before mine readers, and whose 
 character posterity hath small cause to hold in veneration. 
 Yet it is a black character, indeed, in which there is not to 
 be found one streak of sunshine ; and the story of the 
 " Bannock of Tolhshill " referreth to such a streak in the 
 history of John, the Lord of Thirlestane. 
 
 Time hath numbered somewhat more than a hundred and 
 ninety years since Thomas Hardie became tenant of the 
 principal farm of Tollishill. Now, that the reader may 
 picture Thomas Hardie as he was, and as tradition hath 
 
 described him, he or she must imagine a tall, strong, and 
 Vot.. I. I
 
 258 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 fresh-colotired man of fifty; a few hairs of grey mingling 
 with his brown locks ; a countenance expressive of much 
 good nature and some intelligence ; while a Lowland bonnet 
 was drawn over his brow. The other parts of his dress 
 were of coarse, grey, homespun cloth, manufactured in 
 Earlston ; and across his shoulders, in summer as well as 
 in \nnter, he wore the mountain plaid. His principles as- 
 similated to those held by the men of the covenant ; but 
 Thomas, though a native of the hills, was not Avithout the 
 worldly prudence which is considered as being more im- 
 mediately the characteristic of the bujing and selling 
 children of society. His landlord was no favourer of the 
 Covenant ; and, though Thomas wished well to the cause, 
 he did not see the necessity for making his laird, the Lord 
 of Lauderdale, his enemy for its sake. He, therefore, 
 judged it wise to remain a neutral spectator of the religious 
 and political struggles of the period. 
 
 But Thomas was a bachelor. Half a century had he been 
 in the world, and the eyes of no woman had had power to 
 throw a spark into his heart. In his single, solitary state, 
 he was happy, or he thought himself happy ; and that is 
 much the same thine:. But an accident occurred which led 
 him firet to believe, and eventually to feel, that he was but 
 a solitary and comfortless moorland former, toiling for he 
 knew not what, and laying up treasure he knew not for 
 whom. Yea, and whUe others had their wives spinning, 
 carding, knitting, and smiUng before them, and their bairns 
 running laughing and sporting round about them, he was 
 but a poor deserted creature, with nobody to care for, 
 or to care for him. Every person had some object to strive 
 for and to make them strive but Thomas Hardie ; or, to use 
 his own words, he was "Justin the situation o' a tewhit 
 that has lost its mate — tc-iohccti te-wheetl it cried, flapping 
 its wings impntiently and forlornly — and te-wheetl te-wheetf 
 answered vacant echo frae the dreary glens."
 
 BODSIDE MAGGY, 259 
 
 Thomas had been to Morpeth disposing of a part of his 
 hirsels, and he had found a much better market for them 
 than he anticipated. He returned, therefore, with a heavy- 
 purse, which generally hath a tendency to create a light 
 and merry heart ; and he arrived at Westruther, and went 
 into a hostel, where, three or four times in the year, he 
 was in the habit of spending a cheerful evening with his 
 friends. He had called for a quegh of the landlady's best, 
 and he sat down at his ease with the liquor before him, 
 for he had but a short way to travel. He also pulled out 
 his tobacco-box and his pipe, and began to inhale the 
 fumes of what, up to that period, was almost a forbidden 
 weed. But we question, much if the royal book of James 
 the Sixth of Scotland and Fu'st of England, which he 
 published against the use of tobacco, ever found its way 
 into the Lammermoors, though the Indian weed did; 
 therefore, Thomas Hardie sat enjoying his glass and his 
 pipe, unconscious or regardless of the fulminations which 
 he who was king in his boyhood, had pubhshed against 
 the latter. But he had not sat long, when a fair maiden, 
 an acquaintance of " mine hostess," entered the hostelry, 
 and began to assist her in the cutting out or fashioning of 
 a crimson Idrtlc. Her voice fell upon the ears of Thomas 
 like the " music of sweet sounds." He had never heard a 
 voice before that not only fell softly on his ear, but left a 
 lingering murmur in his heart. She, too, was a young 
 thing of not more than eighteen. If ever hair might be 
 called " gowden," it was hers. It was a light and shining 
 bronze, where the prevalence of the golden hue gave a 
 colour to the whole. Her face was a thing of beauty, 
 over which health spread its roseate hue, yet softly, as 
 though the westling winds had caused the leaves of the 
 blushing rose to kiss her cheeks, and leave their delicate 
 hues and impression behind them. She was of a middle 
 stature, and her figure was such, although arrayed in
 
 260 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 homely garments, as would have commanded the worship 
 of a connoisseur of grace and symmetry. But beyond all 
 that kindled a flame within the hitherto obdvirate heart of 
 Thomas, was the witching influence of her smile. For a 
 full hour he sat with his eyes fixed upon her ; save at in- 
 tervals, when he withdrew them to look into the unwonted 
 agitation of his own breast, and examine the cause. 
 
 " Amongst the daughters of Avomen," thought he unto 
 himself — for he had a sprinkling of the language of the age 
 about him — " none have I seen so beautiftd. Her cheeks 
 bloom bonnier than the heather on Tollishill, and her 
 bosom seems saft as the new-shorn fleece. Her smile is 
 like a blink o' sunshine, and woul(i mak summer to those 
 on whom it fell a' the year round." 
 
 He also discovered, for the first time, that " Tollishill 
 ■was a dull place, especially in the winter season." When, 
 therefore, the fair damsel had arrayed the fashion of the 
 kirtle and departed, without once having seemed to observe 
 Thomas, he said unto the goodAvife of the hostelry — " And 
 wha, noo, if it be a fair question, may that bonnie lassie 
 be?" 
 
 " She is indeed a bonnie lassie," answered the landlady, 
 " and a guid lassie, too ; and I hae nae doot but, as ye are 
 a single man, Maistcr Ilardie, yer question is fair enough. 
 Her name is Margaret Lylestone, and she is the only bairn 
 o' a puir infirm widow that cam to live here some twa or 
 three years sync. Tliey cam frae south owre some way, 
 and I am sure they hae seen better days. We thocht at 
 first that the auld woman had been a Catholic ; but I sup- 
 pose that isna the case, though they certainly are baith o' 
 them strong Episcopawlians, and in nae way favourable to 
 the preachers or the word o' the Covenant ; but I maun say 
 for .Maggie, that she is a bonny, sweet-tempered, and 
 obleegin lassie — though, puir thing, her mother has brocht 
 her up in a wrang way."
 
 MIDSIDE MAGGY. 261 
 
 Many days had not passed ere Thomas Hardle, arrayed 
 in his Sunday habiliments, paid another visit to Westruther; 
 and he cautiously asked of the goodmfe of the hostel many 
 questions concerning Margaret; and although she jeered 
 him, and said that " Maggy wordd ne'er think o' a grey- 
 haired carle like him," he brooded over the fond fancy ; 
 and although on this visit he saw her not, he returned to 
 TolHshill, thinking of her as his bride. It was a difficult 
 thing for a man of fifty, who had been the companion ot 
 sohtude from his youth upwards, and who had lived in 
 single blessedness amidst the silence of the liills, without 
 feeling the workings of the heart, or being subjected to the 
 influence of its passions — I say, it was indeed difficult for 
 such a one to declare, in the ear of a blooming maiden of 
 eighteen, the tale of his first aifections. But an oppor- 
 tunity arrived which enabled him to disembosom the 
 burden that pressed upon his heart. 
 
 It has been mentioned that Margaret Lyleston and her 
 mother were poor ; and the latter, who had long been 
 bowed down with infirmities, was supported by the industry 
 of her daughter. They had also a cow, Avhich was permit- 
 ted to graze upon the hiUs without fee or reward ; and, with 
 the milk which it produced, and the cheese they manufac- 
 tured, together with the poor earnings of Margaret, positive 
 want was long kept from them. But the old woman 
 became more and more infirm — the hand of death seemed 
 stretching over her. She required nourishment which 
 Margaret could not procure for her ; and, that it might be 
 procured — that her mother might live and not die — the 
 fair maiden sent the cow to Kelso to be sold, from whence 
 the seller was to bring with him the restoratives that her 
 parent required. 
 
 Now, it so was that Thomas Ilardie, the tenant of 
 ToUishUl, was in Kelso market when the cow of "Widow 
 Lyiestone was ofl'cred for sale ; and, as it possessed the
 
 262 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 characteristic marks of a good milcher, he inquired to 
 whom it belonged. On being answered, he turned round 
 for a few moments, and stood thoughtiul ; but again turn- 
 ing to the individual who had been intrusted to dispose of 
 it, he inquired^ 
 
 "And wherefore is she selling it? " 
 
 " Eeally, Maister Hardie," replied the other, " I could 
 not positively say, but I hae little doot it is for want — 
 absolute necessity. The atdd woman's very fraU and very 
 ill — I hae to tak a' sort o' things oot to her the nicht frae 
 the doctor's, after selling the cow, and it's no in the power 
 o' things that her dochter, industrious as she is, should be 
 able to get them for her otherwise." 
 
 Thomas again turned aside, and drew his sleeve across 
 his eyes. Having inquired the price sought for the cow, 
 he handed the money to the seller, and gave the animal in 
 charge to one of his herdsmen. He left the market earlier 
 than usual, and directed his servant that the cow should 
 be taken to Westruther. 
 
 It was drawing towards gloaming before Thomas ap- 
 proached the habitation of the widow; and, before he 
 could summon courage to enter it for the first time, he 
 sauntered for several minutes, backward and forward on 
 the moor, by the side of the Blackadder, which there 
 silently wends its way, as a dull and simple bum, through 
 the moss. He felt aU the awkwardness of an old man 
 struggling beneath the influence of a young feeling. He 
 thought of what he should say, how he should act, and 
 how he would be received. At length lie had composed 
 a short introductory and explanatory speech which pleased 
 him. He thought it contained both feeling and delicacy 
 (according to his notions of the latter) in their proper 
 proportions, and after repeating it three or four times over 
 by the side of the Blackadder, he proceeded towards the 
 cottage, still repeating it to himself as he went. But,
 
 MLDSIDE MAGGY. 263 
 
 when he raised his hand and knocked at the door, his 
 heart gaye a similar knock upon his bosom, as though it 
 mimicked him ; and every idea, every Avord of the intro- 
 ductory speech which he had studied and repeated again 
 and again, short though it was, was knocked from his 
 memory. The door was opened by ]SIargaret, who invited 
 him to enter. She was beautiful as when he first beheld 
 her — ^he thought more beautiful — ^for she now spoke to 
 him. Her mother sat in an arm-chair, by the side of the 
 peat fire, and was supported by pillows. He took off his 
 bonnet, and performed an awkward but his best salutation. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said he, hesitatingly, "for the liberty 
 I have taken in calling upon you. But — I was in Kelso 
 
 the day — and" He paused, and turned his bonnet once 
 
 or twice in his hands. "And," he resximed, "I observed, 
 or rather, I should say, I learned that ye intended to sell 
 
 your cow; but I also heard that ye was very Ul, and" 
 
 Here he made another pause. "I say I heard that ye was 
 very ill, and I thocht it would be a hardship for ye to part 
 wi' crummie, and especially at a time when ye are sure to 
 stand maist in need o' every help. So I bought the cow — 
 but, as I say, it would be a very great hardship for ye to be 
 without the mUk, and what the cheese may bring, at a time 
 like this ; and, therefore, I hae ordered her to be brocht 
 back to ye, and ane o' my men Avill bring her hame presently. 
 Never consider the cow as mine, for a bachelor farmer like 
 me can better afford to Avant the siller, than ye can to want 
 yer cow ; and I micht hae spent it far mair fooHshly, and 
 wi' less satisfoction. Indeed, if ye only but think that good 
 I've dime, I'm mair than paid." 
 
 "!Maister Hardie," said the widow, "what have I, a 
 stranger widow woman, done to deserve this kindness at 
 yoxir liands ? Or how is it in the power o' words for me 
 to thank ye? HE who provideth for the Avidow and the 
 fatherless Avill not permit you to go imrcAvarded, though I
 
 264 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 cannot. O Margaret, hinny," added she, "thank our 
 benefactor as we ought to thank him, for I cannot." 
 
 Fair ^fargaret's thanks were a flood of tears. 
 
 "Oh, dinna greet 1" said Thomas; "I would ten times 
 ower rather no hae bocht the cow, but hae lost the siller, 
 than I would hae been the cause o' a single tear ro^via' 
 doxm yer bonny cheeks." 
 
 " O sir," answered the -widow, " but they are tears o' 
 gratitude that distress my bairn, and nae tears are mair 
 precious." 
 
 I might tell how Thomas sat down by the peat fire between 
 the widow and her daughter, and how he took the hand of 
 the latter, and entreated her to dry tip her tears, saying that 
 his chief happiness would be to be thought their friend, and 
 to deserve their esteem. Tlie cow was brought back to the 
 widow's, and Thomas retui'ned to Tollishill with his herds- 
 man. But, from that night, he became almost a daily visitor 
 at the house of Mrs. Lylestone. He provided whatever she 
 required — all that was ordered for her. He spoke not of 
 love to Margaret, but he wooed her through his kindness to 
 her mother. It was, perhaps, the most direct avenue to 
 her affections. Yet it was not because Thomas thought so 
 that he pursued this course, but because he wanted con- 
 fidence to make his appeal in a manner more formal or 
 direct. 
 
 Tlie mdow lingered many months; and all that lay within 
 the power of human means he caused to be done for her, 
 to restore her to healtli and strength, or at least to smooth 
 lier dying pillow But the last was all that could be done. 
 "Where death spreadeth the shadow of his mng, there is no 
 escape from sinking beneath the baneful influence of its 
 •hade. Mrs. Lylestone, finding that the hour of her de- 
 parture drew near, took the hand of her benefactor, and 
 when she hud thanked him for all the kindness which he 
 had shoAvn towards her, she added —
 
 BUDSIDE MAGGY. 2Go 
 
 "But, sir, there is one thing that makes the hand of 
 death heavy. When the sod is canld upon my breast, who 
 will look after my puir orphan — my bonny faitherless and 
 motherless ;Mar2;aret ? "Where will she find a hame ? " 
 
 " O mem," said Thomas, " if the hke o' me durst say it. 
 she needna hae far to gang, to find a hame and a heart 
 too. "Would she only be mine, I would be her protector 
 — a' that I have should be hers." 
 
 A gleam of joy brightened in the eye of the dying 
 widow. 
 
 " Margaret I "' she exclaimed, faintly ; and Margaret laid 
 her face upon the bed, and wept. " O my bairn ! my puir 
 bairn!" continued her mother, "shall I. see ye protected 
 and provided for before I am ' where the wicked cease 
 from troubling and the weary are at rest,' which canna be 
 lang noo?" 
 
 Thomas groaned — tears glistened in his eyes — ^he held 
 his breath in suspense. The moment of trial, of condem- 
 nation or acquittal, of happiness or misery, had arrived. 
 With an eager impatience he waited to hear her answer. 
 But Margaret's heart was prepared for his proposal. He 
 had first touched it ■\\'ith gratitude — he bad obtained her 
 esteem; and where these sentiments prevail in the bosom 
 of a woman whose aifections have not been bestowed upon 
 another, love is not far distant — if it be not between them, 
 and a part of both. 
 
 " Did ever I disobey you, mother ? " sobbed Margaret, 
 raising her parent's hand to her lips. 
 
 " No, my bairn, no I " answered the widow. And raising 
 herself in the bed, she took her daughter's hand and placed 
 it in the hand of Thomas Ilardie. 
 
 " Oh !" said he, "is this possible ? Does my bonny Mar- 
 garet really consent to make me the happiest man on earth ? 
 Shall I hae a gem at Tollishill that I wadna exchange for 
 a monarch's diadem ?"
 
 26 G TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 It is sufficient to say that the young and lovely Margaret 
 Lylestone became Mrs. Hardie of Tollishill ; or, as she was 
 generally called, '■'■ Midside Maggie.^^ Her mother died 
 ■within three months after their marriage, biJt died in peace, 
 having, as she said, " seen her dear bairn blessed m' a leal 
 and a kind guidman, and ane that was weel to do." 
 
 For two years after their marriage, and not a happier 
 couple than Thomas and !Midside JMaggie was to be found 
 on all the long Lammermoors, in the ^lerse, nor yet in the 
 broad Lothians. They saw the broom and the heather 
 bloom in their season, and they heard the mavis sing before 
 their dwelling ; yea, they beheld the snow falling on the 
 mountains, and the drift sweeping do'vvn the glens; but 
 while the former delighted, the latter harmed them not, 
 and from all they drew mutual joy and happiness. Thomas 
 said that " ilaggy was a matchless wife ;" and she that " he 
 was a kind, kind husband." 
 
 But the third -winter was one of terror among the hills. 
 It was near the new year; the snow began to fall on a Satur- 
 day, and when the following Friday came, the storm had 
 not ceased. It was accompanied by frost and a fierce Avind, 
 and the drift swept and Avliirled like awfid pUlars of alabas- 
 ter, down the hills, and along the glens — 
 
 " Sweeping the flocks and herds." 
 Fearful was the wrath of the tempest on the Lammermoors. 
 Many farmers suffered severely, but none more severely than 
 Tliomas Hardie of Tollishill. Hundreds of his sheep had 
 perished in a single night. He was brought from prosperity 
 to the brink of adversity. 
 
 But another winter came round. It commenced •with a 
 severity scarce inferior to that which had preceded it, and 
 again scores of his sheep were biu-ied in the snow. But 
 FcVtruary had not passed, and scarce had the sun entered 
 wliat is represented as the astronomical sign of the two fish, 
 in the heavens, when the genial influence of spring fell Avith
 
 MIDSIDE MAGGY. 267 
 
 almost summer warmtli upon tte earth. Diu-ing the night 
 the dews came heavily on the ground, and the sun sucked it 
 up in a vapour. But the herbage grew rapidly, and the 
 flocks ate of it greedily, and licked the dew ere the sun rose 
 to dry it up. It brought the murrain amongst them ; 
 they died by hundreds ; and those that even fattened, but 
 did not die, no man would purchase ; or, if purchased, it 
 was only upon the understanding that the money should 
 be returned "if the animals were found unsound. These 
 misfortunes were too much for Thomas Hardie. "Within 
 two years he found himself a ruined man. But he grieved 
 not for the loss of his flocks, nor yet for his own sake, but 
 for that of his fair young wife, whom he loved as the 
 apple of his eye. Many, when they heard of his mis- 
 fortunes, said that they were sorry for bonny !Midside 
 Maggy. 
 
 But, worst of all, the rent-day of Thomas Hardie drew 
 near ; and for the first time since he had held a farm, he was 
 unable to meet his landlord with his money in his hand. 
 Margaret beheld the agony of his spirit, and she knew its 
 cause. She put on her Sunday hood and kirtle ; and pro- 
 fessing to her husband that she -wished to go to Lauder, 
 she took her way to Thirlestane Castle, the residence of 
 their proud landlord, before Avhom every tenant in arrear 
 trembled. With a shaking hand she knocked at the hall 
 door, and after much perseverance and entreaty, Avas 
 admitted into the presence of the haughty earl. She 
 ciu-tsied low before him. 
 
 "Well, what want ye, my bonny lass?" said Lauder- 
 dale, eyeing her significantly. 
 
 "May it please yer lordship," replied IMargarct, "I am 
 the wife o' yer tenant, Thomas Hardie o' Tollishill ; an' a 
 guid tenant he has been to yer lordship for twenty years 
 and mair, as yer lordship maun wcel ken." 
 
 " He has been my tenant for more tlian twenty years.
 
 268 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 say ye ? " interrupted Lauderdale ; " and ye say ye are 
 his -wife : why, looking on thy bonny foce, I should say 
 that the heather hasna bloomed twenty times on the 
 knowes o' Tollishill since thy mother bore thee. Yet ye 
 say ye are his wife ! Beshrew me, but Thomas Hardic is 
 a man o' taste. Arena ye his daughter ? " 
 
 " No, my lord ; his first, his only, an' his lawfn' wife — 
 an' I would only say, that to ye an' yer faither before ye, 
 for mair than twenty years, he has paid his rent regularly 
 an' faithiidly ; but the seasons hae visited us sairly, very 
 sairly, for tAva years successively, my lord, an' the drifb 
 has destroyed, an' the rot rooted oot oor flocks, sae that 
 we are hardly able to haud up oor heads amang oor neebors, 
 and to meet yer lordship at yer rent-day is oot o' oor 
 power ; therefore hae I come to ye to implore ye, that we 
 may hae time to gather oor feet, an' to gie yer lordship 
 aTi' every man his due, when it is in oor power." 
 
 "Hear me, guidwife," rejoined the earl; "were I to listen 
 to such stories as yours, I might have every farmer's wife 
 on my estates coming whimpering and wliinging, till I 
 was left to shake a purse with naething in't, and allowing 
 others the benefit o' my lands. But it is not every day 
 that a face like yours comes in the shape o' sorrow before 
 me ; and, for ae kiss o' your cherry mou', (and ye may take 
 my comphments to your auld man for his taste,) ye shall 
 have a discharge for your half-year's rent, and see if that 
 may set your husband on his feet again." 
 
 "Na, yer lordship, nal" replied Margaret; " it would 
 ill become ony woman in my situation in life, an' especially 
 a married ane, to be daflin with sic as yer lordship. I 
 am the "vvifc o' Thomas Ilardie, wha is a guid guidman to 
 me, an' I cam here this day to entreat ye to deal kindly 
 wi' him in the day o' his misfortune." 
 
 " Troth," replied Lauderdale — who could feel the force 
 of virtue in others, though he did not always practise it
 
 UnDSIDE MAGGT 269 
 
 ih his own person — " I hae heard o' the blossom o' Tollis- 
 hill before, an' a bonny flower ye are to blossom in an 
 anld man's bower ; but I find ye modest as ye are bonny, 
 an' upon one condition -will I grant yer request. Ye liae 
 tauld me o' yer hirsels being buried m' the drift, an' that 
 the snaw has covered the May primrose on Leader braes ; 
 now it is Martinmas, an' if in June ye bring me a snowball, 
 not only shall ye be quit o' yer back rent, but ye shall sit 
 free in Tollishill till Martinmas next. But see that in 
 Jime ye bring me the snowball or the rent." 
 
 Margaret made her obeisance before the earl, and, 
 thanking him, Avithdrew. But she feared the coming of 
 June ; for to raise the rent even then she well knew would 
 be a thing impossible, and she thought also it would be 
 equally so to preserve a snow-ball beneath the melting 
 sun of June. Though young, she had too much prudence 
 and honesty to keep a secret from her husband ; it was 
 her maxim, and it Avas a good one, that " there ought to 
 be no secrets between a man and his wife, which the one 
 would conceal from the other." She therefore told him 
 of her journey to Thirlestane, and of all that had passed 
 between her and the carl. Thomas kissed her cheek, and 
 called her his " bonny, artless Maggy ;" but he had no 
 more hope of seeing a snowball in Jime than she had, and 
 he said, "the bargain was like the bargain o' a crafty 
 Lauderdale." 
 
 Again the Avinter storms howled upon the Lammermoors, 
 and the snow lay deep upon the hills. Thomas and his 
 herdsmen were busied in exertions to preserve the remain- 
 der of his flocks ; but, one day, Avhen the Avestling Avinds 
 breathed with a thaAving influence upon the snoAV-clad 
 hills, Margaret Avent forth to Avhere there Avas a small, 
 deep, and shadoAved raAnne by the side of the Leader. In 
 it the rivulet formed a pool, and seemed to sleep, and 
 there the grey trout loved to lie at ease ; for a liigli dark
 
 270 TALES OF TUB BORDERS. 
 
 rock, over which the brushwood grew, overhung it, and 
 the rays of the sun fell not upon it. In the rock, and 
 near the side of the stream, Avas a deep cavity, and Mar- 
 garet formed a snowball on the brae top, and she rolled it 
 slowly dowTi into the shadowed glen, till it attained the 
 magnitude of an avalanche in miniature. She trode upon 
 it, and pressed it firmly together, tUl it obtained almost the 
 hardness and consistency of ice. She roUed it far into the 
 cavity, and blocked up the mouth of the aperture, so that 
 neither light nor au' might penetrate the strange coiTer in 
 which she had deposited the equally strange rent of Tollis- 
 hill. Verily, common as ice-houses are in our day, let 
 not Midside Maggy be deprived of the merit of their 
 invention. 
 
 I have said that it was her maxim to keep no secret 
 from her husband ; but, as it is said there is no rule vnth.- 
 out an exception, even so it Avas in the case of Margaret, 
 and there "was one secret which she communicated not to 
 Tliomas, and that was — the secret of the hidden snowball. 
 
 But Jime came, and Thomas Ilardie was a sorroAvful 
 man. lie had in no measure overcome the calamities of 
 former seasons, and he was still unprepared with his rent. 
 Margaret shared not his sorrow, but strove to cheer him, 
 and said — 
 
 " "We shall hae a snaAvba' in June, though I climb to 
 tlie top o' Cheviot for it." 
 
 " O my bonny lassie," replied he — and he could see the 
 summit of Cheviot from his farm — " dinna deceive yersel' 
 wi' what could only be words spoken in jest; but, at ony 
 rate, I perceive there has been nae snaw on Cheviot for a 
 month past." 
 
 Now, not a week had passed, but Margaret had visited 
 the aperture in the ravine, where the snowball was con- 
 cealed, not through idle curiosity, to perceive whether it 
 bud melttd away, but more effectually to stop up every
 
 MIDSIDE MAGGY. 271 
 
 crevice that might have been made in the materials with 
 which she had blocked up the mouth of the cavity. 
 
 But the third day of the dreadfid month had not passed, 
 when a messenger arrived at ToDishill from Thirlestane 
 with the abrupt mandate — " June has come /" 
 
 " And we shall be at Thirlestane the morn," answered 
 IMargaret. 
 
 *' O my doo," said Thomas, " what nonsense are ye tallc 
 ing ! — that isna like ye, IMargaret ; I'll be in Greenlaw Jail 
 the morn; and oor bits o' things in the hoose, and oor 
 flocks, will be seized by the harpies o' the law — and the 
 only thing that distresses me is, what is to come o' you 
 hinny." 
 
 " Dinna dree the death ye'll never dee," said IMargaret 
 affectionately ; " we shall see, if we be spared, what the 
 morn will bring." 
 
 "The fortitude o' yer mind, Margaret," said Thomas, 
 taking her hand ; and he intended to have said more, to 
 have finished a sentence in admiration of her worth, but 
 his heart filled, and he was silent. 
 
 On the follomng morning, Margaret said unto him — 
 
 " Now, Thomas, if ye are ready, we'll gang to Thirlestane. 
 It is aye Avaur to expect or think o' an evil than to face it.'» 
 
 " Margaret, dear," said he, " I canna comprehend ye — 
 wherefore should I thrust my head into the lion's den ? It 
 will soon enough seek me in my path." 
 
 Nevertheless, she said unto him, " Come," and bade 
 him be of good heart; and he rose and accompanied 
 her. But she conducted him to the deep ravine, where 
 the waters seem to sleep and no sunbeam ever falls ; and, 
 as she removed the earth and the stones, with Avliich she 
 Bad blocked up the mouth of the caAdty in the rock, he 
 stood wondering. She entered the aperture, and rolled 
 forth the firm mass of snow, which was yet too large to be 
 lifted by liands. When Thomas saw this, he smiled and
 
 272 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 ^vcpt at the same instant, and he pressed his wife's cheek 
 to his bosom, and said— 
 
 " Great has been the care o' my poor Margaret ; btit it 
 is o' no avail; for, though ye hae proved mair than a 
 match for the seasons, tlie proposal was but a jest o' 
 Lauderdale." 
 
 "What is a man but his word?" replied Margaret; 
 " and him a nobleman too." 
 
 " Nobility are but men," answered Thomas, " and sel- 
 dom better men than ither folk. Believe me, if we were 
 to gang afore him wi' a snawba' in oor hands, we should 
 only get lauched at for our pains." 
 
 " It was his aiu agreement," added she ; " and, at ony 
 rate, we can be naething the waur for seeing if he will 
 abide by it." 
 
 Breaking the snowy mass, she rolled up a portion of it 
 in a napkin, and thoy went towards Thirlestane together ; 
 though often did Thomas stop by the way and say — 
 
 " Margaret, dear, I'm perfectly ashamed to gang upon 
 this business; as sure as I am standing here, as I have 
 tauld ye, we will only get oorselves lauched at." 
 
 *' I would rather be lauched at," added she, " than 
 despised for breaking my word ; and, if oor laird break 
 his noo, wha wadna despise him ?" 
 
 Harmonious as their wedded life had hitherto been, 
 there was what might well nigh be called bickerings be- 
 tween them on the road ; for Thomas felt or believed that 
 she Avas leading him on a fool's errand. But they arrived 
 at the castle ol'Tliirlestane, and were ushered into the man- 
 sion of its proud lord. 
 
 "Ha!" said the earl, as they entered, "bonny Midside 
 Maggy and her auld guidman I Well, what bring ye ? — 
 the rents o' Tollishill, or their equivalent?" Thomas 
 looked at his young wife, for he saw nothing to give 
 him hope on the countenance of Lauderdale, and he
 
 MIDSIDB MAGGY. 273 
 
 thought that he pronounced the word " equivalent " mth 
 
 a sneer, 
 
 " I bring ye snaw in June, my lord," replied Margaret, 
 " agreeably to the terms o' yer bargain ; and I'm sorry, 
 for your sake and oors, that it hasna yet been in oor power 
 to bring gowd instead o't." 
 
 Loud laughed the earl as Margaret unrolled the huge 
 snowball before him ; and Thomas thought unto himself, 
 " I said how it woiild be." But Lauderdale, calling for 
 his writing materials, sat down and wrote, and he placed 
 in the hands of Thomas a discharge, not only for his back 
 rent, but for aU that should other^vise be due at the ensu- 
 ing Martinmas. 
 
 Thomas Hardie bowed and bowed again before the earl, 
 low and yet lower, awkwardly and stUl more awkwardly, 
 and he endeavoured to thank him, but his tongue faltered 
 in the performance of its office. He could have taken his 
 hand in his and ^vrung it fervently, leaving his fingers to 
 express what his tongue could not ; but his laird was an 
 carl, and there was a necessary distance to be observed 
 between an earl and a Lammermoor farmer, 
 
 " Thank not me, goodman," said Lauderdale, " but thank 
 the modesty and discretion o' yer winsome wife." 
 
 Margaret was sUcnt; but gratitude for the kindness 
 which the earl had sho\vn \into her husband and herself 
 took deep root in her heart. Gratitude, indeed, formed 
 the predominating principle in her character, and fitted her 
 even for acts of heroism. 
 
 The imexpected and unwonted generosity of the earl had 
 enabled Thomas Hardie to overcome the losses with which 
 the fury of the seasons had overwhelmed him, and he 
 prospered beyond any farmer on the hills. But, while he 
 prospered, the Earl of Lauderdale, in his turn, was over- 
 taken by adversity. The stormy times of the civil wari 
 
 raged, and it ia well known with what devotednesa.Laud'w- 
 
 T 2
 
 274 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 dale followed the fortunes of the king. "When the Com- 
 monwealth began, he was made prisoner, conveyed to 
 London, and confined in the Tower. There, nine years of 
 captivity crept slowly and gloomily over him; but they 
 neither taught him mercy to others nor to moderate his 
 ambition, as was manifested when power aud prosperity 
 again cast theu* beams upon him. But he now lingered 
 in the Tower, Avithout prospect or hope of release, living 
 upon the bare sustenance of a prisoner, while his tenants 
 dwelt on his estates, and did as they pleased A\ith his rents, as 
 though they should not again behold the face of a landlord. 
 
 But Midside Maggy grieved for the fate of him whose 
 generosity had broiaght prospeiity, such as they had never 
 known before, to herself and to her husband ; and, in the 
 fulness of her gratitude, she was ever planning schemes for 
 his deliverance ; and she urged upon her husband that it 
 was their duty to attempt to deliver their benefactor from 
 captivity, as he had delivered them from the iron grasp of 
 ruin, when misfortune lay heavily on them. Now, as duly 
 as the rent-day came, from the Martinmas to which the 
 snowball had been his discharge, Thomas Ilardie faithfully 
 and punctually locked away his rent to the last farthing, 
 that he might dehver it into the hands of his laird, should 
 he again be permitted to claim his OAvn; but he saw not in 
 what way they could attempt his deliverance, as his wife 
 proposed. 
 
 " Thomas," said she, " there are ten lang years o' rent 
 due, and we hae the siUer locked away. It is o' nae use 
 to us, for it isna oors ; but it may be o' use to him. It 
 would enable him to fare better in his prison, and maybe 
 to put a handfu' o' gowd into the hands o' his keepers, and 
 thereby to escape abroad, and it wad furnish him wi' the 
 means o' living when he was abroad. Remember his kind- 
 ness to us, and think that there is nae sin equal to the sin 
 o' ingratitude."
 
 MIDSIDE MAGGY. 275 
 
 "But," added Thomas, "in what way coixld we get the 
 money to him ? for, if we were to send it, it would never 
 reach him, and, as a prisoner, he wouldna be allooed to 
 receive it." 
 
 " Let us tak it to him oorsels, then," said Margaret. 
 
 " Tak it oorsels !" exclaimed Thomas, in amazement, " a' 
 the way to London ! It is oot o' the question a'thegither, 
 ^Margaret. We wad be robbed o' every plack before we 
 got half-way ; or, if Ave were even there, hoo, in a' the 
 world, do ye think we could get it to him, or that we 
 would be allooed to see him ?" 
 
 " Leave that to me," was her reply ; " only say ye will 
 gang, and a' that shall be accomplished. There is nae 
 obstacle in the way but the want o' yer consent. But 
 the debt, and the ingratitude o' it thegither, hang h.ea,Yy 
 upon my heart." 
 
 Thomas at length yielded to the importunities of his 
 mfe, and agreed that they should make a pilgrimage to 
 London, to pay his rent to his captive laird ; though how 
 they Avere to carry the gold in safety, through an unsettled 
 coimtry, a distance of more than three hundred mUes, was 
 a difficulty he could not overcome. But Margaret re- 
 moved his fears ; she desired him to count out the gold, 
 and place it before her ; and Avhcn he had done so, she 
 Avent to the meal-tub and took out a quantity of pease and 
 of barley meal mixed, sufficient to knead a goodly fadge 
 or bannock ; and, Avhen she had kneaded it, and rolled it 
 out, she took the golden pieces and pressed them into the 
 paste of the embryo bannock, and again she doubled it 
 together, and again rolled it out, and kneaded into it the 
 remainder of the gold. She then fashioned it into a thick 
 bannock, and placing it on the hearth, covered it with the 
 red ashes of the peats. 
 
 Thomas sat marvelling, as the formation of the singular 
 purse proceeded, and Avhen he beheld the operation com-
 
 276 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 pleted, and the bannock placed upon the hearth to bake, 
 he only exclaimed — " "Weel, woman's ingenuity dings a' ! 
 1 ■vvadna hae thocht o' the Uke o' ,that, had I lived a 
 thoosand years ! Margaret, hinny, but ye are a strange 
 ane." 
 
 " Hoots," replied she, " I'm sure ye micht easily hae 
 imagined that it was the safest plan we could hae thocht 
 upon to carry the siller in safety ; for I am sure there isna 
 a thief between the Tweed and Lon'on toun, that would 
 covet or carry awa a bear bannock." 
 
 " Troth, my doo, and I believe ye're richt," replied 
 Thomas ; " but Avha could hae thocht o' sic an expedient ? 
 Sure there never was a bannock baked like the bannock o' 
 TolHshill." 
 
 On the third day after this, an old man and a fair lad, 
 before the sun had yet risen, were observed crossing the 
 English Border. They alternately caiTied a wallet across 
 their shoulders, which contained a few articles of apparel 
 and a bannock. They were dressed as shepherds, and 
 . passengers turned and gazed on them as they passed 
 along ; for the beauty of the youth's countenance excited 
 their admiration. Never had Lowland bonnet covered so 
 fair a brow. The elder stranger was Thomas Ilardie, and 
 the youth none other than his Midside Maggy. 
 
 I will not follow them through the stages of tlieir long 
 and weary journey, nor dwell upon the perils and adven- 
 tures they encountered by the way. But, ou the third 
 week after they had left ToUishiU, and when they were 
 beyond the tOAvn called Stevenage, and almost Avithin sight 
 of the metropolis, they were met by an elderly military- 
 looking man, who, struck with the lovely countenance of 
 the seeming youth, their dress, and way-worn appearance, 
 accosted them, saying — "Good morrow, strangers; ye 
 seem to have travelled far. Is this fair youth your son, 
 old man?"
 
 JimSIDE MAGGY. 277 
 
 " He is a gay sib freend," answered Thomas. 
 
 "And whence come ye?" continued the stranger. 
 
 "Frae Leader Haughs, on the bonny Borders o' the 
 north countrie," replied Margaret. 
 
 "And whence go ye?" resumed the other. 
 
 " First tell me wha ye may be that are sae inquisitive,*' 
 interrupted Thomas, in a tone which betrayed something 
 like impatience. 
 
 "Some call me George Monk," replied the stranger 
 mUdly, "others. Honest George. I am a general in the 
 Parliamentary army." Thomas reverentially raised his 
 hand to his bonnet, and bowed his head. 
 
 " Then pardon me, sir," added Margaret, " and if ye 
 indeed be the guid and gallant general, sma' offence will 
 ye tak at onything that may be said amiss by a country 
 laddie. "We are tenants o' the Lord o' Lauderdale, whom 
 ye now keep in captivity ; and, though we mayna think as 
 he thinks, yet we never faund him but a guid landlord • 
 and Httle guid, in my opinion, it can do ony body to keep 
 him, as he has been noo for nine years, caged up like a bird. 
 Therefore, though oor ain business that has brocht us up to 
 London should fail, I mnna regret the journey, since it has 
 afforded me an opportunity o' seein yer Excellency, and 
 soUciting yer interest, which maun be pooerfu' in belialf 
 o' oor laird, and that ye would release him frae his prison, 
 and, if he michtna remain in this countrie, obtain permis- 
 sion for him to gang abroad." 
 
 " Ye plead fiiirly and honestly for yer laird, fair youth,'' 
 returned the general; "yet, though he is no man to 
 be trusted, I needs say lie hath had his portion of cap- 
 tivity measured out abundantly ; and, since ye have 
 minded me of him, ere a week go round I will think of 
 what may be done for Lauderdale." Other questions 
 were asked and answered — some truly, and some eva- 
 sively; and Thomas and Margaret, blessing Honest Georg
 
 278 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 ID their hearts, went on their way rejoicing at having met 
 liim. 
 
 On arriving in London, she laid aside the shepherd's 
 garb in which she had joui'neyed, and resumed her wonted 
 apparel. On the second day after their arrival, she Avent 
 out upon Tower-hill, dressed as a Scottish peasant girl, 
 with a basket on her arm ; and in the basket Avere a few 
 ballads, and the bannock of Tollishill. She affected silli 
 ness, and, acting the part of a wandering minstrel, went 
 singing her ballads towards the gate of the Tower. Thomas 
 followed her at a distance. Iler appearance interested the 
 guard ; and as she stood singing before the gate — " "What 
 want yc, pretty face?" inquired the officer of the guard. 
 " Your alms, if you please," said she, smiling innocently, 
 *' and to sing a bonny Scotch sang to the Laird o' Lauder- 
 dale." 
 
 The officer and the sentinels laughed; and, after she had 
 s mg them another song or two, she was permitted to enter 
 the gate, and a soldier pointed out to her the room in which 
 Lauderdale was confined. On arriving before the grated 
 •windows of his prison, she raised her eyes towards them, 
 and began to sing " Leader IlaugJis." The wild, sweet 
 melody of his native land, drew Lauderdale to the windows 
 of his prison-house, and in the countenance of the minstrel 
 he remembered the lovely features of Midside Maggy. He 
 requested permission of the keeper that she should be ad- 
 mitted to his presence ; and his request was complied with. 
 
 "Bless thee, sweet facel" said the earl, as she was ad- 
 mitted into his prison ; and you have not forgotten the 
 Bnowball in Jimc?" And he took her hand to raise it to 
 his lips. 
 
 "Ilooly, hooly, my guid lord," said she, withdramng 
 her hand; "my fingers were made for nae sic purpose — 
 Thomas Hardie is here" — and she laid her hand upon her 
 fair bosom — " though now standing withoot the yett o' the
 
 MIDSIDE MAGGY. 279 
 
 Tower." Lauderdale again wondered, and, witli a look of 
 mingled curiosity and confusion, inquired — " AVlierefGre 
 do ye come — and why do ye seek me?" "I brocht ye a 
 snaw-ba' before," said she, " for yer rent — I bring ye a 
 bannock noo." And she took the bannock from the basket 
 and placed it before him. 
 
 *' Woman," added he, " are ye really as demented as I 
 thocht ye but feigned to be, when ye sang before the win- 
 dow." 
 
 " The proof o' the bannock," replied Margaret, " will be 
 in the breakin' o't." 
 
 " Then, goodmfe, it will not be easily proved," said he 
 — and he took the bannock, and, with some difficulty, 
 broke it over his knee; but, when he beheld the golden 
 coins that were kneaded through it, for the first, perhaps 
 the last and only time in his existence, the Earl of Lauder- 
 dale biu-st into tears and exclaimed — "Well, every bannock 
 has its maik, but the bannock o' Tollishill ! Yet, kind as 
 ye hae been, the gold is useless to ane that groans in hope- 
 less capti^dty." 
 
 " Yours has been a long captivity," said Margaret; " but 
 it is not hopeless ; and, if honest General Monk is to be 
 trusted, from what he tanld me not three days by-ganc, 
 before a week gae roond, ye -will be at liberty to go abroad, 
 and there the bannock o' Tollishill may be o' use." 
 
 The wonder of Lauderdale increased, and he repHed — 
 "Monk -will keep his word — but what mean ye of him?" 
 
 And she related to him the interview they had had -with 
 the general by the way. Lauderdale took her hand, a ray 
 of hope and joy spread over his face, and he added — 
 
 "Never shall ye rue the bakin' o' the bannock, if auld 
 times come back again." 
 
 Margaret left the tower, singing as she had entered it, 
 and joined her husband, whom she foiind leaning over the 
 railing around the moat, and anxiously waiting her retiu-n.
 
 280 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 They spent a few days more in London, to rest and to gaze 
 upon its wonders, and again set out upon their journey to 
 Tollishill. General Monk remembered his promise ; within 
 a week, the Earl of Lauderdale was liberated, with permis- 
 sion to go abroad, and there, as Margaret had intimated, he 
 found the bannock of Tollishill of service. 
 
 A few more years passed round, during which old Thomas 
 Ilardie stiU prospered; but, during those years, the Com- 
 monwealth came to an end, the king Avas recalled, and with 
 him, as one of his chief favourites, returned the Earl of 
 Lauderdale. And, when he arrived in Scotland, clothed 
 with power, whatever else he forgot, he remembered the 
 bannock of Tolhshill. Arrayed in what might have passed 
 as royal state, and attended by fifty of his followers, he rode 
 to the dwelling of Tliomas Ilardie and Midside Maggy ; and 
 when they came forth to meet him, he dismounted and 
 drew forth a costly silver girdle of strange workmanship, 
 and fastened it round her jimp waist, saving — "Wear this, 
 for now it is my turn to be grateful, and foi your husband's 
 life, and your life, and the life of the generation after ye" 
 (for they had children), "ye shall sit rent free on the lands 
 ye now farm. For, truly, every bannock had its maik but 
 the bannock o' TollishiU." 
 
 Thomas and Margaret felt their hearts too full to express 
 their thanks; and ere they could speak, the earl, mounting 
 his horse, rode towards Thirlcstane; and his followers, 
 waving their bonnets, shouted — " Long live Midside Maggy, 
 queen of TollishUl." 
 
 Such is the story of " The Bannock o' Tollishill;" and it 
 is only necessary to add, for the information of the cvu-ious, 
 that I believe the silver girdle may be seen until this day, 
 in the neighbourhood of Tollishill, and in the possession of 
 a descendant of Midside Maggy, to whom it was given. 
 
 Printed by A. Ireland A Ca for James AtNawoRTii, 93, FiooAdllly, :^BQohe8tar.
 
 CON T E N T S 
 
 A WiHE OR THE "WuDu-r, (John MacJcay WiUon), 1 
 
 Lord Durik and Ciikistie's Will, (Alexander Leighton), 33 
 
 Recollections of Burks, (Hugh MiUcr), C5 
 
 TiiB Professor's Tales (Professor Thomas Gillespie)— 
 
 The CoN^^VLVLISXs, 122 
 
 Philips Grey, ^^^ 
 
 Donald Gokm, (Alexander CampleW), 155 
 
 The Surgeon's Tales, (Akxatider Leighton')— 
 
 The Cured Ingrate, 188 
 
 The Adopted Son, (Jvhn Mackag Wilson), 220 
 
 The Fortunes of William Wigiiton....... (John Ilowei), 247 
 
 My Black Coat; or, the Bre.\kino of the Buides 
 
 Chijia, (John Alackatf Wilson), 276
 
 WILSON'S 
 TALES OF THE BORDERS, 
 
 AND OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 
 
 "There was a criminal in a cart 
 
 Agoing to be hanged — 
 Reprieve to him was granted ; 
 
 The crowd and cart did stand, 
 To see if he would marrj' a wife, 
 
 Or, otherwise, choose to die ! 
 'Oh, why should I torment my life?' 
 
 The victim did reply; 
 'The bargain's bad in every part — 
 But a wife's the worst! — drive on the cart.'" 
 
 Honest Sir John Falstaff talketh of "minions of the moon:" 
 and, truth to tell, two or three hundred years ago, nowhere 
 ■was such an order of knighthood more prevalent than rtpon 
 the Borders. Not only did the Scottish and English Bor- 
 derers make their forays across the Tweed, and the ideal line, 
 but rival chieftains, though of the same nation, considered 
 themselves at liberty to make inroads upon the property of 
 each other. The laws ofmeum and tuu7n they were unable 
 to comprehend. Theirs was tlic strong man's world, and 
 with them 77nglit was j-ight. But to proceed with our story. 
 About the beginning of the seventeenth century, one of the 
 boldest knights upon the Borders was "William Scott, the 
 young laird of Harden. His favourite residence was Oak- 
 
 VOL. II iV
 
 2 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 ■wood Tower, a place of great strength, situated on the banks 
 of the Ettrick. The motto of his family was " Reparabit 
 cornua Phcche,'''' which being interpreted by his countrymen, 
 in their vernacular idiom, ran thus — " "We'll hae moonlight 
 again." Now, the young laird was one Avho considered it 
 his chief honour to give effect to both the spirit and the 
 letter of his family motto. Permitting us again to refer to 
 honest Falstaff, it implied that they were " gentlemen of 
 the night ;" and he was not one who wordd loll upon his 
 pillow when his "avocation" called him to the foray. 
 
 It was drawing towards midnight, in the month of Octo- 
 ber, when the leaves in the forest had become brown and 
 yellow, and with a hard sound rustled \ipon each other, that 
 young Scott called together his retainers, and addressing 
 them, said — "Look ye, friends, is it not a crying sin and a 
 national shame to see things going aglce as they are doing? 
 There seems hardly such a thing as manhood left upon the 
 Borders. A bit scratch with a pen upon parchment is 
 becoming of more effect than a stroke with the sword. A 
 bairn now stands as good a chance to hold and to have, as 
 an armed man that has a hand to take and to defend. Such 
 n state o' things was only made for those who are owcr 
 lazy to ride by night, and ower cowardly to fight. Never 
 »h;dl it be said that I, William Scott of Harden, was one 
 who cither submitted or conformed to it. Give me the 
 good, old, manly law, that 'they shall keep who can,' and 
 wi' my honest sword will I maintain my right against 
 every enemy. Now, there is our natural and lawful ad- 
 versary, auld Sir Gideon Murray o' Elibank, carries his 
 liead as high as though he were first cousin to a king, or 
 the sole lord o' Ettrick Forest. More than once has he 
 slighted me in a way which it wasna for a Scott to bear; 
 and wecl do I ken that he has the will, and Avants but the 
 power, to harry us o' house and ha'. But, by my troth, 
 he shall pay a dear reckoning for a' the insults he has
 
 THE WIFE OK THE WUDDT. O 
 
 ofiTercd to the Scotts o' Harden. Now, every Murray 
 among tliem lias a •\vcel-stocked mailing, and their kine are 
 weel-favoured ; to-night the moon is laughing cannily 
 through the clouds : — therefore, Avhat say ye, neighbours— 
 ■will ye ride wi' me to EHbank? and, before morning, every 
 man o' them shall have a toom byre." 
 
 "Hurra!" shouted they, "for the young laird! He is a 
 true Scott from head to heel! Eide on, and we will follow 
 ye! Hurra! — the moon glents ower the hills to gmde us to 
 the spoils o' Elibank ! To-night we shall bring langsyne 
 back again." 
 
 There were twenty of them, stout and bold men, mounted 
 upon hght and active horses — some armed with firelocks, 
 and others with Jeddart staves ; while, in addition to such 
 weapons, every man had a good sword by his side. At 
 their head Avas the fearless young laird ; and, at a brisk 
 pace, they set off towards Elibank. Mothers and maidens 
 ran to their cottage doors, and looked after them with fore- 
 boding hearts Avhen they rode along ; for it was a saying 
 amongst them, that "when young Wilhe Scott o' Harden 
 set his foot in the stirrup at night, there Avere to be swords 
 drawn before morning." They knew, also, the feiid between 
 him and the house of Elibank, and as well did they know 
 that the ^lurrays were a resolute and a stmxly race. 
 
 Morn had not dawned when they arrived at the scene 
 where their booty lay. Not a ^Murray Avas abroad; and to 
 the extreme they carried the threat of the young laird into 
 execution, of making " toom bjTes." By scores and by 
 hundreds, they collected together, into one immense herd, 
 horned cattle and sheep, and they drove them before them 
 throiigh the forest towards Oakwood Tower. The laird, in 
 order to repel any rescue that might be attempted, brought 
 up the rear, and, in the joy of his heart, he sang, and, at 
 times, cried aloud, " There Avill be dry breakfasts in Elibank 
 before the sun gets cot, but a merry meal at Oakwood afore
 
 4 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 he gangs doun. An entire bullock shall be roasted, and 
 wives and bairns shall eat o' it." 
 
 " I humbly beg your pardon, Maister "William," said an 
 old retainer, named Simon Scott, and who traced a distant 
 relationship to the family; " I respectfully ask your pardon; 
 but I have been in your faither's family for forty years, and 
 never was backward in the hoor o' danger, or ha a ploy like 
 this ; but ye will just alloo me to observe, sir, that wilfu' 
 waste maks wofu' Avant, and I see nae occasion whatever 
 for roasting a bullock. It would be as bad as oor ncebors 
 on the ithcr side o' the Tweed, wha are roast, roastin', or 
 bakin' in the oven, every day o' the week, and makin' a 
 stane weight o' meat no gang sae far as twa or three pounds 
 wad hae dune. Therefore, sir, if ye will tak my advice, 
 if we are to hae a feast, there will be nae roastin' in the 
 way. There was a fine sharp frost the other nicht, and I 
 observed the rime lying upon the kail ; so that baith greens 
 and savoys will be as tender as a weel-boiled thrce-month- 
 auld chicken ; and I say, therefore, let the beef be boiled, 
 and let them hae ladlefu's o' kail, and ye will find, sir, that 
 instead o' a hail bullock, even if ye intend to feast auld and 
 young, male and female, upon the lands o' Oakwood, a 
 quarter o' a bullock will be amply suflicient, and the rest 
 can be sauted doun for winter's provisions. Ye ken, sir, 
 that the Murrays winna let ue lichtly slip for this nicht's 
 wark ; and it is aye safest, as the saying is, to lay by for a 
 sair fit." 
 
 " Well argued, good Simon," said the young laird; "btit 
 your economy is ill-timed. After a night's work such as 
 this there is surely some licence for gilravishlng. I say it 
 — and who dare contradict me? — to-night there is not one 
 belonging to the house of Harden, be they old or young, 
 who shall not eat of roast meat, and drink of the best." 
 
 " Weel, sir," replied Simon, " wi' reverence be it spoken, 
 but I would beg to say that ye are wrang. Folk that ance
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 5 
 
 get a liking for dainties talc ill wi' plainer fare again ; and, 
 moreover, sir, in a' my experience, I never kenned dainty 
 bits and hardihood to go hand in hand ; but, on the con- 
 trary, luxuries mak men effeminate, and discontented into 
 the bargain." 
 
 The altercation between the old retainer and his young 
 master ran farther; but it was suddenly interrupted by the 
 deep-mouthed baying of a sleuth-hound ; and its threaten- 
 ing howls were followed by a loud cry, as if from fifty 
 voices, of — "To-night for Sir Gideon and the house of 
 Ehbank!" 
 
 But here we pause to say that Sir Gideon Murray of 
 Elibank was a man whose name was a soimd of terror to 
 all who were his enemies. As a foe, he was fierce, resolute, 
 unlbraivinfr. He had never been known to turn his back 
 upon a foe, or forgive an injury. He knew the meaning of 
 justice in its severest sense, but not of compassion; he was 
 a stranger to the attribute of mercy, and the life of the man 
 who had injured him, he regarded as little as the life of the 
 worm which he might tread beneath his heel upon his patli. 
 He was a man of middle age; and had three daughters, 
 none of whom were what the world calls beautiful ; but, 
 on the contrary, they were what even the dependents 
 upon his estates described as "very ordinary-looking young 
 
 women." 
 
 Such was Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank; and, although 
 the young laird of Harden conceived that he had come upon 
 him as "a thief in the night" — and some of my readers, 
 from the transaction recorded, may be somewhat apt to take 
 the scriptural quotation in a literal sense— yet I would say, 
 as old Satchel sings of the Borderers of those days, they 
 were men— 
 
 " Somewhat unruly, and very ill to tame. 
 I would have none tliiiik that I call them thieves; 
 For, if I did, it would be arrant lies."
 
 6 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 But, stealthily as tlie yoxing master of Harden had made his 
 preparations for the foray, old Sir Gideon had got timely 
 notice of it; and hence it Avas, that not a Murray seemed 
 astir -when they took the cattle from the byres, and drove 
 them towards Oakwood. But, through the moonlight, 
 there were eyes beheld every step they took — their every 
 movement was "watched and traced; and amongst those 
 •who watched was the stern old knight, with fifty followers 
 at his back. 
 
 "Quiet! quiet 1" he again and again, in deep murmurs, 
 uttered to his dependents, throwing back his hand, and 
 speaking in a deep and earnest whisper, that awed even the 
 slow but ferocious sleuth-hound that accompanied them, 
 and caused it to crouch back to his feet. In a yet deeper 
 whisper, he added, encouragingly — "Patience, my merry 
 men! — bide your time! — ye shall hae work before long go 
 by." 
 
 When, therefore, the young laird and his followers began 
 to disperse in the thickest of the forest, as they drove the 
 cattle before them. Sir Gideon suddenly exclaimed — " Now 
 for the onset!" And, at the sovmd of liis voice, the sleuth- 
 hound howled loud and savagely. 
 
 "We are followed! — Halt! halt! — to arms! to arms!" 
 cried the heir of Harden. 
 
 Three or four were left in charge of the now somewhat 
 scattered herd of cattle, and to drive them to a distance ; 
 while the rest of the party spm-red back their horses as 
 rapidly as the tangled pass in the forest would permit, to 
 the spot from whonce the voice of their young leader pro- 
 ceeded. They arrived speeilily, but they arrived too late. 
 In a moment, and with no signal save the baying of the 
 hound, old Sir Gideon and his armed company had burst 
 upon young Scott and Old Simon, and ere the former could 
 cry for assistance, they had sm-roundcd them. 
 
 " Willie Scott! ye rash laddie!" cried Sir Gideon— "yield
 
 THE WIFE OB THE WUDDY. 7 
 
 quietly, or a thief's death shall ye die ; and in the very 
 I'urost throtigh which ye have this night driven my cattle, 
 ihe corbies and yoxi shall become acquaint — or, at least, if 
 ye see not them, they shall see you and feel you too." 
 
 "Brag on, ye auld greybeard," exclaimed the youth; 
 but while a Scott o' Harden has a finger to wag, no power 
 on earth shall make his tongue say *I am conquered!' So 
 come on ! — do your best — do your worst — here is the hand 
 and the sword to meet ye! — and were ye ten to one, ye 
 shall find that Willie Scott isna the lad to turn his back, 
 though ten full-grown Murrays stand before his face." 
 
 "By my sooth, then, callant," cried the old knight, "and 
 it Avas small mercy, after what ye hae done, that I intended 
 to show ye ; and after what ye hae said, it shall be less that 
 I Avill grant ye. Sac come on lads, and now to humble the 
 Hardens." 
 
 " Arm ! every Scott to arms !" again shoiited the young 
 laird ; " and now, Sir Gideon, if ye will meaiure weapons, 
 and leave your ivecl-faiired daughters as a legacy to the 
 world, be it sac. But there are lads among yoiu' clan o' 
 whom they Avould hae been glad, and who, belike in jnti/, 
 might hae offered them their hands, but who -will this night 
 mak a bri(ie o' the green sward ! Sae come on, Sir Gideon, 
 and on you and yours be the consequence!" 
 
 "Before sunrise," returned Sir Gideon, "and the win- 
 some laird o' Harden shall boast less vauntingly, and rue 
 that he had broke his jeers upon an axild man. Touch mc, 
 sir, but not my baii-ns." 
 
 The conflict began, and on each side the strife Avas bloody 
 and desperate. Bold men grasped each other by the throat, 
 and they held their swords to each other's breasts, scowling 
 one upon another with the ferocity of contending tigers,«ere 
 each gave the deadly plunge which Avas to hurl both into 
 eternity. The report of fire-arms, the clash of SAvords, the 
 clang of shields, Avith the neigliing of maddeued horses, the
 
 8 TALES OF THE BORDEltS. 
 
 lowing of affrighted cattle, the howl of the sleuth-hounds, 
 and the angry voices of fierce men, mingled wildly together, 
 and, in one fearful and discordant echo, rang through the 
 forest. This wild sound was followed by the low melan- 
 choly groans of the dying. But, as I have already stated, 
 the Scotts, and the cattle which they drove before them, 
 were scattered, and ere those who were in advance coidd 
 arrive to the rescue of their friends in the rear, the latter 
 were slain, wounded, or overpowered. They also fought 
 against fearful odds. The young laird himself had his 
 sword broken in his grasp, and his horse was struck dead 
 beneath him. He was instantly surrounded and made 
 prisoner by the Murrays ; and, at the same time, old Simon 
 fell into their hands. 
 
 The few remaining retainers of the house of Harden gave 
 Avay when they found their leader a captive, and they fled, 
 leaving the cattle behind them. Sir Gideon ^Murray, there- 
 ibre, recovered all that had been taken from him; and 
 though he had captured but two prisoners, the one was the 
 chief, and the other his principal adviser and second in 
 connnand. The old knight, therefore, commanded that they 
 sliould be bound with cords together, and in such rueful 
 plight led to his castle at Elibank. It was noon before 
 tlicy reached it, and Lady Murray came forth to welcome 
 lier liusband, and congratulate him upon his success. But 
 when she beheld the heir of Harden a captive, and thought 
 of how little mercy was to be expected from Sir Gideon 
 when once aroused, she remembered that she was a motlier, 
 and that one of her children might one day be situated as 
 their prisoner then was. 
 
 The young laird, with his aged kinsman and dependent, 
 were thrust into a dark room; and he who locked them up 
 informed them that the next day their bodies would be 
 hung up on the nearest tree. 
 
 •'^lylife and lang fasting!" exclaimed Simon, "ycsurelv
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 9 
 
 wouldna be speaking o' sic a thing as hanging to an auld 
 man like me. If we were to be shot or beheaded — though 
 I v.-ould like neither the ane nor the ither — it wonldna be 
 a thing in particular to be complained o' ; but to be hanged 
 like a dog is so disgracefu' and unchristian- like, that I 
 would rather die ten times in a day, than feel a hempen 
 cravat about my neck ance. And, moreover, I must say 
 that hanging is not treating my dear young maister and 
 kinsman as he ocht to be treated. His birth, his rank, and 
 the memory o' his ancestors and mine, demand mair respect; 
 and therefore, I say, gae tell your maister, that, if he is 
 determined that we are to die — though I have no ambition 
 to cut my breath before my time — that I think, as a 
 gentleman, it is his duty to see that we die the death o' 
 gentlemen. 
 
 "Silence, Simon," cried the young laird; "let Murray 
 liang us in his bedchamber if he will. No matter what 
 manner o' death we die, provided only that we die like men. 
 Let him hang us if he dare, and the disgrace be his that is 
 coward enough so to make an end of his enemy. 
 
 " sir," said Simon, " bi;t that is poor comfort to a man 
 that has to leave a small family behind him 
 
 "Simon! are you afraid to die?" cried the captive laird, 
 in a tone of rebuke. 
 
 " No, your honour," said Simon — " that is, I am no more 
 afraid to die than other men are, or ought to be — but only 
 ye'll observe, sir, that I have no ambition — not, as I may 
 say, to draw my last breath upon a wuddy, but to have it 
 very unnaturally stopped. Bogging your pardon, but you are 
 a young man, while I have a wife and family that would be 
 left to mourn for me ! — and sir ! the wife and the bits o' 
 bairns press unco sairly upon a man's heart, when death 
 tries to come in the way between him and them. In exploits 
 like that in which we were last night engaged, and also in 
 battles abroad, I have fliced danger in every shape a hundred
 
 10 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 times — ^yet, sir, to be shot in a moment, as it were, or to be 
 run through the body, and to die honourably on the field, 
 is a very different thing from dehberately walking up a 
 ladder to the branch o' a tree, from which we are never to 
 come doun in hfe again. And mair than that, if we had 
 been o' Johnny Faa's gang, they couldua hae treated us 
 mair disrespectfully than to condemn us to the death that 
 they have decreed for us." 
 
 " Providing ye die bravely, Simon," said the young laird, 
 " it is Httle matter what manner o' death ye die ; and as for 
 your Avife and weans, fear not; my faither's house will 
 provide for them. For, though I fall now, there Avill be 
 other heirs left to the estate o' Harden." 
 
 While the prisoners thus conversed in the place of their 
 confinement. Lady Murray spoke tinto her husband, saying 
 — " And what, Sir Gideon, if it be a fair question, may ye 
 intend to do wi' the braw young laird o' Harden, now that 
 he is in your power?" 
 
 He drew her gently by the arm towards tne window, and 
 pointing towards a tree which grew at the distance of a few 
 yards, he said — " Do ye see yonder branch o' the elm tr-ee 
 that is waving in the wind? To-morrow, young Scott and 
 his kinsman shall swing there together, or hereafter say that 
 I am no Murray." 
 
 "0 guidman!" said she, "it is because I was terrified 
 that ye would be doing the like o' that, that caused me 
 to ask the question. Now, I must say. Sir Gideon, what- 
 ever ye may think, that ye are not only acting cruelly, but 
 foolishly." 
 
 " I care naething about the cruelty," cried he ; " what 
 mercy did ever a Scott among them show to me or to mine? 
 Lady Murray, the ball is at my foot, and I will kick it, 
 though I deprive Scott o' Harden o' a head. And what 
 mean ye, dame, by saying I act foolishly?" 
 
 " Only this, guidman," said she—" that ye hac three
 
 THE VriFE OR THE WUDDY. 11 
 
 daughters to many, -whom the world doesna consider to 
 be ower weel-faured, and it isna every day that ye hae a 
 husband for ane o' them in youi hand." 
 
 "Sooth!" cried he, "and for once in j'our life ye are 
 right, guidwife — there is mair wisdom in that remark than , 
 I would hae gien ye credit for. To-morrow, the birkie 
 o' Harden shall have his choice — either upon the instant 
 to marry our daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg, or strap 
 for it." 
 
 "AVeel, Sir Gideon," added she, "to make him marry 
 Meg ■wall be mair purpose-hke than to cut off the head and 
 the hope of an aiild house, in the very floAver o' his youth; 
 and there is nae doubt as to the choice he will mak, for 
 there is an rmco difference between them." 
 
 " Dinna be ower sure," continued the knight ; " there is 
 nae saying what his choice may be. There is both pluck 
 and a spirit o' contradiction in the callant, and I wouldna 
 be in the least surprised if he preferred the "vvuddy. I 
 ken, had I been in his place, what my choice woidd hae 
 been." 
 
 " I daresay. Sir Gideon," replied the old lady, who 
 was jocose at the idea of seeing one of her daughters 
 wed, " I daresay I could guess what that choice would hae 
 been." 
 
 " And what, in your wisdom," said he sharply, " do ye 
 think it Avoidd hae been — the wife or the wuddy ?" 
 
 "0 Gideon! Gideon!" said she, good-humouredly, and 
 shaking her head, " weel do ye ken that your choice would 
 hae been a wife." 
 
 " There ye are wrang," cried he ; " I would rather die a 
 death that was before me, tlian marry a Avife I had never 
 seen. But go ye and prepare Meg for becoming a bride 
 the morn, and I shall see what the intended bridegroom 
 says to the proposal." 
 
 In obedience to his commands, she went to an apartment
 
 12 TALES OV THE BORDERS 
 
 in which their eldest daughter Agnes, but commonly called 
 "]\reikle-mouthed Meg," then sat, twirling a distaff. The 
 old dame sat down by her daughter's side, and, after a few 
 observations respecting the weather, and the quality of 
 the lint she was then torturing into threads, she said — 
 "Weel, I'm just thinking, ISIeggie, that ye male me an 
 auld woman. Ye would be six-and-twenty past at last 
 Lammas." 
 
 "So I believe, mother!" said Meggie; and a sigh, or a 
 very deep and long-drawn breath, followed her Avords. 
 
 " Dear me !" continued the old lady, " young men maun 
 be growdng very scarce. I wanted four months and five 
 days o' being nineteen when I married your faither, and I 
 had refused at least six offers before I took him!" 
 
 " Ay, mother," replied the maiden ; " but ye had a weel- 
 faiu-ed face — there lay the difference ! Ileigho !" 
 
 *' Pleigho !" responded her mother, as in pleasant raillery 
 — " what is the lassie heighoing at ? Certes, if ye get a 
 guidman before ye be six and twenty, ye may think yoursel' 
 a very fortunate woman." 
 
 " Yes," added the maiden ; " but I see sma' prospect o' 
 that. I doubt ye Avill see the Ettrick running through the 
 ' dowie dells o' Yarrow,' before ye hear tell o' an offer being 
 made to me." 
 
 " Hoot, hoot ! — dinna say sae, bairn," added her mother; 
 " there is nae saying what may betide ye yet. Ye think 
 ye winna be married before ye are six and twenty; but, 
 truly, my dear, there has mony a mair imlikely ship come 
 to land. Now, what wad ye think o' the young laird o' 
 Harden?" 
 
 "Mother! mother!" said Agnes, "wherefore do ye 
 mock me ? I never saw ye do that before. My faither 
 has ta'en Wilham Scott a prisoner ; and, from what I hae 
 heard, he will hang him in the morning. Ye ken what a 
 man my faither ia — wlicn he says a thing he will do it; and
 
 THE WIFE OR TnE WUDDY, 13 
 
 how can you jest about tlie young man, AVlien his very 
 existence is reduced to a matter o' minutes and moments. 
 Though, rather than my foither should tak his life, if I 
 could save him, he should take mine. 
 
 " Weel said, my bairn,'' replied the old woman ; " but 
 dinna ye be put about concernmg Avhat will never come to 
 pass. I doubtna that, before morning, ye will find young 
 Scott o' Harden at your feet, and begging o' yoii to save 
 his life, by giving him your hand and troth, and becoming 
 his wife : and then, ye ken, your faither couldna, for shame, 
 hang or do ony harm to his ain son-in-law." 
 
 "O mother! mother!" replied Agnes, "it will never be 
 in my power to save him ; for what ye hae said he will never 
 think o'; and even if I were his wife, I question if my 
 faither wotdd pardon him, though I shoidd beg it upon my 
 knees." 
 
 " Oh, your faither's no sae ill as that, ^leggle, my doo," 
 said the old lady. " Mark my words— if '\Villie Scott con- 
 sent to marry you, yc will henceforth find him and your 
 faither hand and glove." 
 
 While this conversation between Lady Murray and her 
 daughter took place. Sir Gideon entered the room where 
 his prisoners were confined, and, addressing the young 
 laird, said — " Now, ye rank marauder, though death is the 
 very least that ye deserve or can expect from my hands, yet 
 I will gie ye a chance for your life, and ye shall choose 
 between a wife and the wuddy. To-morrow morning, ye 
 shall either marry my daughter ^leg, or swing from the 
 branch o' the nearest tree, and the bauldest Scott upon the 
 Borders shanna tak ye down, until ye drop away, bone by 
 bone, a fleshless skeleton." 
 
 " Good save us ! most honourable and good Sir Gideon!" 
 suddenly interrupted Simon, in a tone which bespoke his 
 horror; " but ye certamly dinna intend to make an anatomy 
 o' me too; or surely, when my honoured maister marrica
 
 14 TALES OF THE B01IDEK3. 
 
 Miss Murray (as I hope and trust he "will), ye will alloc me 
 to dance at their wedding, instead o' dancing in the air, and 
 keeping time to the music o' the soughing "wind. And, O 
 maister ! for my sake, for yo"ur ain sake, and especially out 
 o' regard to my sma' and helpless family, consent to marry 
 the lassie, though she isna extraordinar' "weel-faured ; for I 
 am sure that, rather than die a dog's death, swinging from 
 a tree, I would marry twenty -wives, though they were a' 
 as aidd as the hills, as ugly as a starless midnicht, and had 
 tongues like trumpets." 
 
 "Peace, Simon!" cried the yoimg laird, impatiently; 
 "if ye hae turned coward, keep the sound o' yer fears 
 within yer ain teeth. And ye, Sir Gideon," added he, 
 turning toAvards the old knight, " in your amazing mercy 
 and generosity, woidd spare my life, upon condition that I 
 should marry your honmj daughter !Mcg! Look ye, sir — I 
 am Scott o' Harden, and ye are Murray o' EUbank; there 
 is no love lost between us ; chance has placed my life in 
 your hands — take it, for I wouldna marry your daughter 
 though ye should gie me life, and a' the lands o' Elibank 
 into the bargain. I fear as little to meet death as I do to 
 tell you to your teeth that, had ye fallen into my hands, I 
 would have hung ye wi' as little ceremony as I would bring 
 a whip across the back o' a disobedient hound. Therefore, 
 ye are welcome to do the same by me. Ye have taken 
 what ye thought to be a sure mode o' getting a liusband 
 ^ov anc o' your loinsomc daughters ; but, in the present 
 instance, it has proved a wrong one, aidd man. Do your 
 worst, and there will be Scotts enow left to revenge the 
 death o' the laird o' Harden." 
 
 " There, then, is my thumb, young braggart," exclaimed 
 Sir Gideon, " that I winna hinder ye in your choice ; for 
 to-morrow ye shall be exalted as Haman was; and let 
 those revenge your death who dare." 
 
 "Maister! — dear maister!" cried Simon, Avringing his
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WtJDDY. 15 
 
 hands, "will ye sacrifice me also, and break the hearts o' 
 my pnir "wife and family! O sir, accept o' Sir Gideon's 
 proposal, and marry his dochter." 
 
 "SUence! ye milk-livered slave!" cried the young laird. 
 " Do ye pretend to bear the name o' Scott, and yet tremblo 
 like an ash leaf at the thought o' death ! " 
 
 " Ye will excuse me, sir," retorted Simon, *' but I tremble 
 at no such thing ; only, as I have already remarked, I have 
 no particular ambition for being honoured wi' the exalta- 
 tion o' the halter ; and, moreover, I see no cause Avhy a 
 man should die imnecessarily, or where death can be 
 avoided. Sir Gideon," added he, " humble prisoner as I 
 at this moment am, and in your power, I leave it to you if 
 ever ye saw ony thing in my conduct in the field o' battle 
 (and ye have seen me there) that coidd justify ony ane in 
 calling me either milk-livered or a coward? But, sir, I 
 consider it would be altogether unjustifiable to deprive ane 
 o' life, which is ahvays precious, merely becaiase my maister 
 is stubborn, and winna marry your daughter. But, oh, 
 sir, I am not a very atdd man yet, and if ye will set 
 me at liberty, though I am now a married man, in the 
 event o' my ever becoming a widower, I gie ye my solemn 
 promise that I will marry ony o' your dochters that ye 
 please!" 
 
 " Audacious idiot !" exclaimed the old knight, raising his 
 hand and striking poor Simon to the ground. " 
 
 "Sir Gideon ^Murray !" cried the yoimg laird fiercely, 
 " are ye such a base knave as to strike a fettered prisoner ! 
 Shame fa' ye, man ! where h the pride o' the iMurrays 
 now?" 
 
 Sir Gideon evidently felt the rebuke, and, withdrawing 
 from the apartment, said, as he departed — " Remember 
 that when the sun-dial shall to-morrow note the hour of 
 twelve, so surely shall ye be brought forth — and a Avife 
 shall be yoxir lot, or the wuddy your doom."
 
 IG TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Leave me I" cried the youth impatiently, "and the 
 gallows be it — my choice is made. Till my last hour trouble 
 ine not again." 
 
 "Sir! sir!" cried Simon, "I beg, I pray that ye -will 
 alter your determination. There is surely nae thing so aAvrul 
 in the idea o' marriage, even though your mfe should have 
 a face not particularly weel-i'avoured. Ye dinna ken, sir, 
 l)ut that the young woman's looks are her worst fault; and, 
 indeed, I hae heard her spoken o' as a lassie o' great sense 
 and discretion, and as having an excellent temper ; and, oh, 
 sir, if ye kenned as weel what it is to be married as I do, 
 ye would think that a good temper was a recommendation 
 fiir before beauty." 
 
 "Hold thy fool's tongue, Simon," cried the laird; 
 ' would ye disgrace the family Avi' which ye make it 
 your boast to be connected, Avhen in the power and pre- 
 sence o' its enemies ? Do as ye see me do — die and defy 
 them." 
 
 It was drawing towards midnight, when the prison-door 
 was opened, and the sentinel who stood watch over it 
 mlmitted a female dressed as a domestic. 
 
 "What want ye, or whom seek ye, maiden?" inquired 
 the laird. 
 
 " I come," answered she mildly, " to speak wi' the laird 
 o' Harden, and to ask if he has any dying commands that 
 a poor lassie could fulfil for him." 
 
 " Dying commands ! " responded Simon ; " oh, are those 
 no awful words ! — and can ye still be foolhardy enough to 
 say ye winna marry ? " 
 
 " Wlio sent ye, maiden? — or who are ye?" continued 
 the laird. 
 
 " A despised lassie, sir," answered she, " and an atten- 
 dant upon Sir Gideon's lady, in whom ye hae a true and 
 steadfast friend ; though I doubt tluit, as ye liae refused 
 poor Meg, her intercession will avail ye little."
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 17 
 
 " And wherefore lias Lady Murray sent you liere?" he 
 continued. 
 
 " Just, sir, because she is a mother, and has a mother's 
 heart ; and, as ye hae a mother and sisters who will now 
 be mourning for ye at Oakwood, she thought that, belike, 
 ye would hae something to say that ye would -udsh to hae 
 communicated to them ; and, if it be sae, I am come to 
 offer to be your messenger." 
 
 " Maiden ! " said he, \nth emotion, " speak not of my 
 poor mother, or you will unman me, and I would wish to 
 die as becomes my father's son." 
 
 " Tliat's right, hinny," whispered Simon ; " speak to 
 him about his mother again — talk about her sorrow, poor 
 lady, and her tears, and distraction, and mourning — and I 
 hae little doubt but that we shall get him to marry Meg, 
 or do onytluug else, and I shall get back to my family 
 after a'." 
 
 " "VVliat is it that ye whisper, Simon, in the maiden's 
 ear ? " inquired the laird, sternly. 
 
 " Oh, naething, sir — naething, I assure ye," answered 
 Simon, falteringly ; " I was only saying that, if ye sent 
 her ower to Oakwood wi' a message to your poor, hon- 
 oured, wretched mother, that she would inquire for my 
 poor -widow, Janet, and my bits o' bairns, and that she 
 would tell them that nothing troubled me upon my death- 
 bed — no, no, not my death-bed, but — I declare I am 
 ashamed to think o't! — I was saying that I was simply 
 telhng her to inform my wife and bairns, that nothing dis- 
 tracted me in the hour o' death but the thought o' being 
 Darted from them." 
 
 Without noticing the evasive reply of his dependent and 
 fellow-prisoner, the laird, addressing the intruder, said — 
 " Ye speak as a kind and considerate lassie. I would like 
 to send a scrape o' a pen to my poor mother, and, if ye 
 will be its bearer, she ^viIl reward ye." ^2
 
 18 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 *' And, belike," she replied, " ye would like to hear if 
 the good lady has an answer back, or to learn how she 
 bore the tidings o' your unhappy fate." 
 
 " Before you could retiirn," said he, " the time ap- 
 pointed by my adversary for my execution will be past, 
 and I shaU feel for my mother's sorrows with the sympathy 
 of a disembodied spirit." 
 
 " But," added she, " if you would like to hear from 
 your poor mother, or, belike, to see her — for there may be 
 family matters that ye would wish to have arranged — I 
 think, through the influence of my lady. Sir Gideon could 
 be prevailed upon to grant ye a respite for three or four 
 days ; and, as he isna a man that keeps his passion long, 
 perhaps by that time he may be disposed to save your 
 hfe upon terms that would be more acceptable." 
 
 " No, maiden," he repUed ; " he is my enemy ; and from 
 him I Avish no terms — no clemency. Let him fulfil his 
 purpose — I will die ; but my death shall be revenged ; 
 and teU my mother that it was my latest injunction that 
 she should command every follower of our house to avenge 
 her son's death, while there is a IMurray left in all Scot- 
 land to repent the deed o' the knight o' Elibank." 
 
 " Oh, sweet young ma'am, or mistress ! " cried Simon ; 
 " bear the lady no such message ; but rather, as ye hae 
 said, try if it be possible to get your o\\ti good lady to 
 persuade Sir Gideon to spare our lives for a few days ; 
 and, as ye say, the edge o' the auld knight's revenge may 
 be blunted by that time, or, perhaps, my wortliy young 
 maister may be brought to see things in a clearer light, 
 and, perhaps, to marry Miss Margaret, by which means 
 our lives may be spared. For it is certainly the height o' 
 madness in him to sacrifice my life and his own, rather 
 than marry her before he has seen her." 
 
 *' Simon," interrupted the laird, " the maiden has spoken 
 kindly ; let her endeavour to procure a respite — a reprieve
 
 TDE "VVIFE OR THE WUDDT. 19 
 
 for you. In your death my enemy can have no gratifica- 
 tion ; but for me— leave me to myself." 
 
 " O sir," replied Simon, " ye A^Tong me — ye mistake my 
 meaning a'thegither. If you are to die, I will die also ; 
 but do ye no think it would be as valorous, and mair 
 rational, at least to see and hear the young leddy before 
 ye determine to die rather than to marry her ? " 
 
 " And hae ye," said the maiden, addressing the laird, 
 " preferred the gallows to poor Meg without even seeing 
 her?" 
 
 " If I haena seen her I hae heard o' her," said he ; 
 " and by all accounts her countenance isna ane that ony 
 man would desire to see accompanying him through the 
 Avorld like a shadow at his oxter." 
 
 " Belike," said the maiden, " she has been represented 
 to you worse than "she looks hke — if ye saw her, ye might 
 change your opinion ; and, perhaps, after a', that she isna 
 bonny is a' that any one can say against her." 
 
 " Wheesht, lassie ! " said he ; "I winna be forced to 
 onything. A Scott may be led, but he winna drive. I 
 have nae wish to see the face o' your young mistress, for I 
 winna hae her. But you speak as one that has a feeling 
 heart, and before I trust ye wi' my last letter to my poor 
 mother, I should like to have a glance at your face, and by 
 your countenance I shaU judge whether or not it will be 
 safe to trust ye." 
 
 " I doubt, sir," replied she, thro^vang back the hood that 
 covered her head, " yc will see as little in my features as 
 ye expect to find in my young mistress's to recommend 
 me ; but, sir, you ought to remember that jewels are often 
 encrusted in coarser metals, and ye will often find a deli- 
 cious kernel within an unsightly shell." 
 
 " Ye speak sweetly, and as sensibly as sweet," said he, 
 raising the flickering lamp, which burned before them 
 upon a smaU table, and gazing iipon her countenance;
 
 20 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " and I will now tell ye, lassie, that if yoiir features be not 
 beautiful, there is honesty and kindliness -written upon 
 every line o' them ; and though ye are a dependent in the 
 house o' my enemy, I -will trust ye. Try if I can obtain 
 writing materials to address a few lines to my mother, and 
 I will confide in you to deliver them." 
 
 ''Ye may confide in me," rejoined she, " and the writ- 
 ing materials which ye desire I hae brought wi' me. 
 Write, and not only shall your letter be faithfully deli- 
 vered, but, as ye hae confided in me, I wiU venture to say 
 that your life shall be spared until ye receive her answer ; 
 for I may say that what I request. Lady Murray will try to 
 see performed. And if I can find any means in my power 
 by which ye can escape, it shall not be lang that ye will 
 remain a prisoner." 
 
 "Thank ye! — doubly thank ye!" cried Simon; "ye 
 are a good and a kind creature ; and though my maister 
 refuses to marry your mistress, yet, had I been single, I 
 would hae married you. But, oh, when ye go wi' the 
 letter to his mother, my honoured lady, will ye just go 
 away down to a bit white house which lies by the river 
 side, about a mile and a half aboon Selkirk, and there ye 
 will find my poor wife and bairns — or rather, I should say, 
 my unhappy widow and my orphans— and tell them — oh, 
 tell my wife — that I never kenned how dear she was to 
 me till now ; but that, if she marries again, my ghost 
 will haunt her night and day ; and tell also the bairns that, 
 above everything, I charge them to be good to their 
 mother." 
 
 The young laird sat down, and, writing a letter to his 
 mother, intrusted it to the hands of the stranger girl. He 
 raised her hand to his lips as she Avitlidrew, and a tear 
 trickled down his cheeks as he thanked her. 
 
 It was early on the following morning that Mcikle- 
 mouthed Meg, as she was called, requested an interview
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 21 
 
 with her father, whicli being granted, after respectfully 
 rendering obeisance before him, she said — " So, faither, I 
 understand that it is your pleasure that I shall this day 
 become the wife o' young Scott o' Harden. I think, sir, 
 that it is due to the daughter o' a Murray o' Elibank, that 
 she should be courted before she gies her hand. The 
 young man has never seen me ; he kens naething concern- 
 ing me ; an' never will yer dochter disgrace ye by gieing 
 her hand to a man who only accepted it to save his neck 
 from a hempen cord. Faither, if it be your command that 
 I am to marry him, I wiU an' must marry him ; but, before 
 I just make a venture upon him for better for w^orse, an' 
 for hfe, I wad like to hae some sma' acquaintance wi' him, 
 to see what sort o' a lad he is, and what kind o' temper he 
 has ; and therefore, faither, I humbly crave that ye will 
 put off the death or the marriage for a week at least, that 
 I may hae an opportunity o' judging for mysel' how far it 
 would be prudent or becoming in me to consent to be his 
 wife." 
 
 " Gie me your hand, Meg," cried the old knight ; " I 
 didna think ye had as muckle spirit and gumption in ye 
 as to say what ye hae said. But your request is useless ; 
 for he has already, point blank, refused to hae ye ; an' 
 there is naething left for him, but, before sunset, to strike 
 his heels against the bark o' the auld elm tree." 
 
 " Say not that, faither," said she—" let me at least hae 
 four days to become acquainted wi' him ; and if in that 
 time he doesna mak a request to you to marry me ^vithout 
 ony dowry, then ^^•ill I say that I look even Avaiu: than I 
 get the name o' doing." 
 
 " He shall have four days, Meg," cried the old knight ; 
 " for your sake he will have them ; but if, at the end o 
 four days, he shall refuse to take ye, he shall hang before 
 this window, and liis poor half-crazed companion shall bear 
 him company."
 
 22 TALES OF TUB BORDEKS. 
 
 With this assurance Agnes, or, as she was called, Meg 
 left her father, and bethought her of how she might save 
 the prisoners and secure a husband. 
 
 The mother of the lau-d sat in the midst of her 
 daughters, mourning for him, and looking from the win- 
 dow of the tower, as though, in every form that appeared 
 in the distance, she expected to see him, or at least to 
 gather tidings regarding him, when information was 
 brought to her that he was the prisoner of Murray of 
 Elibank. 
 
 " Then," cried she, and wept, " the days o' my winsome 
 Willie are numbered, and his death is determined on ; for 
 often has Sir Gideon declared he would gie a' the lands o' 
 Elibank for his head. My Willie is my only son, my 
 first-born, and my heart's hope and treasure ; and, oh, if 
 I lose him now, if I shall never again hear his kindly 
 voice say * motlier!'' nor stroke down his yellow hair — 
 wi' him that has made me sonless I shall hae a day o' 
 lang and fearfu' reckoning ; cauld shall be the hearth- 
 stane in the house o' many a Murray, and loud their 
 lamentation." 
 
 Her daughters wept with her for their brother's fate ; 
 but they wist not how to comfort her ; and, while they 
 sat mingling their tears together, it was announced to them 
 that a humble maiden, bearing a message from the cap- 
 tive laird, desired to speak with her. 
 
 " Show her in ! — take me to her I " cried the mother, 
 impatiently. "Where is she? — what does she say? — or 
 what does my Willie say?" And the maiden who has 
 been mentioned as having visited the laird in his prison, 
 was ushered into her presence 
 
 " Come to me, lassie — come and tell me a'," cried the 
 old lady ; *' what message does Willie Scott send to his 
 heart-broken mother ? " 
 
 " He has sent you this bit packet, ma'am," replied the
 
 THE WIFJS OR TUK WL'DDY. 23 
 
 bearer ; " and I sliall be right glad to take back to him 
 whatever answer ye may hae to send." 
 
 *' And Avha are ye, young woman ? " inquired the lady, 
 " that speaks sae kindly to a mother, an' takes an interest 
 in the fate o' my Willie ? " 
 
 "A despised lassie," was the reply; "but ane that 
 would risk her ain life to save either yoiu'S or his." 
 
 "Bless you for the words!" replied Lady Scott, as she 
 broke the seal of her son's letter, and read : — 
 
 " My mother, my honoured mother,— Fate has delivered 
 me into the power of Murray of EHbank, the enemy of our 
 house. He has doomed me to death, and I die to-morrow; 
 but sit not dovra to mourn for me, and uselessly to Avring 
 the hands and tear the hair ; but rouse every Scott upon 
 the Borders to rise up and be my avenger. If ye bewail 
 the loss o' a son, let them spare o' the Murrays neither son 
 nor daughter. Eouse ye, and let a mother's vengeance 
 nerve your arm ! Poor Simon o' Yarrow-foot is to be my 
 companion in death, and he whines to meet his fate with 
 the weakness of a woman, and yearns a perpetual yearning 
 for his wife and bau-ns. On that account I forgie him the 
 want o' heart and determination which he manifests ; but 
 see ye to them, and take care that they be provided for. 
 As for me, I shall meet my doom wi' disdain for my enemy 
 in my eyes and on my tongue. Even in death he shall feel 
 that I despise him; and a proof o' this I have given him 
 already ; for he has oiTered to save my life, providing I 
 would marry his daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg. But I 
 have scorned his proposal." 
 
 "Ye were right, Willie! ye were right, lad!" exclaimed 
 Jtiis mother, while the letter shook in her hand ; but, sud- 
 denly bursting into tears, she continued— " No, no! my 
 hairn was wrong— very -wrong. Life is precious, and at 
 all times desirable ; and, for his poor mother's sake, he 
 ought to have married the lassie, whate'er she may be like.''
 
 24 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 And, turning to the bearer of the letter, she inquired— 
 " And what like may the leddy be, the marrying o' whom 
 would save my WiUie's life ? " 
 
 "Ye have nae doubt heard, my leddy," replied the 
 stranger, " that she isna what the world considers to be a 
 likely lass — though, take her as she is, and ye might find a 
 hantle worse wives than poor Meg would make ; and, as to 
 her features, I may say that she looks much the same as 
 I do ; and if she doesna appear better, she at least doesna 
 look ony waur." 
 
 " Then, if she be as ye say, and look as ye say," con- 
 tinued the lady, "my poor headstrong Willie ought to 
 marry her. But, oh ! weel do I ken that in everything 
 he is just his father ower again, and ye might as weel 
 think o' moving the Eildon hills as force him to on}'- 
 thing." 
 
 She perused the concluding part o' her son's letter, in 
 which he spoke enthusiastically of the kindness shown him 
 by the fair messenger, and of the promise she had made to 
 liberate him if possible. " And if she does," he added, 
 " whatever be her parentage, on the day that I shoiild be 
 free, she should be my ^^^fe, though I have preferred death 
 to the hand o' Sir Gideon's comely daughter." 
 
 " Lassie," said the lady, weeping as she spoke, " my 
 poor Willie talks a deal o' the kindness ye have shown him 
 in the hour o' his distress, and for that kindness his mother's 
 heart thanks ye. But do you not think that it is possible 
 that I could accompany ye to Elibank ? and, if ye can devise 
 no means for him to escape, perhaps, if ye could get me 
 admitted into his presence, when he saw his poor distressed 
 mother upon her knees before him, his heart would saften, 
 and he would marry Sir Gideon's daughter, ill-featured 
 though she may be." 
 
 "My leddy," answered the stranger maiden, " it is little 
 that I can promise, and less that I can do ; but if ye desire
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 25 
 
 to see yer 5on, I think I could answer for accomplishing yer 
 request ; an' though nae guid micht come cot o't, I could 
 also say that I wad see ye safe back again." 
 
 Within an hour, Lady Scott, disguised as a peasant, and 
 carrying a basket on her arm, set out for Elibank, accom- 
 panied by the fair stranger. 
 
 Leaving them upon their melancholy journey, we shall 
 return to the yoimg laird. From the Avindows of hia 
 prison-house, he beheld the sun rise which was to be the 
 last on which he was to look. He heard the sentinels, 
 who kept watch over him, relieve each other ; he heard 
 them pacing to and fro before the grated door, and as the 
 sun rose towards the south, proclaiming the approach of 
 noon, the agitation of Simon increased. He sat in a cor- 
 ner of the prison, and strove to pray ; and, as the foot- 
 steps of the sentinels quickened, he groaned in the bitter- 
 ness of his spirit. At length the loud booming of the 
 gong announced that the dial-plate upon the turret marked 
 the hour of twelve. Simon clasped his hands together. 
 " Maister ! maister !" he cried, " our hour is come, an' one 
 Avord from yer lips coiild save us baith, an' ye winna speak 
 it. The very holding oot o' yer hand could do it, but ye 
 are stubborn even unto death." 
 
 *' Simon," said the laird, " I hae left it as an injunction 
 upon my mother, that yer wife an' weans be provided for 
 — she will fulfil my request. Therefore, be ye content. 
 Die like a man, an' dinna disgrace both yoiirsclf an' me." 
 
 " sir ! I -winna disgrace, or in any manner dishonour 
 ye," said Simon — " only I do not see the smallest necessity 
 for us to die, and especially when both our lives could bo 
 saved by yer doing yerself a good turn." 
 
 While he spoke, the sound of the sentinels' footsteps, 
 pacing to and fro, ceased. The prison-door was opened ; 
 Simon fell upon l;i5 knees — the lau'd looked towards the 
 'ntruder proudly.
 
 26 TALES OF TUE BORDERS. 
 
 " Your lives are spared for another day," said a voice, 
 " that the laird o' Harden may have time to reflect upon 
 the proposal that has been made to him. But let him 
 not hope that he mil find mercy upon other terms ; or 
 that, refusing them for another day, his life will be pro- 
 longed." 
 
 The door was again closed, and the bolts were drawn. 
 The spirit of Sir Gideon was too proud and impatient to 
 spare the lives of his prisoners for four days, as he had 
 promised to his daughter to do, and he now resolved that 
 they should die upon the following day. 
 
 The sun had again set, and the dim lamp shed around 
 its fitful and shadoAvy lights from the table of the prison- 
 room, when the maiden, who had carried the letter to the 
 laird's mother, again entered. 
 
 " This is kind, very kind, gentle maiden," said he ; 
 " would that I could reward ye ! An' hoo fares it with 
 my puir mother ? — what answer does she send ? " 
 
 " An' oh, ma'am, or mistress ! " cried Simon, " hoo fares 
 it wi' my dear wife an' bairns ? I hope ye told them all 
 that I desired ye to say. Hoo did she bear the news o' 
 being made a widow ? An' Avhat did she say to my in- 
 junction that she was never to marry again? " 
 
 " Ye talk wildly, man," said the maiden, addressing 
 Simon ; it wasna in my power to carry yer commands to . 
 yer wife ; but, I trust, it will be longer than ye expect 
 before she will be a mdow, or hae it in her power to 
 marry again ? " 
 
 " O ye angel ! ye perfect picture !" cried Simon, " what 
 is that wliich I hear ye say? Do ye really mean to tell 
 me that I stand a chance o' being saved, an' that I shall 
 see my wife an' bairns again?" 
 
 ** liven so," said she ; " but whether ye do or do not, 
 rests Avith yer master." 
 
 "Speak not o' that, sweet maiden," said the laird i
 
 THE WIFE OR THE \VUDl>y. 27 
 
 " but tell me, Avhat says my mother ? IIow does she bear 
 the fate o' her son ; an' hoo does she promise to avenge 
 my death?" 
 
 " She is as one whose heart-strings are torn asnnder," 
 was the reply, " and who refuses to be comforted ; but 
 she wad rather hae another dochter than lose an only 
 son; an' her prayer is, that ye will live and mak her 
 happy, by marrying the maiden ye despise." 
 
 "What!" he cried, "has even my mother so far forgot 
 herself as to desire me to marry the dochter o' oor enemy, 
 whom no other man could be found to take! It shall 
 never be. I Avad obey her in onything but that." 
 
 " But," said the maiden, " I still think ye are wrong to 
 reject and despise puir Meg before that ye hae seen her. 
 She may baith be better an' look better than ye are aware 
 o'. There are as guid as Scott o' Harden Avho hae said, 
 that were it in their power they wad mak her their wife ; 
 an' ye should remember, sir, that it will be as pleasant for 
 you to hear the blithe laverock singing oAver yer head, as 
 for another person to hear the wind soughing and the long 
 grass rustling ower yer grave. Ye hae another day to 
 live, an' see her, an' speak to her, before ye decide rashly. 
 Yours is a cruel doom, but Sir Gideon is a wrathfu' man ; 
 an' even for his ain flesh an' bluid he has but sma' com- 
 passion when his anger is provoked. Death, too, is an 
 awfu' thing to thhik aboot ; an', therefore, for yer ain sake, 
 an' for the sake o' yer puir distressed mother an' sisters, 
 dinna come to a rash determination." 
 
 " Sweet lass," replied he, " I respect the sympathy which 
 ye evince ; but never shall Sir Gideon Miu'ray say that, in 
 order to save my life, he terrified me into a marriage wi' 
 his daughter. An' when my puir mother's grief has sub- 
 sided, she will think differently o' my decision." 
 
 " Wecl, sir," said the maiden, " since ye will not listen 
 to my advice— an' I own that I hae nae richt to offer it—-
 
 28 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 I will send ane to ye whose persuasion will bae mair 
 avail." 
 
 "Whom will ye send?" inquired the laird; "it isna 
 possible that ye can hae been playing me false?" 
 
 " No," she replied, " that isna possible ; an' from her 
 that I will send to you, you will see whether or not I hae 
 kept my word, guid and truly, to fidfil yer message." 
 
 So saying, she withdrew, leaving him much wondering 
 at her words, and yet more at the interest which she took 
 in his fate. But she had not long witlidra-\vn when the 
 prison-door was again opened, and Lady Scott rushed into 
 the arms of her son. 
 
 " My mother ! " cried he, starting back in astonishment 
 — "my mother! — hoo is this?" 
 
 " Oh, joy an' gladness, an' every blessing be upon my 
 honoured lady ! for noo I may stand some chance o' 
 walkin' back upon my ain feet to see my family. Oh ! 
 yer leddyship," Simon added, "join yer prayers to my 
 prayers, an' try if ye can persuade my maister to marry 
 Sir Gideon's dochter, an' thereby save baith his life an' 
 mine." 
 
 But she fell upon the neck of her son, and seemed not 
 to hear the words which Simon addressed to her. 
 
 "O my son! my son!" she cried; "since there is no 
 other way by wliich yer life can be ransomed, yield to the 
 demand o' the fierce Murray. Marry liis daughter an' live 
 — save yer wretched mother's life ; for yer death, Willie, 
 wad be mine also." 
 
 "Mother!" answered he, vehemently, "I will never 
 accept life upon such terms. I am in Murray's hands, but 
 the day may come — yea, see ye that it does come — when 
 he shall fall into the hands o' the Scotts o' Harden; an' see 
 ye that ye do to liiin as he shall have done to me. But, 
 till me, mother, lioo arc ye here? Wherefore did ye 
 venture, or hoo got ye ])ennission to see me? Ken ye not
 
 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 29 
 
 that if he found yc in his power, upon your life also he 
 wad fix a ransom ? " 
 
 " The kind lassie," she rei)lied, " that brought the letter 
 from ye, at my request conducted me here, and contrived 
 to get me permission to see ye ; an' she says that my visit 
 shall not come to the knowledge o' Sir Gideon. But, 
 Wilhe ! as ye love an' respect the mother that bore ye, 
 an' that nui-sed ye nicht an' day at her bosom, dinna throw 
 awa yer life when it is in yer power to save it, but marry 
 ^liss Murray, an' ye may live, an' so may I, to see many 
 happy days ; for, from a' that I hae heard, though not 
 weel-favoured, she is a young lady o' an excellent disposi- 
 tion!" 
 
 " Oh ! that's richt, my leddy," interrupted Simon ; 
 " urge him to marry her, for it would be a dreadfu' thing 
 for him an' I to be gibbeted, as a pair o' perpetual spec- 
 tacles for the Murrays to mak a jest o'. Ye ken if he does 
 marry, an' if he finds he doesna like her, he can leave lier; 
 or he needna live wi' her ; or, perhaps, she may soon die ; 
 an' ye will certainly agree that marriage, ony way ye talc 
 it, is to be desired, a thousand times ower, before a violent 
 death. Therefore, virge liim again, yer leddyship, for he 
 may listen to what ye say, though he despises my words, 
 an' will not hearken to my advice." 
 
 " Simon," said the laird, " never shaU a Murray hae it 
 in his power to boast that he struck terror into the breast 
 o' a Scott o' Hai'den. My determination is fixed as fate. 
 I shall welcome my doom, an' meet it as a man. Come, 
 dear mother," he added, "weep not, nor cause me to 
 appear in the presence o' my enemies with a blanched 
 cheek. Hasten to avenge my death, an' think that in yer 
 revenge yer son lives again. Come, though I die, there 
 will be moonlight again." 
 
 She hung upon his breast and wept, but he turned 
 away his head and refused to listen to her entrea-
 
 30 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 ties. The young maiden again entered the prison, and 
 said — 
 
 " Ye must part noo, for in a few minutes Sir Gideon 
 will be astir, an' should he find yer leddyship here, or dis- 
 cover that I hae brought yc, I wad hae sma' power to gie 
 ye protection." 
 
 " Fareweel, dear mother I — fareweel P exclaimed the 
 youth, grasping her hand. 
 
 "O Willie! Willie!" she cried, " did I bear ye to see 
 ye come to an end like this I Bairn ! bairn ! live — for yer 
 mother's sake, live ! " 
 
 " Fareweel, mother ! — fareweel ! " he again cried, and 
 the sentinel conducted her from the apartment. 
 
 It again drew towards noon. The loud gong again 
 sounded, and Simon sank upon his kees in despair, as the 
 voice of the warder was heard crying — " It is the hour I 
 prepare the prisoners for execution!" 
 
 Again the prison-door was opened, and Sir Gideon, with 
 wrath upon his brow, stood before them. 
 
 " Weel, youngster," said he, addressmg the laird, " yer 
 liour is come. What is yer choice — a wife or the 
 wuddy ?" 
 
 "Lead mc to execution, ye auld knave," answered the 
 laird, scornfully ; " an' ken, that wi' tlie hemp around my 
 neck, in contempt o' you an' youi's, I will spit upon the 
 ground where ye tread." 
 
 " Here, guards ! " cried Sir Gideon ; " lead forth Wil- 
 liam Scott o' Harden to execution. Strap him upon the 
 nearest tree, an' there let him hang until the bauldcst 
 Scott upon the Borders dare to cut him down. As for 
 you," added he, addressing Simon, " I seek not your life ; 
 depart, ye are free ; but beware hoo ye again fall into the 
 hands o' Gideon Murray." 
 
 "No, sirl" exclaimed Simon, "though I am free to 
 acknowledge that I hae nae ambition to die before it is the
 
 THE •WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 81 
 
 ■svise will an' purpose o' nature, yet I winna, I canna leave 
 my dear young maistor ; an' if he be to suffer, I will share 
 his fate. Only, Sir Gideon, there is ae thing I hae to say, 
 an' that is, that he is yoimg, an' he is proud an' stubborn, 
 like yersel', an' though he vnil not, o' his ain free Avili an* 
 accord, nor in obedience to yer commandments, marry yer 
 dochter — ^is it not possible to compel him, whether ha be 
 •willing or no, an' so save his life, as it were, in spite o' 
 him?" 
 
 "Away with both!" cried the knight, striking his 
 ironed heel upon the ground, and leaving the apartment. 
 
 " Then, if it is to be, it must be," said Simon, folding 
 his arms in resignation, " an' there is no help for it ! But, 
 oh, maister ! maister ! ye hae acted foolishly." 
 
 They were led from the prison-house, and through the 
 court-yard, towards a tall elm-tree, round which all the 
 retainei's of Sir Gideon were assembled to witness the exe- 
 cution ; and the old knight took his place upon an elevated 
 seat in the midst of them. 
 
 The executioners were preparing to perform their office, 
 when Agnes, or Muckle-mouthed Meg, as she was called, 
 came forth, with a deep veil thrown over her face, and 
 sinking on her knee before the old knight, said, implor- 
 ingly — " A boon, dear faither — ^yer dochter begs a simple 
 boon." 
 
 *' Ye tak an ill season to ask it, Meg," said the kniglit, 
 angrily ; " but what may it be ? " 
 
 She whispered to him earnestly for a few minutes, 
 during which his countenance exhibited indignation and 
 surprise ; and when she had finished speaking, she again 
 knelt before him and embraced his knees. 
 
 " Rise, Meg, rise ! " said he, impatiently, " for yer sake, 
 an' at yer request, he shall hae another chance to live." 
 And, approaching the prisoner, he added — " William 
 Scott, ye hae chosen death in preference to the liand o'
 
 32 TALES Of TUE BORDERS. 
 
 my docliter. Will ye noo prefer to die ratlier than marry 
 the lassie that ran wi' the letter to yer mother, an' without 
 "my consent brought her to see ye ? " 
 
 " Had another asked me the question," said the laird, 
 ** though I ken not who she is, yet she has a kind heart, 
 and I should hae said 'No,' an' offered her my hand, 
 heart, an' fortune ; but to you. Sir Gideon, I only say — 
 do yer worst." 
 
 " Then, Willie, my ain Willie ! " cried his mother, who 
 at that moment rushed forward, " another does request ye 
 to marry her, an' that is yer ain mother !" 
 
 " An'," said Agnes, stepping forward, and throwing 
 aside the veil that covered her face, " puir Meg, ower 
 wliom ye gied a preference to the gallows, also requests 
 ye!" 
 
 ""Wliat!" exclaimed the young laird, grasping her 
 liand, " is the kind lassie that has striven, night and day, 
 to save me — the very Meg that I hae been treating m' 
 disdain?" 
 
 " In troth am I," she rei)lied, *' an' do ye prefer the 
 wuddy still?" 
 
 "No," answered he; and, turning to Sir Gideon, he 
 added — " Sir, I am now willing that the ceremony end in 
 matrimony." 
 
 " Be it so," said the old knight, and the spectators 
 burst into a shout. 
 
 The day that began with preparations for death ended 
 in a jeyfol bridal. The honour of knighthood was after- 
 wards conferred upon the laird ; and Meg bore unto him 
 many sons and daughters, and Avas, as the reader will be 
 ready to believe, one of the best wives in Scotland ; while 
 Simon declared that lie never saw a better-looking woman 
 in Ettrick Forest, his own wife and daughters not ex- 
 cepted.
 
 LOUD DuniE AXD cHiasTiE'e ys'iLL. 33 
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 
 
 Who can journey, now-a-days, along tlie high parts of 
 Selkirkshire, and hear the mire-snipe whistle in the morass, 
 proclaiming itself, in the silence around, the unmolested 
 occupant of the waste, or descend into the green valley, 
 and see the lazy shepherd lying folded up in his plaid, while 
 his flocks graze in peace around him and in the distance, 
 and not think of the bold spirits that, in the times of Border 
 warfare, sounded the war-horn till it rang in reverberating 
 echoes from hill to hill ? The land of the Armstrongs 
 knows no longer their kindred. The hills, ravines, mosses, 
 and muirs, that, only a few centuries ago, were animated 
 by the boldest spirits that ever sounded a war-cry, and 
 defended to the death by men whose swords were their 
 only charters of right, have passed into other hands, and 
 the names of the warlike holders serve now only to give a 
 grim charm to a Border ballad. An extraordinary lesson 
 may be read on the banks of the Liddel and the Esk — there 
 is a strange eloquence in the silence of these quiet dales. 
 Stand for a while among the graves of the chief of Gil- 
 nockie and his fifty followers, in the lonely churchyard of 
 Carlenrig — cast a contemplative eye on the roofless tower 
 of that brave riever, then glance at the gorgeous policies 
 of Bowhill, and resist, if you can, the deep sigh that rises 
 as a tribute to the memories of men who, having, by their 
 sleepless spirits, kept a kingdom in commotion, died on the 
 gallows, and left no generation to claim their lands from 
 those who, -with less bravery and no better sense of right, 
 had the subtle policy to rise on their rvuns. Poorly, in- 
 deed, now sound the names of Johnny Armstrong, Sim of 
 Wliittram, Sim of the Cathill, Kinmont Willie, or Christie's 
 
 VDL. II. B
 
 ol TALES OP THE BORDERg. 
 
 AVill, besides tliose of Dukes of Buccleucli and Eoxburgli, 
 Scott of Harden, and Elliot of Stobbs and Wells ; and yet, 
 without ^vislling to take away the merit or the extent of 
 theii" ancestors' owm " reif and felonie," how much do they 
 owe to their succession to the ill-got gear of those hardy 
 Borderers whose names and scarcely credible achievements 
 are aU that have escaped the rapacity that, not satisfied 
 with their lands, took also their lives! For smaller depre- 
 dations, the old laws of the Border— and it would not be 
 fair to exclude those of the present day, not confined to 
 tliat locality — awarded a halter; for thefts of a larger 
 kind, they gave a title. Old Wat of Buccleuch deserved 
 the honour of "the neck garter" just as much as poor 
 Johnny Armstrong ; yet all he got was a reproof and a 
 dukedom. 
 
 " Then up and spake the noble king — 
 
 And an angry man, I trow, was he — 
 ' It ill becomes ye, baiild Buctlcw, 
 
 To talk o' reif or felonie ; 
 For, if every man had his ain cow, 
 
 A right puir clan ycr name would be.'" 
 
 There is a change now. The bones of the bold Armstrongs 
 lie in Carlenrig, and the descendants of their brothor- 
 rievers who got their lands sit in high places, and sp(>ak 
 words of legislative command. But these things will be 
 as they have ever been. Wo cannot change the world, 
 far loss remake it ; but we can resuscitate a part of its 
 moral wonders ; and, while the property of Christie's Will, 
 the last of the bold Armstrongs, is now possessed by another 
 family, imdcr a written title, we will do well to commit 
 to record a part of his fame. 
 
 It is well known that the chief of the family of Arm- 
 strongs had his residence* at Mangerton in Liddesdalc. 
 
 * In ft MS. we have sfcn, as old as the end of the 15th century, " the Laird of 
 Slangerton" is placed at the head of the Liddcsdale chiefs Ilanlen, IJiiccIPiich, 
 Ud others coming after him in renpectfiil order.
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 35 
 
 Tliere is scarcely now any trace of his tower, tliotigli time 
 has not exerted so cruel a hand against his brother Johnny 
 Armstrong's residence, which Hes in the Hollows near 
 Langholme. We know no tumult of the emotions of what 
 may be called antiquarian sentiment, so engrossing and 
 curious as that produced by the headless skeleton of "auld 
 GUnockie's Tower," as it is seen in the grey gloaming, with 
 a breeze brattling through its dry ribs, and a stray owl 
 sitting on the top, and sending his eldritch screigh through 
 the deserted hollows. The mind becomes busy on the 
 instant with the former scenes of festi^dty, when " their 
 stolen gear," "baith nolt and sheep," and "flesh, and 
 bread, and ale," as Maitland says, were eaten and di'unk 
 with the kitchen of a Che'V'iot hunger, and the sweetness of 
 stolen things ; and when the wild spirit of the daring out- 
 laws, mth Johnny at their head, made the old tower of 
 the Armstrongs ring with their wassail shouts. This 
 Border turret came — after the execution of Johnny Arm- 
 strong, and when the clan had become what Avas called a 
 broken clan — into the possession of William Armstrong, 
 who figured in the times of Charles I. He was called 
 Christie's Will, though from what reason does not now 
 seem very clear ; neither is it at aU evident why, after the 
 execution of his forbear, Johnny, and his fifty followers, 
 at Carlenrig, the Tower of Gilnockie was not forfeited 
 to the crown, and taken from the rebellious clan alto- 
 gether ; but, to be sure it was in those days more easy 
 to take a man's life than his property, insomuch as the for- 
 mer needed no guard, while the other would have required 
 a small standing army to keep it and the new proprietor 
 together. Certain, however, it is, that Christie's Will did 
 get possession of the Tower of Gilnockie, where, according 
 to the practice of the family, he lived "on Scottish ground 
 and English kye ; " and, Avhen the latter oould not easily 
 be had, on the poorer land of his neiglibours of Scotland.
 
 oG TALKS OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 This descendant of the Armstrongs Vvas not unlike 
 Johnny ; and, indeed, it has been observed that through- 
 out the whole branches of the family there was an extra- 
 ordinary union of boldness and humovu' — two qualities 
 which have more connection than may, at first view, be 
 apparent. Law-breakers, among themselves, are seldom 
 serious ; a lightness of heart and a turn for wit being 
 necessary for the sustenance of their ovitlawed spirits, as 
 Avell as for a quaint justification — resorted to by all the 
 tribe — of their calling, against the laws of the land. In 
 the possession of these qualities, Will was not behind the 
 most illustrious of his race ; but he, perhaps, excelled them 
 all in the art of ^^ conveijinij" — a polite term (hen used for 
 that change of ownership which the affected laws of the 
 time denominated tlieft. This art was not confined to 
 cattle or plenishing, though 
 
 " They left not spindell, spooiic, nor ."^peit, 
 Bed, bosler, blanket, sark, nor sheet: 
 John of the Park ryps kist and ark — 
 To all sic wark he is sac meet."* • 
 
 It extended to abduction, and this was far seldomcr exer- 
 cised on damsels than on men, who would be well ransomed, 
 especially of those classes, duke, carl, or baron, any of 
 whom Johnny offered (for his life) to bring, " within a 
 certain day, to his Majesty James V., either qiuck or 
 dead." This latter part of their art was the highest to 
 which the Borderers aspired ; and there never was a riever 
 among them all that excelled in it so much as Christie's 
 "W^ill. "To steal a stirk, or wear a score o' sheep Itamc- 
 wards,^^ he used to say, "was naething; but to steal a lord 
 was the highest fiicht o' a man's genius, and ought never 
 to be lippened to a hand less than an Armstrong's ; " and, 
 certainly, if the success with which he executed one 
 
 • See Maitland's curious satire on tbe Border robberies.— Ed,
 
 LORD UUIUE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 37 
 
 scheme of that high kind will guarantee Will's boasted 
 abilities, he did not transcend the truth in limiting lord- 
 stealing to the Armstrongs. 
 
 Will married a distant relation of the true Border breed, 
 named Margaret Elliot — a lass whose ideas of hussyskep 
 were so peculiar, that she thought Gilnockie and its laird 
 were going to ruin when she saw in the kail-pot a "heugh 
 bane" of their oivn cattle, a symptom of Avaste, extrava- 
 gance, and laziness, on the part of her husband, that boded 
 less good than the offer made by "the Laird's Jock," 
 (Johnny Ai'mstrong's henchman,) to give " Dick o' the 
 Cow " a piece of his own ox, which he came to ask repara- 
 tion for, and, not having got it, tied with St. Mary's knot 
 (hamstringed) thirty good horses. To this good house- 
 wife, in fact, might be traced, if antiquaries would re- 
 nounce for it less important investigations, the old saying, 
 that stolen joys (qu. queys ?) are sweetest, undoubtedly a 
 Border aphorism, and now received into the society of 
 legitimate moral sayings. When lazy and not inclined 
 for " felonie," Will would not subscribe to the truth of the 
 dictum, and often got for grace to the dinner he had not 
 taken from the English, and yet relished, the wish of the 
 good dame, that, for his want of spirit, it might choke him. 
 That effect, however, was more likely to be produced by 
 the beef got in the regular Border way ; for the laws were 
 beginning now to be more vigorously executed, and many 
 a riever was astonished and offended by the proceedings 
 of the Justice-Ayr at Jedburgh, Avhere they were actually 
 going the length oi' hanging (or the crime of convci/ing cattle 
 from one properly to another. 
 
 It was in vain that Will told his wife these proceedings 
 of the Jedburgh court ; she knew very well that many of 
 the Armstrongs, and the famous Johnny among the rest, 
 had been strung up, by the command of their king, for 
 rebellion against his authority,- but it was out of all ques-
 
 38 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 tion, beyond the reach of common sense, and, indeed, 
 latterly barbarous and unjust to hang a man, as Gilderoy's 
 lover said, " for gear," a thing that never yet was known 
 to be stationary, but, even from the times of the Old 
 Testament, given to taking to itself wings and flying away. 
 It was, besides, against the oldest constitution of things, 
 the old possessors being the Tories^ who acted upon the 
 comely principle already alluded to, that right was might — 
 the new lairds, again, being the Whigs, who wished to take 
 from the Tories (the freebooters) the good old law of nature 
 and possession, and regulate property by the mere conceits 
 of men's brains. To some such purpose did Margaret argue 
 against Will's allusions to the doings at Jedburgh; but, 
 secretly. Will cared no more for the threat of a rope, than 
 he did for the empty bravado of a neighbour whom he had 
 eased of a score of cattle. He merely brought in the 
 doings of the Justice-Ayr at Jedburgh, to screen his fits 
 of laziness ; those states of the mind common to rievers, 
 thieves, writer.s, and poets, and generally all people who 
 live upon their wits, which at times incapacitate them for 
 using sword or pen for their honest livelihood. But all 
 Margaret's arguments and Will's courage were on one occa- 
 sion overturned, V)y the riever's apprehension for stealing a 
 cow, belonging to a farmer at Stobbs, of the name of Grant. 
 He was carried to Jedburgh jail, and indicted to stand his 
 trial before the Lord Justice-General at the next circuit. 
 There was a determination, on the part of the crown 
 authorities, to make an example of the most inveterate 
 riever of the time, and Will stood a very fiiir chance of 
 being hanged. 
 
 Tlie apprehension of Will Armstrong made a great noise 
 throughout all Liddesdalo, producing, to the class of vic- 
 tims, joy, and to the class of spoilers, great dismay; but 
 none wondered more at the impertinence and presumption 
 of the government aixthoritics in attempting thus to dislo-
 
 LOUD DURIE AND CHKISXIE'S "WILL. 39 
 
 cate the old Tory principle of " might makes right," than 
 Margaret EUiot ; who, as she sat in her turret of Gilnockie, 
 alternately wept and cursed for the fate of her " winsome 
 Will," and, no doubt, there was in the projected condem- 
 nation and execution of a man six feet five inches high, 
 with a face like an Adonis, shoulders like a Milo, the speed 
 of Meicury, the boldness of a Hon, and more than the 
 generosity of that noble animal, for the crime of steahng 
 a stirk, something that was very apt to rouse, even in those 
 who loved him not so well as did IMargaret, feelings of 
 sympathy for his fate, and indignation against his oppres- 
 sors. There was no keeping, as the artists say, in the 
 pictiire, no proper causaHty in a stolen cow, for the pro- 
 duction of such an effect as a hanged Phaon or strangled 
 Hercules ; and though we have used some classic names 
 to grace our idea, the very same thought, at least as good 
 a one, though perhaps not so gaudily clothed, occupied the 
 mind of ^Margaret Elliot. She sobbed and cried bitterly, 
 till the Gilnockie ravens and owls, kiadred spirits, were 
 terrified from the riever's tower. 
 
 " Wliat is this o't ? " she exclaimed, in the midst of her 
 tears. "Shall Christie's WiU, the bravest man o' the 
 Borders, be hanged because a cow, that kenned nae better, 
 followed him frae Stobbs to the HoUows ; and shall it be 
 said that Margaret Elliot was the death o' her braw riever? 
 I had meat enough in GUnockie larder that day I scorned 
 him wi' his laziness, and forced him to do the deed that 
 has brought him to Jedburgh jail. But I'll awa to the 
 warden, James Stewart o' Tracjuair, and see if it be the 
 king's high Avill that a man's life should be ta'en for a 
 cow's." 
 
 Making good her resolution, Margaret threw her plaid 
 about her shoulders, and hied her away to Traquair House, 
 the same that still stands on the margin of the Tweed, and 
 raises its high white walls, perforated by nnmerous Flemish-
 
 40 TALKS OF THE BOUDKUS. 
 
 shaped windows, among the dark woods of Traqualr. 
 AVhen she came to the front of the house, and saw the two 
 stone figures stationed at the old gate, she paused and 
 wondered at the weakness and effeminacy of the Lord 
 High Steward in endeavouring to defend his castle by 
 fearful representations of animals. 
 
 " My faith," muttered she to herself, as she approached 
 to request entrance, " the warden was right in no makin' 
 choice o' the figure o' a quey to defend his castle." And 
 she could scarcely resist a chuckle in the midst of her 
 tears, at her reference to the cause of her visit. 
 
 " Is my Lord Steward at hame ? " said she to the servant 
 who answered her call. 
 
 "Yes," answered the man; "who is it that wishes to 
 see him ? " 
 
 "The mistress o' Gilnockie," rejoined Margaret, "has 
 come to seek a guid word for Christie's Will, who now lies 
 in Jedburgh jail for stealing a tether, and I fear may hang 
 for't." 
 
 The servant heard this extraordinary message as servants 
 who presume to judge of the sense of their messages ever 
 do, with critical attention, and, after serious consideration, 
 declared that he could not deliver such a message to his 
 lord. 
 
 " I dinna want ye to deliver my message, man," said 
 Margaret, "I merely wished to be polite to ye, and show 
 ye a little attention. God be thankit, the mistress o' Gil- 
 nockie can deliver her ain errand." 
 
 And, pushing the waiting man aside by a sudden jerk 
 of her brawnie arm, she proceeded calmly forward to a 
 door, wliich she intended to open; but the servant was at 
 her heels, and, laying hold of her plaid, was in the act of 
 hauling her back, when the Warden himself came out, and 
 asked the cause of the affray. 
 
 "Is the bouse your.o, my Lord, or this man's?" said
 
 LORD DURIE AND CIIRISTIE's AVILL. 41 
 
 Margaret. " Take my ad-vice, my Lord," (whispering in 
 his ear,) "turn him afF — he's a traitor; would you believe 
 it, my Lord, that, though placed there for the purpose o' 
 lettin' follv into yer Lordship, he actually — ay, as sure as 
 death — tried to keep me oot! Can ye deny it, sir? Look 
 i' my face, and deny it if ye daiir!" 
 
 The man smiled, and his Lordship laughed; and Margaret 
 wondered at the easy good-nature of a Lord in forgiving 
 such a heinous offence on the part of a servitor. 
 
 "If ye're as kind to me as ye are to that rebel," con- 
 tinued jNIargaret, as she followed his Lordship into his sitting 
 chamber, " Christie's Will Avinna hang yet." 
 
 "T\Tiat mean you, good woman?" said the Warden. 
 "What is it that you Avant?" 
 
 " As if your Lordship didna ken," answered Margaret, 
 with a knowing look. "Is it likely that a Liddesdale 
 Avoman frae the HoUoavs, should ca' upon the great Warden 
 for aught short o' the life and safety o' the man Avha's in 
 Jedburgh jail?" (Another Scotch wink.) 
 
 "I am stiU at a loss, good woman," said the Warden. 
 
 "At a loss !" rejoined Margaret. " What ! doesna a' the 
 Forest,* and TcA-iotdale and Twecddale to boot, ken that 
 Christie's Will is in Jedburgh jail ?" 
 
 "I knoAv, I knoAV, good dame," replied the Warden, 
 "that that brave riever is in prison; but I thought his 
 crime was the stealing of a coav, and not a tether, as 1 heard 
 you say to my servant." 
 
 "Wccl, wcel — the coav may have been at the end o' the 
 tether," replied Margaret. 
 
 "She is a Avise woman Avho conccaleth the exlrcjuih/ of 
 her hiisband's crime," replied Lord Traquair, Avith a smile, 
 "But what Avouldst thou have me to do?" 
 
 "Just to save Christie's Will frae the galloAvs, my Lord," 
 answered Margaret. And, going up close to his Lordsliip, 
 
 • Selkirkshire,
 
 42 TALES OP THE BOItDERS. 
 
 and whispering in his ear — " And sometimes a Lord needs 
 a lift as weel as ither folk. If there's nae buck on Traquair 
 when your Lordship has company at the castle, you hae 
 only to gie Christie's Will a nod, and there will be nae 
 want o' venison here for a month. There's no a stouthriever 
 in a' Liddesdale, be he baron or bondsman, knight or 
 knave, but Christie's Will will bring to you at your Lord- 
 ship's bidding, and a week's biding ; and if there's ony 
 want o' a braw leddie," (speaking Ioav,) "to keep the bonny 
 house o' Traquair in order, an' she canna be got for a 
 carhn keeper, a wink to Christie's Will ^\^ll bring her here, 
 unscathed by sun or "wdnd, in suner time than a priest 
 could tie the knot, or a lawyer loose it. Is sic a man a 
 meet burden for a fir wuddy, my Lord ?" 
 
 "By my faith, your husband hath good properties about 
 him," replied Traquair. "There is not one in these parts 
 that knov.'cth not Christie's Will ; but I fear it is to that 
 fame he oweth his danger. He is the last of the old 
 Armstrongs ; and there is a saying hereaway, that 
 
 'Comes Liddesdale's peace 
 When Armstrongs cease;' 
 
 and since, good dame, it would ill become the King's 
 Warden to let slip the noose that is to catch peace and 
 order for our march territories, yet Will is too noble a 
 fellow for hanging. Go thy ways. I'll see him — I'll see 
 him." 
 
 " Ilcch na, my Lord," answered Margaret ; " I'll no 
 budge frae tliis house till ye say ye'll save him this ancc. 
 I'll be caution and surety for him mysel,' that he'U never 
 again dine in Gilnockio on another man's surloins. His 
 clan has been lang a broken ane ; but I am now the head 
 o't, and it has aye been the practice in our country to 
 make the head answer for the rest o' the body." 
 
 " Well, that is the practice of the hangman at Jedburgh," 
 replied Traquair, laughing. " But go thy ways. Will
 
 LORD DUIUE AND CHIUSTIE'S WILL, 43 
 
 shall not hang yet. He hath a job to do for me. There's 
 a ' lurdon ' * of the north he must steal for me. I'll take 
 thy bond." 
 
 " Gie me your hand then, my Lord," said the deter- 
 mined dame ; "and tlie richest lurdon o' the land he'll 
 bring to your Lordship, as surely as he ever took a Cum- 
 berland cow — whilk, as your Lordship kens, is nae riev- 
 ing." 
 
 Traquair gave the good dame his hand, and she departed, 
 
 ■wonderinor, as she went, what the Lord Warden was to do 
 
 with a stolen lurdon. A young damsel might have been a 
 
 fair prize for the handsome baron ; but an " auld wife," as 
 
 she muttered to herself, was the most extraordinary object 
 
 of rieving she had ever heard of, amidst all the varieties 
 
 of a Borderer's prey. Next day Traquair mounted his 
 
 horse, and — 
 
 " Traquair has riden up Chaplehope, 
 
 An' sae has he doun by the Grey-Mare's-Tail; 
 He never stinted the light gallop, 
 Until he speered for Christie's Will." 
 
 Having arrived at Jedburgh, he repaired direct to the 
 jail, where Margaret had been before him, to inform her 
 husband that the great Lord Warden was to visit him, 
 and get him released ; but upon the condition of stealing 
 away a lurdon in the north — a performance, the singularity 
 of Avhich was much greater than the apparent ditficulty, 
 imless, indeed, as AVill said, she was a bedridden lurdon, 
 in which case, it would be no easy matter to get her con- 
 veyed, as horses were the only carriers of stolen goods in 
 those days. But the wonder why Traquair should wish to 
 steal away an old woman had perplexed the wits of Will 
 and his Avife to such an extent, that they had recourse to 
 
 • It has been attempted to derive this word from "Lord," (paper lord); but tvo 
 have no faith in the etymology; it was, however, often applied to the wiggcd and 
 gowned judges, as being, in their appearance, more like women than men — for 
 "lurdon," though applied to a male, is generally used for a lazy woman.— Ed.
 
 44 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 tlie most extraordinary hypotheses ; supposing at one time 
 tliat she was some coy heiress of seventy summers, "who 
 had determined to be carried off after the form of yoimg 
 damsels in the times of chivahy ; at another, that she was 
 the parent of some lord, who could only be brought to 
 concede something to the Warden by the force of the im- 
 pledgment of his mother ; and, again, that she was the 
 duenna of an heiress, who could only be got through the 
 confinement of the old hag. Be who she might, however, 
 Christie's Will declared, upon the faith of the long shablas 
 of Johnny Armstrong, that he would carry her off through 
 fire and water, as sure as ever Kinmont Willie was carried 
 a way by old Wat of Buccleuch from the Castle of Carlisle. 
 
 "Oh, -was it war-wolf in the wood, 
 
 Or was it mermaid in the sea, 
 Or wa3 it maid or lurdnn auld, 
 He'd carry an' bring her bodilie." 
 
 Such was the heroic determination to whicli Christie's 
 ^^'ill liad come, Avhen the jailor came and whispered in his 
 ear, that the Lord Warden was in the passage on the way 
 to see him. Starting to his feet, the riever was prepared 
 to meet the baron, of whom he generally stood in so much 
 awe in his old tower of Gilnockie, Init Avho came to him 
 now on a vi-'it of peace. 
 
 " Tliou'It hang. Will, this time," said the Warden, with 
 an affectation of gruffness, as he stepped forward. " It is 
 not in the power of man to save ye !" 
 
 "Begging yer Lordship's pardon," replied Will, "I be- 
 lieve it, however, to be in the power o' a woman. The 
 auld lurdon will be in Gilnockie tower at yer Lordship's 
 ain time." 
 
 "And who is the 'auld lurdon?'" replied the Warden, 
 trying to repress a laugh, which forced its way in spite of 
 Ills efforts. 
 
 ♦' Margaret couldna tell me that," said Will ; " but many
 
 LORD DUUIK .VXD CIIRISTIE's WILL. 45 
 
 a speculation we liad on the question yer Lordship has now 
 put to me. ' ^^^la can she be ?' said Peggy ; and ' Wha can 
 she be ?' replied I ; but it's for yer Lordship to say wha 
 she is, and for me to steal the auld limmer awa, as sure as 
 ever I conveijed an auld milker frae the land o' the Nevills. 
 I'm nae sooner free than she's a prisoner." 
 
 The familiarity with which WDl spoke of the female 
 personage thus destined to durance vile, produced another 
 laugh on the part of the "Warden, not altogther consistent, 
 as Will thought, with the serious nature of the subject in 
 hand. 
 
 " Where is she, my Lord ?" continued Will ; " in what 
 fortress ? — wha is her keeper ?— whar will I tak her, and 
 how long retain her a prisoner ?" 
 
 " I fear. Will, she is beyond the power o' mortal," said 
 his Lordship, in a serious voice; "but on condition of thy 
 making a fair trial, I will make intercession for thy Wi^i, 
 and take the chance of thy success. Much hangeth by the 
 enterprise — ay, even all my barony of Coberston depend- 
 eth upon that ' lurdon ' being retained three months in 
 a quiet corner of Gramme's Tower. Thou knowest the 
 place?" 
 
 "Ay, weel, weel," replied Will, who began to see the 
 great- importance of the enterprise, while his curiosity to 
 know Avho the object was had considerably increased. 
 " That tower has its ' redcap sly.' E'en Lord Soulis' 
 Hermitage is no better guarded. Ance there, and awa 
 wi' care, as we say o' Gilnockie as a rendezvous for strayed 
 steers. But who is she, my Lord?" 
 
 "Thou hast thyself said she is a woman," replied the 
 Warden, smiling, " and I correct thee not. Hast thou ever 
 heard, Will, of fifteen old women — ' lurdons,' as the good 
 people call them — that reside in a large house in the Par- 
 liament close of Edinburdi ?" 
 
 "Brawly, brawly," answered Will, with a particular
 
 4G TALES OF THE UORDERS. 
 
 leer of fun and intelligence ; " and weel may I ken the 
 limmers — real liirdons, wi' lang goAvns and curclies. Ken 
 tliem ! \yha that has a character to lose, or a property 
 to keep against the claims o' auld parchment, doesna ken 
 thae fifteen anld runts? They keep the hail country side 
 in a steer Avi' their scandal. Nae man's character is safe 
 in their keeping ; and they're sae fu' o' mischief that they 
 hae even blawn into the king's lug that my tower o' 
 Gilnockie was escheat to the king by the death o' my 
 ancestor, who was hanged at Carlenrig. They say a' the 
 mischief that has come on the Borders sin' the guid auld 
 times, has its beginning in that coterie o' weazened gimmers. 
 Bootless, they're at the root o' the danger o' yer bonny 
 barony o' Coberston. By the rood ! I wish I had a dash 
 at their big curches." 
 
 "Ay, Will," responded Traquair ; '* but they're securely 
 lodged in their strong Parliament House, and the difficulty 
 is how to get at them." 
 
 " But I fancy ane o' the lurdons will satisfy yer Lord- 
 ship," said Will, " or do ye want them a' lodged in Grreme's 
 Tower? They would mak a bonny nest o' scrcighing 
 hoolets, if we had them safely under the care o' the sly 
 lodcap o' that auld keep: they Avad hatch something else 
 than scandal, and leasin-makin, and reports o' the insta- 
 bUity o' Border rights, the auld jauds." 
 
 " I will be content with one of them," rejoined the 
 "Warden. 
 
 " Ila ! ha ! I see, I see," replied Will. " Ane o' the 
 limmers has been sapping and undermining Coberston 
 Avi' her hellish scandal. What's the lurdon's name, my 
 Lord ? " 
 
 " Gibson of Durie," rejoined Traquair. 
 
 " Ah I a weel-kenned scandalous runt that," replied 
 Will. "She's the auldest o' the hail fifteen, if I'm no 
 cheated — Leddie President o' the coterie. >She spak sair
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE's WILL. 47 
 
 against me when the King's advocate claimed for his 
 Majesty my auld turret o' Gilnoclde. I owe that quean 
 an auld score. How lang do you want her lodged in 
 Gra?me's Tower ? " 
 
 " Three months would maybe change her tongue," 
 replied the "Warden ; " but the enterprise seems desperate, 
 Will." 
 
 "Desperate! my Lord," rejjlied the other— " that word's 
 no kenned on the Borders. Is it the doinor o't, or the 
 dool for the doing o't, that has the desperation in't?" 
 
 " The consequences to you would be great, Will," said 
 Traquair. " You are confined here for stealing a cow, 
 and would be hanged for it if I did not save ye. Our 
 laws are equal and humane. For stealing a cow one may 
 be hanged; but there's no such law against stealing a 
 paper-lord," 
 
 " That shows the guid sense o' our lawgivers,'' replied 
 Will, -\vitli a leer on his face. " The legislator has wisely 
 weighed the merits o' the twa craturs ; yet, Averc it no for 
 your case, my Lord, I could wish the law reversed." I wad 
 be in nae hurry stealing ane o' thae cummers, at least for 
 my ain use ; and, as for Peggy, she would rather see a cow 
 at Gilnockie ony day." 
 
 " Weel, Will," said his Lordship, " I do not ask thee to 
 steal for me old Leddie Gibson. I dare not. You Tinder- 
 stand me; but I am to save your life; and I tell thee 
 that, if that big-wigged personage be not, within ten days, 
 safely lodged in Grjcme's Tower, my lands of Coberston 
 will find a new proprietor, and your benefactor will be 
 made a lordly beggar." 
 
 " Fear not, my Lord," replied Will. " I'm nae suner 
 out than she's in. She'll no say a word against Coberston 
 for the next three months, I warrant ye. But, by my 
 faith, it's as teuch a job as boilin' auld Soulis in the caul- 
 dron at the Skelfhill ; and I hae nae black spae-book liko
 
 18 TALES OF THE BOUDEHS* 
 
 Thomas to help my spell. Yet, after a', my Lord, what 
 spell is like the wit o' man, when he has courage to act up 
 to't !" 
 
 The "Warden acknowledged the truth of Will's heroic 
 sentiment ; and, having satisfied himself that the bold 
 riever would perform his promise, he departed, and in two 
 days afterwards the prisoner was liberated, and on his way to 
 his residence at the Hollows. It was apparent, from Will's 
 part of the dialogue, that he had some knowledge of the 
 object the Lord Warden had in view in carrying off a 
 Lord of Session from the middle of the capital ; yet it is 
 doubtful if he troubled himself with more than the fact of 
 its being the wish of his benefactor that the learned judge 
 should be for a time confined in Graime's Tower; and, 
 conforming to a private hint of his Lordship before he de- 
 parted from the jail, lie kept up in his wife Margaret's 
 mind the delusion that it was truly "an auld lurdon" 
 whom he was to steal, as a condition for getting out of 
 [)rison. On the morning after his ari'ival at Gilnockio, 
 AV'^ill held a consultation with two tried friends, whose assist- 
 ance he required in this most extraordinary of all the riev- 
 ing expeditions he had ever yet been engaged in ; and tlie 
 result of their long sederunt was, that, within two hours after, 
 the three were mounted on as many prancing Galloways, 
 and with a fourth led by a bridle, and carr^'ing their pro- 
 visions, a large cloak, and some other articles. They took 
 the least frequented road to the metropolis of Scotland, 
 Having arrived there, they put up their horses at a small 
 hostelry in the Grassmarket; and, next day. Will, leaving 
 Ills friends at the inn, repaired to that scat of the law and 
 learning of Scotland, where the "hail fifteen" sat in grim 
 array, munching, with their toothless jaws, the thousand 
 scraps of Latin law-maxims (borrowed from the Roman and 
 feudal systems) which then ruled the principles of judicial 
 proceedings in Scotland.
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 49 
 
 Planting himself in one of the litigants' benches — a line 
 of seats in front of the semicircle where the fifteen Lords 
 sat — the Liddesdale riever took a carefal survey of all the 
 wonders of that old laboratory of law. The first objects 
 that attracted his attention, were, of course, the imposing 
 semicircular line of judges, no fewer than fifteen (almost 
 sufficient for a small standing army for puny Scotland in 
 those days), who, wigged and robed, sat and nodded and 
 grinned, and munched their chops in each other's faces, 
 with a most extraordinary regularity of mummery, which 
 yielded great amusement to the stalworth riever of the 
 Borders. Their appearance in the long gowns, with 
 sleeves down to the hands, wigs whose lappets fell on their 
 breasts, displaying many a line of crucified curl, and white 
 cambric cravats falling from below their gaucy double- 
 chins on their bosoms, suggested at once the appellation 
 of lurdons, often applied to them in those days, and now 
 vivid in the fancy of the staring Borderer, whose wild and 
 lawless life was so strangely contrasted with that of the 
 drowsy, effeminate-looking individuals who sat before him. 
 lie understood very little of their movements, which had 
 all the regularity and ceremony of a raree-show. One 
 individual (the macer) cried out, at intervals, with a 
 cracked voice, some words he could not understand ; but 
 the moment the sound had rung through the raftered 
 hall, another species of wigged and robed individuals 
 (advocates) came forward, and spoke a strange mixture of 
 English and Latin, which Will could not follow; and, 
 when they had finished, the whole fifteen looked at each 
 other, and then began, one after another, but often two or 
 three at a tinie, to speak, and nod, and shake their ■\vigs, 
 as if they had been set agoing by some winding-up pro- 
 cess on the part of the advocates. Not one word of all 
 this did Will understand ; and, indeed, he cared nothing 
 for such mummery, but ever and anon fixed his keen eve
 
 50 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 on the face of the middle senator, with an expression that 
 certainly never could have conveyed the intelligence that 
 that rough country-looking individual meditated such a 
 thing as an abduction of the huge incorporation of law 
 that sat there in so much state and soUdity. 
 
 "Ha! ha! my old lass," said Will to himself; "ye little 
 ken that the Laird o' Gilnockie, whom ye tried to deprive 
 of his birthright, sits afore ye ; and will a' the lear 'neath 
 that big wig tell ye that that same Laird o' Gilnockie sits 
 here contriving a plan to run awa wi' ye? Faith, an' it's a 
 bauld project; but the baidder the bonnier, as we say in 
 Liddcsdale. I only wish I could tak her wig and gown 
 wi' her — for, if the lurdon were seen looking out o' Grajme's 
 Tower, wi' that lang lappet head-gear, there would be nae 
 need o' watch or ward to keep her there." 
 
 Wni had scarcely finished his monologue, when he heard 
 the macer cry out, "ISIaxwell against Lord Traquair;" then 
 came forward the advocates, and shook their wigs over the 
 bar, and at length old Durie, the President, said, in words 
 that did not escape Will's vigilant ear — 
 
 " This case, I beheve, involves the right to the large 
 barony of Coberston. Seven of my brethren, you are 
 aware, have given their opinions in favour of the defend- 
 ant, Lord Traquair, and seven have declared for the 
 pursuer, Maxwell. My casting vote must, therefore, de- 
 cide the case, and I have been very anxious to bring my 
 mind to a conclusion on the subject, with as little delay as 
 possible ; but there are difficulties which I have not yet 
 been able to surmount.") 
 
 "Ay, and there's a new ane here, sittin' afore ye," 
 muttered Will, " maybe the warst o' them a'." 
 
 " I still require some new lights," continued the judge. 
 "I have already, as the case proceeded, partially announced 
 an opinion against Lord Traquair ; but I wish confirma- 
 tion before I pronounce a judgment that is to have the
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 51 
 
 effect of turning one out of possession of a large barony. 
 I am sorry that my learned friends at the bar have not 
 been able to relieve me of my scruples." 
 
 " Stupid fules," muttered Will ; " but I'll relieve ye, my 
 Lord Durie. It'll ne'er be said that a Lord o' Session 
 stood in need o' relief, and a Border riever in the court, 
 wha has a hundred times made the doubtin' stirk tak ae 
 road (maybe Gilnockie-ways) in preference to anither." 
 
 The Traquair case being the last called that day, the 
 court broke up, and the judges, followed still by the eye of 
 Christie's Will, retired into the robing-room to take ofF 
 their wigs and gowns. The Borderer now inquired, in a 
 very simple manner, at a macer, at Avhat door the judges 
 came out of the court, as he was a countryman, and was 
 curious to see their Lordships dressed in their usual every- 
 day clothes. The request was complied with ; and Will, 
 as a stupid ga.^ing man from the Highlands, who wished 
 to get an inane curiosity gratified by what had nothing 
 cm-ious in it, was placed in a convenient place to see the 
 Solomons pass forth on their way to their respective dwell- 
 ings. They soon came ; and Will's lynx eye caught, in 
 a moment, the face of the President, whom, to his great 
 satisfaction, he now found to be a thin, spare, portable 
 individual, and very far from the unwieldy personage 
 which his judge's dress made him appear to be when 
 sitting on the bench — a reversing of the riever's thoughts, 
 in reference to the spareness and fatness of his object of 
 seizure, that brought a twinkle to his eye in spite of the 
 serious task in which he was engaged. Forth went tlie 
 President with groat dignity, and Christie's Will behind 
 liim, dogging him with the keen scent of a sleuth-hound. 
 To his house in the Canongate he slowly bent his steps, 
 ruminating as he went, in all likelihood, upon the difllcul- 
 ties of the Traquair case, from which his followers wore so 
 anxious to relieve him. Will saw him ascend the steps
 
 52 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 and enter, and his next object was to ascertain at what 
 time he took his walk, and to Avhat quarter of the suburbs 
 he generally resorted ; but on this point he could not get 
 much satisfaction, the good judge being in his motions 
 somewhat irregular, though (as Will learned) seldom a 
 day passed without his having recourse to the country in 
 some dii'ection or other. Will, therefore, set a watch 
 upon the house. Another of his friends held the horses 
 at the foot of Leith Wynd, while he himself paced between 
 the watchman and the top of the passage, so that he might 
 have both ends of the line always in his eye. A concerted 
 whistle was to regulate their movements. 
 
 The first day passed without a single gHmpse being had 
 of the grave senator, who was probably occupied in the 
 consultation of legal authorities, little conscious of the care 
 that was taken about his precious person by so important 
 an individual as the far-famed Christie's Will of Gilnockie. 
 On the second day, about three of the afternoon, and two 
 hours after he had left the Parliament House, a whistle 
 from Will's friend indicated that the grave judge was on 
 the steps of his stair. Will recognised him in an instant, 
 and, despatching his friend to him who held the horses at 
 the foot of the Wynd, Avith instructions to keep behind 
 him at a distance, he began to follow his victim slowly, 
 and soon saw with delight that he was wending his sena- 
 torial steps down towards Leith. llie unconscious judge 
 seemed drowned in study : his eyes were fixed on the 
 ground ; his hands placed behind liis back ; and, ever and 
 anon, he twirled a gold-headed cane that hung suspended 
 by a silken string from one of his fingers. Will was cer- 
 tain that he was meditating the fall of Coberston, and 
 the ruin of his benefactor, Traquair ; and, as the thought 
 rose in his mind, the fire of his eye bui'ned brighter, and 
 his resolution mounted higher and higher, till he could 
 even have seized his prey in Leith lane, and carried liim
 
 rORD DLBIfi AND CHKISTIE's AHLL, 53 
 
 off amidst the cries of the populace. But his opportunity 
 was coming quicker than he supposed. To enable him to 
 get deeper and deeper into his brown study, Durie was 
 clearly bent upon avoiding the common road where pas- 
 sengers put to flight his ideas ; and, turning to the right, 
 went up a narrow lane, and continued to saimter on till 
 he came to that place commonly known by the name of 
 the Figgate "VMiins. In that sequestered place, where 
 scarcely an individual was seen to pass in an hour, the 
 deep thinking of the cogitative senator might trench the 
 soil of the law of prescription, turn up the principle which 
 regulated tailzies imder the second part of the act 1617, 
 and bixry Traquair's right to Coberston. No sound but 
 the flutter of a bird, or the moan of the breaking waves 
 of the Frith of Forth, could there interfere with his train 
 of thought. Away he sauntered, ever turning his gold- 
 headed cane, and driving his head farther and farther into 
 the deep hole Avhere, like the ancient philosopher, he ex- 
 pected to find truth. Sometimes he struck his foot against 
 a stone, and started and looked up, as if awakened from a 
 dream; but he was too intent on his study to take the 
 pains to make a complete turn of his Avise head, to see if 
 there was any one behind him. During all this time, a 
 regular course of signals was in progress among Will and 
 his friends who were coming up behind him, the horses 
 being kept far back, in case the sound of their hoofs might 
 reach the ear of the day-dreamer. He had now reached 
 the most retii'cd and lonely part of the common, where, 
 at that time, there stood a small clump of trees at a little 
 distance from the whin-road that gave the place its singular 
 name. His study still continued, for his head was still 
 bent, and he looked neither to the right nor to the left. 
 In a single instant, he was muffled up in a large cloak, a 
 hood thro"\vn over his face, and his hands firmly bound by 
 a cord. The opcrntion was that of a moment — finislipH
 
 54 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 before the prisoner's astonisliment had left him power to 
 open his mouth. A whistle brought up the horses ; he 
 was placed on one of them A\dth the same rapidity ; a cord 
 was passed roimd his loins and bound to the saddle ; and, 
 in a few minutes, the party was in rapid motion to get to 
 the back part of the city.* 
 
 During all this extraordinary operation, not a single 
 word passed between the three rievers, to whom the 
 proceeding was, in a great degree, perfectly familiar. 
 Through the folds of the hood of the cloak in which the 
 President's head was much more snugly lodged than it 
 ever was in his senatorial wig, lie contrived to send forth 
 some muffled sounds, indicating, not imnaturally, a "wish 
 to know what was the meaning and object of so extraordi- 
 nary a manccuvre. At that time, be it understood, the 
 belief in the power of witches Avas general, and Durie 
 himself had been accessary to the condemnation of many 
 a wise woman who was committed to tlie flames ; but 
 though he had, to a great extent, emancipated his strong 
 mind from the thraldom of the prevailing prejudice, the 
 mode; in v.liich he was now seized — in broad day, in the 
 midst of a legal study, without seeing a single individual 
 (his head being covered first), and without hearing the 
 sound of man's voice — would have been sufficient to bring 
 liim back to the general belief, and force the conviction 
 that he was now in the hands of the agents of the Devil. 
 It is, indeed, a fact (afterwards ascertained), that the 
 learned judge did actually conceive that he was now in 
 the power of those he had helped to persecute ; and his 
 fears — bringing up before him the burning tar-barrcis, 
 the paid prickers, the roaring crowds, and the expiring 
 victim — completed the delusion, and bound up his ener- 
 gies, till he was speechless and motionless. There was, 
 
 • Thla famous abduction was reported by Lord Fountainhall, Every clrciim- 
 itance l« literally true.- E».
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 55 
 
 therefore, no cause of appreliension from the terror-struck 
 prisoner himself; and, as the party scom-ed along, they 
 told every inquiring passenger on the way (for they were 
 obliged, in some places, to ask the road) that they were 
 carrying an auld liirdon to Dumfries, to be biumt for 
 exercising the power of her art on the innocent inhabitants 
 of that district. It was, therefore, no uncommon thing for 
 Durie to hear himself saluted by all the appellations gene- 
 rally applied to the poor persecuted class to which he was 
 supposed to belong. 
 
 "Ay, awa wi' the auld limmer," cried one, "and see 
 that the barrels are fresh frae Norraway, and weel-lined 
 wi' the bleezing tar." 
 
 " Be sure and prick her weel," cried another ; " the 
 foul mtch may be fireproof. If she mnna bium, boil her 
 like Mog Davy at Smithfield, or Shirra Melville on the 
 hill o' Garvock." 
 
 These cries coming on the ear of the astonished judge, 
 did not altogether agree with his preconceived notions of 
 being committed to the power of the Evil One ; but they 
 tended still farther to confuse him, and he even fancied at 
 times that the vengeance of the populace, which thus rung 
 in his ears, Avas in the act of being realized, and that he 
 was actually to suffer the punishment he had so often 
 awarded to others. Some expressions Avrung from him by 
 his fear, and overheard by the quick ear of Will, gave the 
 latter a clue to the workings of his mind, and he did not 
 fail to see how he might take advantage of it. As night 
 began to fall, they had got far on their way towards 
 Moffat, and, consequently, far out of danger of a pursuit 
 and a rescue. Durie's horse was pricked forward at a 
 speed not inconsistent with his power of keeping the 
 saddle. They stopped at no baiting place, but kept push- 
 ing forward, while the silence was still maintained, or, it 
 it ever was broken, it was to introduce, by interlocutory
 
 56 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 snatclies of conversation, some reference to the doom which 
 awaited the unhappy judge. The darkness in which he 
 was muffled, the speed of hi« journey, the sounds and 
 menaces that had met his ear, all co-operating with the 
 original sensations produced by his mysterious seizure, 
 continued to keep alive the terrors he at first felt, to over- 
 turn all the ordinary ideas and feelings of the li\'ing world, 
 and to sink him deeper and deeper in the confasiou that 
 had overtaken his mind in the midst of his legal reverie 
 at the Figgate Whins. 
 
 The cavalcade kept its course all next day, and, towards 
 the evening, they approached Gramme's Tower, a dark, 
 melancholy-looking erection, situated on Dryfe "Water, not 
 very distant from the village of Moffat. In a deep cell of 
 this old castle the President of the Court of Session was 
 safely lodged, with no more light than was supplied by a 
 small grating, and with a small supply of meat, only suffi- 
 cient to allay at first the pangs of hunger. Will having 
 thus executed his commission, sat down and ■wrote on a 
 scrap of paper these expressive words — " The brock's in 
 the pock !" and sent it with one of his friends to Traquair 
 House. The moment the Earl read the scrawl, he knew 
 that Will had performed his promise, and took a hearty 
 laugh at the extraordinary scheme he had resorted to for 
 gaining his plea. It was not yet, however, his time to 
 commence his proceedings ; but, in a short Avhile after the 
 imprisonment of the President, he set off for Edinburgh, 
 which town he found in a state of wonder and ferment 
 at the mysterious disappearance of the illustrious Durie. 
 Every individual he met had something to say on the 
 subject; but the prevailing opinion was, that the unhappy 
 President had ventured upon that part of the sands near 
 L(Mth where the incoming tide usually encloses, with great 
 rnpidity, large sand-banks, and oflen overwhelms helpless 
 -' vangers who ^a^ unacquainted with the manner in which
 
 LORD DUUIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 57 
 
 the tide there flows. Numbers of people had exerted 
 themselves in searching all the surrounding parts, and 
 some had traversed the whole coast from Musselburgh to 
 Cramond, in the expectation of finding the body upon the 
 sea-shore. But all was in vain : no President was found ; 
 and a month of vain search and expectation having passed, 
 the original opinion settled do'svn into a conviction that he 
 had been drowned. His wafe. Lady Durie, after the first 
 emotions of intense grief, went, with her Avhole family, 
 into mourning ; and young and old lamented the fate of 
 one of the most learned judges and best men that ever 
 sat on the judgment-seat of Scotland. 
 
 There was nothing now to prevent Traquair from reap- 
 ing the fruits of his enterprise. He pressed hard for a 
 judgment in his case ; and pled that the fourteen judges 
 having been equally divided, he was entitled to a decision 
 in his favour as defender. This plea was not at that time 
 sustained; but a new president having been appointed, 
 who was favourable to his side of the question, the case 
 was again to be brought before the court, and the Earl 
 expected to carry his point, and reap all the benefit of 
 Will's courage and ingenuity. 
 
 ]Meantime, the dead-alive President was closely confined 
 in the old tower of Gr£cme, and had never recovered from 
 the feelings of superstition which held the sovereign power 
 of his mind at the time of his confinement. He never saw 
 the face of man, his food being handed into him by an 
 unseen hand, through a small hole at the foot of the door. 
 The small grating was not situated so as to yield him any 
 prospect ; and the only sounds that greeted his ears were 
 the calls of the shepherds who tended their sheep in the 
 neighbouring moor. Sometimes he heard men's voices 
 calling out "Batty!" and anon a female crying "^faudge!" 
 The former was the name of a shepherd's dog, and the 
 latter was the name of the cat beJrts»jcing to an old womar
 
 58 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 Avho occupied a small cottage adjoining to the tower. 
 Both the names sounded strangely and ominously in the 
 ears of the President, and sorely did he tax his wits as to 
 what they implied. Every day he heard them, and every 
 time he heard them he meditated more and more as to the 
 species of beings they denominated. Still remaining in 
 the belief that he was in the hands of evil powers, he ima- 
 gined that these strange names, Batty and !Maudge, were 
 the earthly titles of the two demons that held the impor- 
 tant authority of watching and tormenting the President of 
 the Court of Session. He had heard these often, and 
 suffered so much from their cruel tyranny, that he became 
 nervous when the ominous sounds struck on his ear, and 
 often (as he himself subsequently admitted) he adjured 
 heaven, in his prayers, to take away Maudge and Batty, 
 and torment him no longer by their infernal agency. 
 "Relieve me, relieve me, from these conjunct and confi- 
 dent spirits, cruel !Maudge and inexorable Batty," (he 
 prayed,) " and any other punishment due to my crimes I 
 will willingly bear." Exorcisms in abundance he applied 
 to them, and used many fanciful tricks of demon-expelling 
 agency to free him from their tyi-anny ; but all to no pur- 
 pose. The names still struck his ear in the silence of his 
 cell, and kept alive the superstitious terror with which he 
 was enslaved. 
 
 Traquair, meanwhile, pushed hard for a decision, and, 
 at last, after a period of about three months, the famous 
 cause was brought before the court, and the successor of 
 the dead-alive President having given his vote for the de- 
 fender, the wily Warden carried his point, and secured lo 
 him and his heirs, in time coming, the fine barony in dis- 
 pute, which, for aught we know to the contrary, is in the 
 family to this day. 
 
 It now remained for the actors in this strange drama to 
 let free the unhappy Durie, and relieve him from the
 
 LOKD DURIE A^D CHRISTIE'S WILL, 59 
 
 power of his enemies. ITie Warden accordingly despatched 
 a messenger to Christie's Will, mth the laconic and empha- 
 tic demand — " Let the brock out o' the pock " — a return 
 of Will's own humorous message, which he well understood. 
 Will and his associates accordingly went about the im- 
 portant deliverance in a manner worthy of the dexterity 
 by which the imprisonment had been effected. Ha'vang 
 opened the door of his cell, they muffled him up in the 
 same black cloak in which he was enveloped at the Figgate 
 Wliins, and leading him to the door, placed him on the 
 back of a SA\ift steed, whUe they mounted others, with 
 a view to accompany him. Setting off at a swift pace, 
 they made a circuit of the tower in which he had been 
 confined, and continuing the same circuitous route round 
 and round the castle for a period of two or three hours, 
 they stopped at the very door of his cell from which they 
 had started. They then set him do^vn upon the ground, 
 and again mounting their horses, took to their heels, and 
 never halted till they arrived at GUnockie. 
 
 On being left alone, Durie proceeded to undo the cords 
 by which the cloak was fastened about his head ; and, for 
 the first time after three months, breathed the fresh air 
 and saw the hght of heaven. He had ridden, according to 
 his ovra calculation, about" twenty miles ; and, looking 
 roxmd him, he saw alongside of him the tower of Gramme, 
 an old castle he had seen many years before, and recol- 
 lected as being famous in antiquarian reminiscence. The 
 place he had been confined in must have been some castle 
 twenty miles distant from Gramme's Tower — a circumstance 
 that would lead him, he thought, to discover the place of 
 his confinement, though he was free to confess that he was 
 utterly ignorant of the direction in which he had travelled. 
 Thankful for his deliverance, he fell on his knees, and 
 poured out a long prayer of gratitude for being thus 
 freed from his enemies, Batty and Maudge. The distance
 
 60 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 he had travelled must have taken him far away from the 
 regions of their influence — the most grateful of all the 
 thoughts that now rose in his wondering mind. No more 
 woidd these hated names strike his ear with terror and 
 dismay, and no more would he feel the tyranny of their 
 demoniac sway. As these thoughts were passing through 
 his mind a sound struck his ear. 
 
 " Hey, Batty, lad ! — far yaud, far yaud ! " cried a voice 
 by his side. 
 
 " God have mercy on me ! here again," ejaculated the 
 president. 
 
 "Maudge, ye jaud!" cried another voice, from the door 
 of a poor woman's cottage. 
 
 The terrified president lifted his eyes, and saw a goodly 
 shepherd, with a long staff in his hand, crying to his dog, 
 liatty, to drive liis sheep to a distance ; and, a little 
 beyond, a poor woman sat at her door, looking for her 
 black cat, that sat on the roof of the cottage, and would 
 not come down for all the energies of her squeaking 
 voice. 
 
 " Wliat could all this mean?" now ejaculated Durie. 
 *' Have I not been for three months tortured with these 
 sounds, which I attributed to evil spirits ? I liave ridden 
 from tliem twenty miles, and here they are again, in the 
 ft)rm of fair honest denominations of living animals. I am 
 in greater perplexity than ever. "While I thought them 
 evil spirits, I feared them as such ; but now, God help me, 
 thoy have taken on the forms of a dog rmd cat, and this 
 shepherd and this old woman are kindred devils, under 
 whose command they are. AVhat shall I do, whilher run 
 to avoid them, since twenty miles have been to them as a 
 flight in the air?" 
 
 " It's a braw morning, sir," said the shepherd. " IIow 
 far hae ye come this past night ? — for I ken nae habitation 
 near wliar ye may hae rested."
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE's WILL. 61 
 
 "It's seldom we see strangers liereawa," said the old 
 woman, " at this early hour — will ye come in, sir, and 
 rest ye?" 
 
 Durie looked first at the one and then at the other, 
 bewildered and speechless. The fair face of nature before 
 him, with the forms of God's creatures, and the sounds of 
 human voices in his ears, were as nothing to recollections 
 and sensations which he could not shake from his mind. 
 He had, for certain, heard these dreadful sounds for three 
 months ; he had ridden twenty miles, and now he heard 
 them again, mixed up with the delusive accompaniments 
 of the enticing speeches of a man and a woman. He would 
 fly, but felt himself unable ; and, standing imder the influ- 
 ence of the charm of his o^vn terrors, he continued to look, 
 first at the shepherd and then at the old woman, in wonder 
 and dismay. The people knew as little what to think ot 
 him as he did in regard to them. He looked wild and 
 haggard, his eyes rolled about in his head, his voice was 
 mute ; and the cloak, which he had partially imloosed 
 from his head, hung in strange guise down his back, and 
 flapped in the wind. The old castle had its " red cap," a 
 fact known to both the shepherd and the old woman, who 
 had latterly heard strange sounds coming from it. Might 
 not Durie be the spirit in another form ? The question 
 was reasonable, and Avas well answered by the wildly- 
 ' staring president, who was still under the spell of his 
 terrors. 
 
 " Avaunt ye ! — avaimt! in the name o' the haly rude o' 
 St. Andrews 1 " cried the woman, now roused to a state of 
 terror. 
 
 The same words were repeated by the simple-minded 
 shepherd, and poor Durie's fears were, if possible, in- 
 creased ; for it seemed that they were now performing 
 some new incantation, whereby he woidd be again reduced 
 to their power ; but ho was noAV in the open air, and why
 
 G2 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 not take advantage of the opportunity of escaping from 
 their tliraklom? The moment the idea started in his 
 mind, he threw from him the accursed cloak, and flew 
 away over the moor as fast as his decayed limbs, inspired 
 by terror, would carry him. As he ran, he heard the old 
 woman clapping her hands, and crying " Shoo, shoo ! " as 
 if she had been exorcising a winged demon. After run- 
 ning till he was fairly out of the sights and sounds that 
 had produced in him so much terror, he sat down, and 
 took a retrospect of what had occurred to him during the 
 preceding three months ; but he could come to no conclu- 
 sion that could reconcile all the strange things he had 
 experienced with any supposition based on natural powers. 
 It was certain, however, that he was still upon the earth, 
 and it was probable he was now beyond the power of his 
 evil genius. His best plan, therefore, under all the cir- 
 cumstances, was to seek home, and Lady Durie and his 
 loving foraily, who would doubtless be in a terrible condi- 
 tion on account of his long absence ; and even this idea, 
 pleasant as it was, was qualified by the fear that he might, 
 f(jr aught he knew, have been away, like the laii'd of 
 Comrie, for many, perhaps a hundred years, and neither 
 Lady Durie, nor friend or accpiaintanco, would be alive to 
 greet him on liis return. Of all this, however, he must 
 now take his chance ; and, rising and journeying forward, 
 he came to a house, where he asked for some refreshment 
 l)y way of charity ; for he had nothing in the world to pay 
 for what he required. He was fortunate in getting some 
 rehef from the kind woman to whom he had applied, and 
 ]-)rocccded to speak to her on various topics with great 
 sense and propriety, as became the ex-President of the 
 Court of Session ; but when, to satisfy his scruples, he 
 asked her the day of the month, then the month of the 
 year, and then the year of the Lord, the good woman Avas 
 satisfied he was mad ; and, with a look of pity, recom-
 
 LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIK'S WILL. C3 
 
 mended liim to proceed on his way, and get home as fast 
 as he could. 
 
 So on the president went, begging his way from hamlet 
 to hamlet, getting alms from one and news from another, 
 but never gratified with the year of the Lord in which he 
 lived ; for, when he put that question, he was uniformly 
 pitied, and allowed to proceed on his way for a madman. 
 He heard, however, several times that President Durie had 
 been drowned in the Frith of Forth, and that a new Presi- 
 dent of the Court of Session had been appointed in his 
 2:»lace. Whether his wife was married again or not, he 
 could not learn, and was obUged to wrestle Avith this and 
 other fears as he still continued his way to the metropolis. 
 At last Edinburgh came in view, and glad was he to see 
 again the cat's head of old St. Arthur's, and the diadem of 
 St. Giles rearing theu* heights in the distance. Nearer 
 and nearer he approached the place of his home, happi- 
 ness, and dignity ; but, as he came nearer still, he began 
 to feel all the effects of his supposed demise. Several of 
 liis old acquaintances stared wildly at him as they passed, 
 and, though he beckoned to them to stand and speak, they 
 huri'ied on, and seemed either not to recognize him, or to 
 
 be terrified at him. At last he met Lord F , the 
 
 judge who had sat for many years next to him on the 
 bench ; and, running up to him, he held out his hand in 
 kindly salutation, grinning, with his long thin jaws and 
 pallid cheeks, a greeting which he scarcely understood 
 himself By this time it was about the gloaming, and 
 such was the extraordinary effect produced by his sudden 
 appearance and changed cadaverous look, that his old 
 brother of the bench got alarmed, and fairly took to his 
 heels, as if he had seen a spectre. Undaunted, however, 
 he pushed on, and by the time he reached the Canongate 
 it was almost dark. He went direct to his own house, and 
 peeping through the window, saw Lady Durie sitting by
 
 64 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 the fire dressed in weeds, and several of his children 
 arovmd, arrayed in the same style. The sight brought the 
 tears of joy to his eyes, and, forgetting entirely the effect 
 his appearance would produce, he threw open the door, 
 and rushed into the room. A loud scream from the 
 throats of the lady and the children rang through the 
 whole house, and brought up the servants, who screamed 
 in their turn, and some of them fainted, while others 
 ran away; and no one had any idea that the emaciated 
 haggard being before them was other than the grim ghost 
 of Lord President Durie, come from the other world to 
 terrify the good people of this. The confusion, however, 
 soon ceased ; for Durie began to speak softly to them, and, 
 taking his dear lady in his arms, pressed her to his bosom in 
 a way that satisfied her that he was no ghost, but her own 
 lord, who, by some mischance, had been spirited away by 
 some bad angels. The children gradually recovered their 
 confidence, and in a short time joy took the place of fear, 
 and all the neighbourhood was filled with the news that 
 Lord Durie had come alive again, and was in the living 
 body in his o-\vn house. Shortly after the good lord sat 
 down by the fire and got his supper, and, by the quantity 
 he ate, satisfied his lady and fiimily still more that he 
 carried a good body, with as fair a capability of reception 
 as he ever exhibited after a walk at the Figgate Whins. 
 He told them aU he had undergone since first he was 
 carried away, not forgetting the two spirits. Batty and 
 Maudge, that had tormented him so cruelly during the 
 period of his enchantment. The lady and family stared 
 with open mouths as they heard the dreadful recital ; but 
 a goodly potation of warm spiced wine drove off the 
 vapours produced by the dismal story, and, by-and-by. 
 Lord Durie and his wife retired to bed — the one weary 
 and exhausted with his trials, and the other with her 
 terrors and her joys.
 
 fiECOLlECTlO^^S OV BURNS. 65 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS* 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 *' Wear we not graven on our hearts 
 
 The name of Robert Burns!" — Ajiierican PoeL 
 
 The degrees shorten as we proceed from the higher to the 
 lower latitudes — the years seem to shorten in a mnch 
 greater ratio as we pass onward through life. "We are 
 almost disposed to question whetlier the brief period of 
 storms and foul weather that floats over us with such 
 dream-like rapidity, and the transient season of flowers 
 and sunshine that seems almost too short for enjoyment, 
 be at all identical with the lono; summers and still longer 
 winters of our boyhood, when day after day and week after 
 week stretched away in dim perspective, till lost in the 
 obscurity of an almost inconceiA'-able distance. Young as 
 I was, I had already passed the period of life when we 
 wonder how it is that the years should be described as 
 short and fleeting ; and it seemed as if I had stood but 
 yesterday beside the deathbed of the iinfortunate Ferguson, 
 though the flowers of four summers and the snows of four 
 winters had now been shed over his grave. 
 
 My prospects in life had begun to brighten. I served 
 in the capacity of mate in a large West India trader, the 
 master of which, an elderly man of considerable wealth, 
 was on the eve of quitting the sea ; and the owners had 
 already determined that I should succeed him in the 
 charge. But fate had ordered it otherwise. Our seas 
 
 * Our author, Hugh Miller, never communicated to the Editor his authority 
 for these "Kecollections." Probably it was of the same kind as that possessed 
 by Lucian, Lord Lyttleton, and Walter Savnge Lander; but wlictlier so or not, 
 wt) must at least be well satisfied that the parts of the conrcrsation sustaini-d by 
 the principal interlocutor are true to the Kenius and character of Rurns, and that, 
 liowever searching the thoughts or beautiful the sentinienti, thoy do not tran- 
 scend whtt might liavc been expected from the Bard himself.— Ed. 
 
 VOL. II. - C
 
 GG TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 were infested at this period by American privateers — 
 prime sailors, and strongly armed ; and, when homeward 
 bound from Jamaica Avith a valuable cargo, we were 
 attacked and captured when within a day's saiUng of Ire- 
 land, by one of the most formidable of the class. Vain as 
 resistance might have been deemed — for the force of the 
 American was altogether overpowering — and though our 
 master, poor old man ! and three of the crew, had fallen 
 by the first broadside, we had yet stood stiffly by our 
 guns, and were only overmastered when, after falling foul 
 of the enemy, we were boarded by a party .of thrice our 
 strength and number. The Americans, irritated by our 
 resistance, proved on this occasion no generous enemies ; 
 we were stripped and heavily ironed, and, two days after, 
 were set ashore on the wild coast of Connaught, without a 
 single change of dress, or a sixpence to bear us by the way. 
 I was sitting, on the following night, beside the turf fire 
 of a hospitable Irish peasant, when a seafaring man, whom 
 I had sailed with about two years before, entered the 
 cabin. The meeting was equally unexpected on either 
 side. My acquaintance was the master of a smuggling 
 lugger then on the coast; and on acquainting him with 
 the details of my disaster, and the state of destitution to 
 which it had reduceTl me, he kindly proposed that I should 
 accompany him on his voyage to tlie west coast of Scot- 
 land, for which he Avas then on the eve of sailing. "You 
 AviU run some little risk," he said, " as the companion of a 
 man who has now been thrice outlawed for firing on his 
 ^Majesty's flag; but I know your proud heart will prefer 
 the danger of bad company at its worst, to the alternative 
 of begging your way home." He judged rightly. Before 
 daybreak we had lost sight of land, and in four days more 
 we could discern the precipitous shores of Carrick stretch- 
 ing in a dark line along the horizon, and the hUls of the 
 interior rising thin and blue behind, like a volume of
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 67 
 
 clouds. A considerable part of our cargo, which consisted 
 mostly of tea and spirits, was consigned to an A}t trader, 
 who had several agents in the remote parish of Kirkoswald, 
 which at this period afforded more facilities for carrying 
 on the contraband trade than any other on the western 
 coast of Scotland ; and, in a rocky bay of the parish, we 
 proposed unlading on the following night. It was neces- 
 sary, however, that the several agents, who were yet igno- 
 rant of our arrival, should be prepared to meet with us ; 
 and, on volunteering my service for the purpose, I was 
 landed near the ruins of the ancient castle of Turnberry, 
 once the seat of Robert the Bruce. 
 
 I had accomplished my object ; it was evening, and a 
 party of countrymen were sauntering among the cliffs, 
 waiting for nightfall and the appearance of the lugger. 
 There are splendid caverns on the coast of Kirkoswald ; 
 and, to while away the time, I had descended to the shore 
 by a broken and precipitous path, with a view of explor- 
 ing what are termed the Caves of Colzcan, by far the finest 
 in this part of Scotland. The evening was of great beauty; 
 the sea spread out from the cliffs to the far horizon, like 
 the sea of gold and crystal described by the prophet ; and 
 its warm orange hues so harmonized with those of the sky, 
 that, passing over the dimly-defined line of demarcation, 
 the whole upper and nether expanse seemed but one glori- 
 ous firmament, with the dark Ailsa, like a thunder-cloud, 
 sleeping in the midst. The sun was hastening to his set- 
 ting, and threw his strong red light on the wall of rock 
 which, loftier and more imposing than the walls of even 
 the mighty Babylon, stretched onward along the beach, 
 headland after headland, till the last sank abruptly in the 
 far distance, and only the wide ocean stretched beyond. I 
 passed along the insulated piles of cliff that rise thick along 
 the basis of the precipices — now in sunshine, now in 
 shadow — till I »cached the opening of one of the largest
 
 G8 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 caves. The roof rose more than fifty feet over my head — • 
 a broad stream of light, that seemed redder and more 
 fiery from the siirroiinding gloom, slanted inwards, and, as 
 I paused in the opening, my shadow, lengthened and dark, 
 fell athwart the floor— a slim and narroAV bar of black — 
 till lost in the gloom of the inner recess. There was a 
 wild and uncommon beauty in the scene that powerfully 
 affected the imagination ; and I stood admiring it in that 
 delicious dreamy mood in which one can forget all but the 
 present enjoyment, when I was roused to a recollection of 
 the business of the evening by the sound of a footfall echo- 
 ing from within. It seemed approaching by a sort of cross 
 passage in the rock, and, in a moment after, a young man, 
 one of the country people whom I had left among the cliffs 
 above, stood before me. He wore a broad Lowland bon- 
 net, and his plain homely suit of coarse russet seemed to 
 bespeak him a peasant of perhaps the poorest class ; but, 
 as he emerged from the gloom, and the red light fell full 
 on his countenance, I saw an indescribable something in 
 the expression that in an instant awakened my curiosity. 
 lie was rather above the middle size, of a frame the most 
 muscular and compact I have almost ever seen, and there 
 was a blended mixture of elasticity and firmness in his 
 tread, that to one accustomed, as I had been, to estimate 
 tlic physical capabilities of men, gave evidence of a union 
 of immense personal strength with great activity. My first 
 idea regarding the stranger — and I know not how it should 
 have struck me — was that of a very powerful frame, ani- 
 mated by a double portion of vitality. The red light 
 shone full on his face, and gave a ruddy tinge to the com- 
 plexion, which I afterwards found it wanted — for he was 
 naturally of a darker hue than common ; but there was 
 no mistaking the expression of the large flashing eyes, the 
 features that seemed so thoroughly cast in the mould of 
 thouglit, and of the broad, full, ijerjjendicular forehead.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 69 
 
 Such, at least, -was the Impression on my mind, that I 
 addressed him with more of the courtesy which my earlier 
 pursuits had rendered familiar to me, than of the bluntness 
 of my adopted profession. " This sweet evening," I said, 
 "is by far too fine for our lugger ; I question whether, in 
 these calms, we need expect her before midnight ; but, 'tip 
 well, since wait we must, that 'tis in a place where the 
 hoiu-s may pass so agreeably," The stranger, good- 
 hiunouredly,- acquiesced in the remark, and we sat down 
 together on the diy, water-worn pebbles, mixed ^vith 
 fragments of broken shells and minute pieces of wreck, 
 that strewed the opening of the cave. 
 
 "Was there ever a loveher evening!" he exclaimed; 
 " the waters above the firmament seem all of a piece vnth 
 the waters below. And never surely was there a scene of 
 wilder beauty. Only look inwards, and see how the 
 stream of red light seems bounded by the extreme dark- 
 ness, hke a river by its banks, and how the reflection 
 of the ripple goes waving in gclden curls along the 
 roof!" 
 
 " I have been admiring the scene for the last half 
 hour," I said ; " Shakspeare speaks of a music that cannot 
 be heard, and I have not yet seen a place Avhere one might 
 better learn to comment on the passage." 
 
 Both the thought and the phrase seemed new to him. 
 
 "A music that cannot be heard!" he repeated; and 
 then, after a momentary pause, " you allude to the fact," 
 he continued, " that sweet music, and forms such as these, 
 of silent beauty and grandeur, awaken in the mind emo- 
 tions of nearly the same class. There is something truly 
 exquisite in the concert of to-night." 
 
 I muttered a simple assent. 
 
 *' See," he continued, " how finely these insulated piles 
 of rock, that rise in so many combinations of form along 
 the beach, break and diversify the rod light, and how the
 
 70 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 glossy leaves of the ivy glisten in the hollows of the pre- 
 cipices above ! And then, how the sea spreads away to 
 the far horizon, a glorious pavement of crimson and gold ! 
 — and hoAV the dark Ailsa rises in the midst, hke the little 
 cloud seen by the prophet ! The mind seems to enlarge, 
 the heart to expand, in the contemplation of so much of 
 beauty and grandeur. The soul asserts its due supre- 
 macy. And, oh ! 'tis surely well that we can escape from 
 those little cares of life which fetter do-vvn our thoughts, 
 our hopes, our wishes, to the wants and the enjoyments of 
 our animal existence ; and that, amid the grand and the 
 subhme of nature, we may learn from the spirit within us 
 that Ave are better than the beasts that perish !" 
 
 I looked up to the animated countenance and flashing 
 eyes of my companion, and wondered what sort of a 
 peasant it was I had met with. " Wild and beautiful as 
 the scene is," I said, "you will find, even among those 
 who arrogate to themselves the praise of Avisdom and 
 learning, men Avho regard such scenes as mere errors of 
 nature. Burnet Avould have told you that a Dutch land- 
 scape, without hill, rock, or valley, must be the perfection 
 of beauty, seeing that Paradise itself could have furnished 
 nothing better." 
 
 " I hold Milton as higher authority on the subject," 
 said my companion, " than all the philosophers Avho ever 
 Avrote. Beauty, in a tame unvaried flat, Avhero a man 
 Avould knoAV his country only by the milestones ! A very 
 Dutch Paradise, truly ! " 
 
 " But Avould not some of your companions above," I 
 asked, " deem the scene as much an error of nature as 
 liurnet liimstlf? They could pass over these stubborn 
 rocks neither plough nor harrow." 
 
 "True," he replied ; " there is a species of small Avisdom 
 in the world that often constitutes the cxtremest of its 
 folly ; a Avisdom that would change the entire nature of
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 71 
 
 good, had it but the power, by vainly endeavouring to 
 render that good universal. It would convert the entire 
 earth into one vast corn field, and then find that it had 
 ruined the species by its improvement." 
 
 " We of Scotland can hardly be ruined in that way for 
 an aore to come," I said. " But I am not sure that I 
 understand you. Alter the very nature of good in the 
 attempt to render it universal! How ?" 
 
 " I daresay you have seen a graduated scale," said my 
 companion, " exhibiting the various powers of the difierent 
 musical instruments, and observed how some of limited 
 Bcope cross only a few of the di\'isions, and how others 
 stretch nearly from side to side. 'Tis but a poor trxiism, 
 perhaps, to say that similar differences in scope and power 
 obtain among men — that there are minds who could not 
 join in the concert of to-night — who covdd see neither 
 beauty nor grandeur amid these wUd cUfis and caverns, or 
 in that glorious expanse of sea and sky ; and that, on the 
 other hand, there are minds so finely modulated — minds 
 that sweep so broadly across the scale of nature, that there 
 is no object, however minute, no breath of feohng, how- 
 ever faint, but that it awakens their sweet vibrations — the 
 snow-flake foiling in the stream, the daisy of the field, the 
 conies of the rock, the hysop of the wall. Now, the vast 
 and various frame of nature is adapted not to the lesser, 
 but to the larger mind. It spreads on and around us in 
 all its rich and magnificent variety, and finds the full por- 
 traiture of its Proteus-like beauty in the mirror of genius 
 alone. Evident, however, as this may seem, we find a sort 
 of levelling principle in the inferior order of minds, and 
 which, in fact, constitutes one of their grand character- 
 istics — a principle that would fain abridge the scale to 
 their own narrow capabUities — that would cut down th^ 
 vastness of nature to suit the littleness of their o-svn con- 
 ceptions and desires, and convert it into one tame, uniform,
 
 72 TALES OF THfi BORDERS. 
 
 mediocre good, wliicli would be good but to themselves 
 alone, and ultimately not even that." 
 
 " I think I can now understand you," I said ; " you 
 describe a sort of swinish wisdom that would convert the 
 world into one vast sty. For my own part, I have travel- 
 led far enough to know the value of a blue hill, and would 
 not AviUingly lose so much as one of these landmarks of our 
 mother land, by which kindly hearts in distant countries 
 love to remember it." 
 
 "I daresay we are getting fanciful," rejoined my com- 
 panion ; " but certainly, in man's schemes of improve- 
 ment, botli physical and moral, there is commonly a little- 
 ness and want of adaptation to the general good that 
 almost always defeats his aims. He sees and understands 
 but a minute portion — it is always some partial good he 
 would introduce; and thus he but destroys the just pro- 
 portions of a nicely- regulated system of things by exagger- 
 ating one of the parts. I passed of late through a richly- 
 cultivated district of country, in which the agricultural 
 improver had done his utmost. Never Avere there finer 
 Helds, more convenient steadings, crops of richer promise, 
 a better regulated system of production. Corn and cattle 
 had mightily improved ; but what had man, the lord of 
 the soil, become? Is not the body better than food, and 
 life than raiment? If that decline for which all other 
 tilings exist, it surely matters little that all these other 
 tilings prosper. And here, though the corn, the cattle, the 
 fields, the steadings had improved, man had sunk. Tliere 
 were but two classes in the district : a few cold-hearted 
 specidators, who united what is worst in the character of 
 the landed proprietor and the merchant — these Avcre your 
 gentleman farmers ; and a class of degraded helots, little 
 superior to the cattle they tended — these were your farm 
 gor"ants. And for two such extreme classes — necessary 
 result of such » itate of things — had this unfortunate,
 
 KECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 73 
 
 thougli liiglily- eulogized district, parted with a moral, 
 intelligent, high-minded peasantry — the true boast and 
 true riches of their country." 
 
 "I have, I think, observed something like what you 
 describe," I said. 
 
 " I give," he replied, " but one instance of a thousand. 
 But mark how the sun's lower disk has just reached the 
 hne of the horizon, and how the long level rule of hght 
 stretches to the very innermost recess of the cave ! It 
 darkens as the orb sinks. And see how the gauze-like 
 shadows creep on from the sea, film after film ! — and now 
 they have reached the ivy that mantles round the castle of 
 The Bruce. Are you acquainted with Barboiu"?" 
 
 " Well," I said ; " a spirited, fine old fellow, who loved 
 his country and did much for it. I could once repeat all 
 his chosen passages. Do you remember how he describes 
 King Robert's rencounter with the English knight? " 
 
 My companion sat up erect, and, clenching his fist, be- 
 gan repeating the passage, with a power and animation 
 that seemed to double its inherent energy and force. 
 
 "Glorious old Barbour!" ejaculated he, when he had 
 finished the description ; " many a heart has beat all the 
 hiii;her when the bale-fires were blazing, throu";h tho 
 tutorage of thy noble verses ! Blind Harry, too — what 
 has not his country owed to him!" 
 
 "Ah, they have long since been banished from our 
 popular Uterature," I said; " and yet Blind Harry's 'Wal- 
 lace,' as Hailes tells us, was at one time the very Bible of 
 the Scotch. But love of country seems to be getting old- 
 fashioned among us, and we have become philosophic 
 enough to set up for citizens of the world " 
 
 " AU cold pretence," rejoined my companion; "an 
 effect of that small wisdom we have just been decrying. 
 Cosmopolitism, as we are accustomed to define it, can bo 
 |io virtue of the present age, nor yet of the next, nor
 
 74 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 perhaps for centuries to come. Even when it shall have 
 attained to its best, and when it may be most safely in- 
 dulged in, it is according to the nature of man, that, 
 instead of running counter to the love of country, it should 
 exist as but a wider diffusion of the feeling, and form, as 
 it were, a wider circle round it. It is absurdity itself to 
 oppose the love of our country to that of our race." 
 
 "Do I rightly understand you?" I said. "You look 
 forward to a time when the patriot may safely expand into 
 the citizen of the world ; but, in the present age, he would 
 do well, you think, to confine his energies within the 
 inner circle of country." 
 
 " Decidedly," he rejoined ; "man should love his species 
 at all times, but it is ill "with him if, in times like the 
 present, he loves not his country more. The spirit of war 
 and aggression is yet abroad — there are laws to be estab- 
 lished, rights to be defended, invaders to be repulsed, 
 tyrants to be deposed. And who but the patriot is equal 
 to these things ? We are not yet done with the Brucos, 
 the Wallaces, the Tells, the WasliLngtons — yes, the Wash- 
 ingtons, whether they fight for or against us — Ave are not 
 yet done with them. The cosmopolite is but a puny 
 abortion — a birth ere the natural time, that at once 
 endangers the life and betrays the weakness of the country 
 that bears him, Would that he were sleeping in his 
 elements till his proper time ! But we are getting ashamed 
 of our country, of our language, our manners, our music, 
 our literature ; nor shall we have enough of the old spirit 
 left us to assert our liberties or fight our battles. Oli, for 
 some Barbour or Blind Harry of the present day, to make 
 us, once more, proud of our country ! " 
 
 I quoted the famous saying of Fletcher of Salton — 
 "Allow me to make the songs of a country, and I will 
 allow you to make its laws." 
 
 " But here," I said, " is our lugger stealing round Turn-
 
 KECOLLECTIOXS OF BUKNS. < ii 
 
 berry Head. "We shall soon part, perhaps for ever, and I 
 would fain know with whom I have spent an hour so 
 agreeably, and have some name to remember him by. 
 My owTi name is Matthew Lindsay; I am a native of 
 Irvine." 
 
 "And I," said the young man, rising and cordially 
 grasping the proffered hand, "am a native of Ayr ; my 
 name is Robert Burns." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 If friendless, low, we meet together, 
 
 Then, sir, your hand — my friend and brother! 
 
 Dedication to G. Hamilton. 
 
 A light breeze had risen as the sun sunk, and our lug- 
 ger, with all her sails set, came sweeping along the shore. 
 She had nearly gained the Httle bay in front of the cave, 
 and the coimtr;yTnen from above, to the number of perhaps 
 twenty, had descended to the beach, Avhen, aU of a sudden, 
 after a shriU whistle, and a brief half minute of commo- 
 tion among the crew, she wore round and stood out to sea. 
 I turned to the south, and saw a square-rigged vessel 
 shooting out from behind one of the rocky headlands, and 
 then bearing do\VTi m a long tack on the smuggler. "Tlie 
 sharks are upon us," said one of the coimtrymen, whose 
 eyes had tui'ned in the same direction — " we shall have no 
 sport to-night." We stood lining the beach in anxious 
 curiosity ; the breeze freshened as the evening fell ; and 
 the lugger, as she lessened to our sight, went leaning 
 against the foam in a long bright furrow, that, catching 
 the last hght of evening, shone like the milky way amid 
 the blue. Occasionally we could see the flasli, and hear 
 the booming of a gun from the other vessel ; but the night
 
 76 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 fell thick and dark ; the waves too began to lash against 
 the rocks, drowning every feebler sound in a continuous 
 roaring ; and every trace of both the chase and the chaser 
 disappeared. The party broke up, and I was left standing 
 alone on the beach, a little nearer home, but in every other 
 respect in quite the same circumstances as when landed by 
 ray American friends on the wild coast of Connaught. 
 "Another of Fortune's freaks!" I ejaculated; "but 'tis 
 well she can no longer surprise me." 
 
 A man stepped out in the darkness as I spoke, froni 
 beside one of the rocks ; it Avas the peasant Burns, my 
 acquaintance of the earlier part of the evening. 
 
 " I have waited, ^Ir. Lindsay," he said, " to see whether 
 some of the country folks here, who have homes of their 
 own to invite you to, might not have brought you along 
 with them. But I am afraid you must just be content to 
 pass the night with me. 1 can give you a share of my bed 
 and my supper, though both, I am aware, need many 
 apologies." I made a suitable acknowledgment, and wc 
 ascended the cliff together. "I live, when at home with 
 my parents," said my companion, " in the inland parish of 
 Tarbolton ; but, for the last two months, I have attended 
 school here, and lodge with an old widow woman in the 
 village. To-morrow, as harvest is fast approaching, I re- 
 turn to my father," 
 
 " And I," I replied, " shall have the pleasure of accom- 
 panying you in at least the early part of your journey, on 
 my way to Irvine, where my mother still lives." 
 
 We reached the village, and entered a little cottage, that 
 presented its gable to tlie street, and its side to one of the 
 narrower lanes. 
 
 " I must introduce you to my landlady," said my com- 
 panion, " an excellent, kind-hearted old woman, with a 
 fund of honest Scotch pride and shrewd good sense in her 
 composition, and with the mother as strong in her heart aa
 
 KECOIXECTIOXS OF BURNS. il 
 
 e\er, though she lost the last of her children more than 
 tAYcnty years ago." 
 
 We found the good woman sitting beside a small but 
 very cheerful fire. The hearth was newly swept, and the 
 floor newly sanded ; and, directly fronting her, there was 
 an empty chair, which seemed to have been drawn to its 
 place in the expectation of some one to fill it. 
 
 " You are going to leave me, Robert, my bairn," said 
 the woman, " an' I kenna how I sail ever get on without 
 you ; I have almost forgotten, sin you came to live with 
 me, that I have neither children nor husband." On see- 
 ing me, she stopped short. 
 
 " An acquaintance," said my companion, " whom I have 
 made bold to bring with me for the night ; but you must 
 not put yourself to any trouble, mother ; he is, I daresay, 
 as much accustomed to plain fare as myself Only, how- 
 ever, we must get an additional pint ofyill from the clachan; 
 you know this is my last evening with you, and was to be 
 a merry one at any rate." The woman looked me full in 
 the face. 
 
 "Matthew Lindsay!" she exclaimed — "can you hare 
 forgotten yoiir poor old aimt Margaret ! " I grasped her 
 hand. 
 
 " Dearest aunt, this is surely most unexpected ! How 
 could I have so much as dreamed you were within a hun- 
 dred miles of me ? " Mutual congratulation ensued. 
 
 " This," she said, turning to my companion, " is the 
 nephew I have so often told you about, and so often wished 
 to bring you acquainted with. lie is, like yourself, a great 
 reader and a great thinker, and there is no need that your 
 proud, kindly heart should be jealous of him ; for he has 
 been ever quite as poor, and maybe the poorer of the two." 
 After still more of greeting and congratulation, the young 
 man rose. 
 
 " The night is dark, mother," he said, " and the road to
 
 78 TALES OF THK BORDERS. 
 
 the clachan a rough one ; besides you and your kinsman 
 will have much to say to one another. I shall just slip 
 out to the clachan for you ; and you shall both tell me 
 on my return whether I am not a prime judge of ale." 
 
 " The kindest heart, IMatthew, that ever lived," said my 
 relative, as he left the house ; ever since he came to 
 Kirkoswald, he has been both son and daughter to me, 
 and I shall feel twice a widow when he goes away." 
 
 " I am mistaken, aunt," I said, " if he be not the 
 strongest minded man I ever saw. Be assured he stands 
 high among the aristocracy of nature, whatever may be 
 thought of him in Kirkoswald. There is a robustness of 
 intellect, joined to an overmastering force of character, 
 about him, which I have never yet seen equalled, though 
 I have been intimate with at least one very superior mind, 
 and with hundreds of the class who pass for men of talent. 
 I have been thinking ever since I met with him, of the 
 William Tells and William Wallaces of history — men who, 
 in those times of trouble which unfix the foundations of 
 society, step out from their obscurity to rule the destiny 
 of nations." 
 
 " I was ill about a month ago," said my relative — " so 
 very ill that I thought I was to have done with the world 
 altogether ; and Robert was both nurse and physician to 
 me — he kindled my firo, too, every morning, and sat up 
 beside me sometimes for the greater part of the night. 
 What wonder I should love him as my own child ? Had 
 your cousin Henry been spared to me, he would now have 
 been much about Robert's age." 
 
 The conversation passed to other matters, and in about 
 half an hour, my new friend entered the room ; when we 
 sat down to a homely, but cheerful repast. 
 
 " I have been engaged in argument, for the last twenty 
 minutes, Anth our parish schoolmaster," he said — "a 
 ehrewd, sensible man, and a prime scholar, but one of the
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BUKNS. 'U 
 
 most determined Calvinists I ever knew. Now, tliere is 
 something, Mr. Lindsay, in abstract Calvinism, that dis- 
 satisfies and distresses me ; and yet, I must confess, there 
 is so much of good in the working of the system, that I 
 would ill like to see it supplanted by any other. I am 
 convinced, for instance, there is nothing so efficient in 
 teaching the bulk of a people to think as a Calvinistic 
 church." 
 
 "Ah, Eobert," said my aunt, "it does meikle mair nor 
 that. Look round ye, my bairn, an' see if there be a kirk 
 in which puir sinful creatiu-es have mair comfort in their 
 BuiTerings or mair hope in their deaths." 
 
 "Dear mother," said my companion, "I like well enough 
 to dispute with the schoolmaster, but I must have no dis- 
 pute with you. I know the heart is everything in these 
 matters, and yours is much wiser than mine." 
 
 "There is something in abstract Calvinism," he con- 
 tinued, " that distresses me. In almost all our researches 
 we arrive at an xiltimate barrier, which interposes its wall 
 of darkness between us and the last grand truth, in the 
 series which we had trusted was to prove a master-key to 
 the whole. We dwell in a sort of Goshen — there is light 
 in our immediate neighbourhood, and a more than Egyp- 
 tian darkness all around ; and as every HebreAV must have 
 known that the hedge of cloud which he saw resting on 
 the landscape, was a boundary not to things themselves, 
 but merely to his view of things — for beyond there were 
 cities, and plains, and oceans, and continents — so Ave in 
 like manner must know that the barriers of which I sjieak 
 exist only in relation to the faculties which we employ, 
 not to the objects on which we employ them. And yet, 
 notwithstanding this consciousness that we are necessarily 
 and irremediably the bound prisoners of ignorance, and 
 that all the great truths lie outside our prison, we can 
 almost ^e content that, in most cases, it should be so—
 
 80 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 not, however, with regard to those great unattainable 
 truths which lie in the track of Calvinism. They seem too 
 important to be wanted, and yet want them we must — 
 and we beat our very heads against the cruel barrier 
 which separates us from them." 
 
 " I am afraid I hardly understand you," I said ; — " do 
 assist me by some instance of illustration." ■ 
 
 " You are acquainted," he replied, " with the Scriptui-3 
 doctrine of Predestination, and, in thinking over it, in 
 connection with the destinies of man, it must have struck 
 you that, however much it may interfere with our fixed 
 notions of the goodness of Deity, it is thoroughly in 
 accordance with the actual condition of our race. As far 
 as we can know of oxxrselves and the things around U3, 
 there seems, through the will of Deity — for to what elsa 
 can we refer it ? — a fixed, invariable connection between 
 what we term cause and effect. Nor do we demand of 
 any class of mere effects, in the inanimate or irrational 
 world, that they should regulate themselves otherwise 
 than the causes which produce them have determined. 
 The roe and the tiger pursue, unquestioned, the instincts 
 of their several natures; the cork rises, and the stone 
 sinks ; and no one thinks of caUing either to account for 
 movements so opposite. But it is not so with the fiunily 
 of man ; and yet our minds, our bodies, our circumstances, 
 are but combinations of effects, over the causes of which 
 we have no control. We did not choose a country for 
 ourselves, nor yet a condition in life — nor did we determine 
 our modicum of intellect, or our amount of passion — we 
 did not impart its gravity to the weightier part of our 
 nature, or give expansion to the lighter — nor are our 
 instincts of our own planting. How, then, being thus as 
 much the creatures of necessity as the denizens of the ■wild 
 and forest — as thoroughly under the agency of fixed, un- 
 alterable causes, as the dead matter around us— why are
 
 RECOLLliCTIONS OF BURNS. Bl 
 
 we yet the subjects of a retributive system, and accouut- 
 able for all our actions ? " 
 
 " Yon quarrel witli Calvinism," I said ; " and seem one 
 of tlie most thorough-going necessitarians I ever knew." 
 
 "Not so," he replied; "though my judgment cannot 
 disprove these conclusions, my heart cannot acquiesce in 
 them— though I see that I am as certainly the subject of 
 laws that exist and operate independent of my will, as the 
 dead matter around me, I feel, with a certainty quite as 
 great, that I am a free, accountable creature. It is 
 according to the scope of my entire reason that I shoiild 
 deem myself bound — it is according to the constitution of 
 my whole nature that I should feel myself free. And in 
 this consists the great, the fearfid problem — a problem 
 which both reason and revelation propound ; but the 
 truths which can alone solve it, seem to lie beyond the 
 horizon of darkness — and we vex ourselves in vain. 'Tis 
 a sort of moral asymptotes ; but its lines, instead of ap- 
 proaching through all space without meeting, seem receding 
 through all space, and yet meet." 
 
 " Eobert, my bairn," said my aunt, " I fear you are 
 wasting your strength on these mysteries to your ain hurt. 
 Did ye no see, in the last storm, when ye staid out among 
 tlie caves till cock-crow, that the bigger and stronger the 
 wave, the mah' was it broken against the rocks ?— it's just 
 thus wi' the pride o' man's understanding, when he mea- 
 sures it against the dark things o' God. An' yet it's sae 
 ordered, that the same wonderful trutlis which perplex and 
 cast down the proud reason, should delight and comfort 
 the humble heart. I am a lone, puir Avoman, Eobert. 
 Bau-ns an' husband have gone down to the grave, one by 
 one ; an' now, for twenty weary years, I have been child- 
 less an' a widow. But trow ye that the puir lone woman 
 wanted a guard, an' a comforter, an' a provider, through 
 
 a' the lang mirk nichts, an' a' the cauld scarce whiters o' 
 
 v2
 
 82 TALES OP THK BORDERS. 
 
 these twenty years ? No, my bairn — I kent that Himsel' 
 Tvas "wi' me. I kent it by the provision He made, an' the 
 care He took, an' the joy He gave. An' how, think you, 
 did He comfort me maist ? Just by the blessed assurance 
 that a' my trials an' a' my sorrows were nae hasty chance 
 matters, but dispensations for my guid, an' the guid o' 
 tliose He took to Himsel', that, in the perfect love and 
 wisdom o' His nature, He had ordained frae the begin- 
 ninor." 
 
 " Ah, mother," said my friend, after a pause, " you 
 understand the doctrine far better than I do ! There 
 are, I find, no contradictions in the Calvinism of tlie 
 heart." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'crhung with \vild woods thick'ning green ; 
 The fragrant bu:ch and hawthorn hoar 
 
 T^vined, amorous, round the raptured scene ; 
 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray — 
 Till, too, too soon, the glowing west 
 
 Proclaimed the speed of winged day." 
 
 To Mary in ITeaven. 
 
 "We were early on the road together ; the day, though 
 somewhat gloomy, was mild and pleasant, and we walked 
 slowly onward, neither of xts in the least disposed to hasten 
 our parting by hastening our journey. We had discvxssed 
 fifty different topics, and were prepared to enter on fifty 
 more, when we reached the ancient burgh of Ayr, where 
 our roads separated. 
 
 " I have taken an immense liking to you, Mr. Lindsay,"
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. 83 
 
 said my companion, as he seated himself on the parapet of 
 the old bridge, "and have just bethought me of a scheme 
 through which I may enjoy your company for at least one 
 night more. The Ayr is a lovely river, and you tell me 
 you have never explored it. We shall explore it together 
 this evening for about ten miles, when we shall find our- 
 selves at the farm-house of Lochlea. You may depend on 
 a hearty welcome from my father, whom, by the way, I 
 wish much to introduce to you, as a man Avorth your 
 knowing ; and, as I have set my heart on the scheme, you 
 are surely too good-natiired to disappoint me." Little 
 risk of that, I thought ; I had, in fact, become thoroughly 
 enamoured of the warm-hearted benevolence and fascinat- 
 ing conversation of my companion, and acqmesced with 
 the best good-\\all in the world. 
 
 We had threaded the course of the river for several 
 mUes. It runs through a wold pastoral valley, roughened 
 by thickets of copsewood, and bounded on either hand 
 by a line of swelhng, moory hills, "with here and there a 
 few irregular patches of corn, and here and there some 
 little nest-Hke cottage peeping out from among the wood. 
 The clouds, Avhich during the morning had obscured the 
 entire face of the heavens, were breaking up their array, 
 and the sun was looking do^vn, in twenty different places, 
 through the openings, checkering the landscape with a 
 fantastic, though lovely caq)eting of light and shadow. 
 Before us there rose a thick wood, on a jutting promontory, 
 that looked blue and dark in the shade, as if it wore 
 mourning ; while the sunlit stream beyond shone through 
 the tnmks and branches, like a river of fire. At length 
 the clouds seemed to have melted in the blue — for there 
 was not a breath of wind to speed them away — and the 
 sun, now hastening to the west, shone in unbroken efful- 
 gence over the Avide extent of the dell, lighting up stream 
 and wood, and field and cottage, in one continuous blaze
 
 84 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 of glory. We had walked on in silence for the last half 
 hour; but I could sometimes hear my companion mutter- 
 ing as he went ; and when, in passing through a thicket 
 of hawthorn and honeysuckle, we started from its perch a 
 linnet that had been filling the air with its melody, I 
 could hear him exclaim, in a subdued tone of voice, 
 " Bonny, bonny birdie! w^hy hasten frae me? — I wadna 
 skaith a feather o' yer wing." He turned round to me, 
 and I could see that his eyes were s^vimming in moisture. 
 
 " Can he be other," he said, " than a good and bene- 
 volent God, who gives us moments like these to enjoy ? 
 Oh, my friend, without these sabbaths of the soul, that 
 come to refresh and invigorate it, it would dry up within 
 us! How exquisite," he continued, " how. entire the 
 sympathy which exists between all that is good and fair in 
 external nature, and all of good and fair that dwells in out 
 own ! And, oh, how the heart expands and lightens ! 
 The world is as a grave to it — a closely-covered grave — 
 and it shrinks, and deadens, and contracts all its holier and 
 more joyous feelings under the cold, earth-like pressure. 
 But, amid the grand and lovely of nature — amid these 
 forms and colours of richest beauty — there is a disinter- 
 ment, a resurrection of sentiment ; the pressure of our 
 earthly part seems removed, and those senses of the mind, it 
 I may so speak, which serve to connect our si)ints Avith 
 the invisible world around us, recover their proper tone, 
 and perform their proper ofRco." 
 
 " Senses of tin inincl," I said, repeating the phrase : 
 "the idea is now to me; but I think I catch your 
 meaning." 
 
 "Yes; there are — there must be such," he continued, 
 with growing enthusiasm; "man is essentially a religious 
 creature — a looker beyond the grave, from the very con- 
 stitution of his mind ; and the sceptic who denies it is 
 untrue not merely to the Being who has made and who
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP Bl^RXS. 85 
 
 preserves him, but to the entire scope and bent of his own 
 nature besides. "Wlierever man is — Avhether he be a 
 wanderer of the wild forest or still wilder desert, a dweller 
 in some lone isle of the sea, or the tutored and full-minded 
 denizen of some blessed land like our OAvn — wherever man 
 is, there is rehgion — hopes that look forward and upward 
 — the behef in an imending existence, and a land of sepa- 
 rate souls." 
 
 I was carried away by the enthusiasm of my companion, 
 and felt, for the time, as if my mind had become the 
 mirror of his. There seems to obtain among men a species 
 of moral gravitation, analogous, in its principles, to that 
 which regulates and controls the movements of the plane- 
 tary system. The larger and more ponderous any body, 
 the greater its attractive force, and the more overpowering 
 its influence over the lesser bodies which surroimd it. 
 The earth we inhabit carries the moon along with it in its 
 coiirse, and is itself subject to the immensely more power- 
 ful influence of the sun. And it is thus with character. 
 It is a law of our nature, as certainly as of the system we 
 inhabit, that the inferior should yield to the superior, and 
 the lesser owe its guidance to the greater. I had hitherto 
 wandered on through hfe almost imconscious of the exist- 
 ence of this law, or, if occasionally rendered half aware of 
 it, it was only through a feeling that some secret influence 
 was operating favourably in my behalf on the common 
 minds around me. I now felt, however, for the first time, 
 tliat I had come in contact with a mind immeasurably 
 more powerful than my own ; my thoughts seemed to 
 cast themselves into the very mould — my sentiments to 
 modulate themselves by the very tone of his. And yet 
 he was but a russet-clad peasant — my junior by at least 
 eight years — Avho was returning from school to assist his 
 father, an humble tacksman, in the labours of the ap- 
 proaching harvest. But the law of circimistance, so
 
 86 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 arbitrary in ruling the destinies of common men, exerts 
 but a feeble control over the children of genius. The 
 prophet went forth commissioned by Heaven to anoint a 
 king over Israel, and the choice fell on a shepherd boy 
 who was tending his father's flocks in the field. 
 
 We had reached a lovely bend of the stream. There 
 was a semicircular inflection in the steep bank, which 
 waved over us, from base to summit, with haAvthom and 
 hazle ; and while one half looked blue and dark in the 
 shade, the other was lighted up with gorgeous and fiery 
 splendour by the sun, now fast sinking in the west. The 
 effect seemed magical. A little grassy platform that 
 stretched between the hanging wood and the stream, was 
 whitened over with clothes, that looked like snow-wreathes 
 in the hollow ; and a young and beautiful girl watched 
 beside them. 
 
 *' !Mary Campbell!" exclaimed my companion, and in a 
 moment he was at her side, and had gi-asped both her 
 hands in his. "How fortunate, how very fortunate I 
 am!" he said; "I could not have so much as hoped to 
 have seen you to-night, and yet here you are ! This, Mr. 
 Lindsay, is a loved friend of mine, whom I have known 
 and valued for years ; ever, indeed, since we herded our 
 sheep together imder the cover of one plaid. Dearest 
 Mary, I have had sad forebodings regarding you for the 
 whole last month I was in Kirkoswald, and yet, after all 
 my foolish fears, here you arc, ruddier and bonnier than 
 ever." 
 
 She was, in truth, a beautiful, sylph-like young woman 
 — one whom I would have looked at with complacency in 
 any circumstances ; for who that admires the fair and the 
 lovely in nature — whether it be the wide-spread beauty 
 of sky and earth, or beauty in its minuter modifications, 
 as we see it in the flowers that spring up at our feet, or 
 the butterfly that flutters over them — who, I say, that
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 87 
 
 admires the fair and lovely in nature, can be indifferent to 
 the fairest and loveliest of all her productions ? As the 
 mistress^ however, of by far the strongest-minded man I 
 ever knew, there was more of scrutiny in my glance than 
 usual, and I felt a deeper interest in her than mere beauty 
 could have awakened. She was, perhaps, rather below 
 than above the middle size ; but formed in such admirable 
 proportion, that it seemed out of place to thin^ of size in 
 reference to her at all. "Who, in looking at the Venus de 
 Medicis, asks whether she be tall or short ? The bust and 
 neck were so exquisitely moulded, that they reminded me 
 of Burke's fanciful remark, viz., that our ideas of beauty 
 originate in our love of the sex, and that we deem every 
 object beautiful which is described by soft- waving lines, 
 resembling those of the female neck and bosom. Her feet 
 and arms, which were both bare, had a statue-like s^onme- 
 try and marble-like whiteness ; but it was on her expres- 
 sive and lovely countenance, noAV lighted up by the glow 
 of joyous feeling, that nature seemed to have exhausted 
 her utmost skill. There was a fascinating mixture in the 
 expression of superior intelligence and child-like simpli- 
 city ; a soft, modest hght dwelt in the blue eye ; and in 
 the entire contour and general form of the features, there 
 was a nearer approach to that imion of the straight and 
 the rounded, which is found in its perfection in only the 
 Grecian face, than is at all common in our northern lati- 
 tudes, among the descendants of either the Celt or the 
 Saxon. I felt, however, as I gazed, that when lovers meet, 
 the presence of a third person, however much the friend 
 of either, must always be less than agreeable. 
 
 " ISIr. Burns," I said, " there is a beautiful eminence a 
 few hundred yards to the right, from which I am desirous 
 to overlook the windings of the stream. Do permit me to 
 leave you for a short half hour, when I shall return ; or, 
 lest I weary you by my stay, 'twere better, perhaps, you
 
 88 TALKS OF THB BOKDEUS. 
 
 should join me there." My companion greeted the proposal 
 with a good-humoured smile of intelligence ; and, plunging 
 into the wood, I left him with his Mary. The sun had just 
 set as he joined me. 
 
 " Have you ever been in love, Mr. Lindsay ? " he said. 
 
 "No, never seriously," I replied. "I am, perhaps, not 
 naturally of the coolest temperament imaginable ; but the 
 same fortujie that has improved my mind in some little 
 degree, and given me high notions of the sex, has hitherto 
 thrown me among only its less superior specimens. I am 
 now in my eight-and-twentieth year, and I have not yet 
 met with a woman whom I could love." 
 
 " Then you are yet a strangei'," he rejoined, ** to the 
 greatest happiness of which our nature is capable I have 
 enjoyed more heartfelt pleasure in the company of the 
 young woman I have just left, than from every other 
 eource that has been opened to me from my childhood 
 till now. Love, my friend, is the fulfilling of the wliole 
 law." 
 
 "Mary Campbell, did you not call her?" I said. "She 
 is, I think, the loveliest creature I have ever seen ; and I 
 am much mistaken in the expression of her beauty, if her 
 mind be not as lovely as her person." 
 
 " It is, it is," he exclaimed — " the intelligence of an 
 nngel with the simplicity of a child. Oh, the delight of 
 being thoroughly trusted, thoroughly beloved by one of 
 the loveliest, best, purest-minded of all God's good crea- 
 tures ! To feel that heart beating against my own, and 
 to know that it beats for me oTiIy ! Never have I passed 
 an evening with my Mary without returning to the world 
 a better, gentler, wiser man. Love, my friend, is the ful- 
 filling of the whole law. What are we without it ? — poor, 
 vile, selfish animals ; our very virtues themselves, so exclu- 
 sively virtues on our own behalf as to be well nigh as 
 Imtcfid ns our vices. Nothing so opens and improves tl^e
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 89 
 
 heart, notliing so widens the grasp of the affection?, nothing 
 half so effectually brings us out of our crust of self, as a 
 happy, well-regulated love for a pure-minded, affectionate- 
 hearted woman ! " 
 
 " There is another kind of love, of which we sailors see 
 somewhat," I said, " which is not so easily associated -nith 
 good." 
 
 "Love !" he replied — " no, Mv. Lindsay, that is not the 
 name. Kind associates with kind in all nature ; and love 
 — ^liumanizino:, heart-softening love — cannot be the com- 
 panion of whatever is low, mean, worthless, degrading 
 — the associate of ruthless dishonour, cunning, treachery, 
 and violent death. Even independent of its amount of 
 evil as a crime, or the evils still greater than itself which 
 necessarily accompany it, there is nothing that so petrifies 
 the feeling; as illicit connection." 
 
 " Do you seriovisly think so ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes, and I see clearly how it should be so. Neitner 
 sex is complete of itself — each was made for the other, 
 that, like the two halves of a hinge, they may become an 
 entire whole when united. Only think of the scriptural 
 phrase, 07ie flesh — it is of itself a system of philosophy. 
 Refinement and tenderness are of the Avoman, strength and 
 dignity of the man. Only observe the effects of a thorough 
 separation, whether originating in accident or caprice. 
 You wiU find the stronger sex lost in the rudenesses of 
 partial barbarism ; the gentler Avrapt up in some pitiful 
 round of trivial and luimeaning occupation — dry-nursing 
 puppies, or making pincushions for posterity. But how 
 much more pitiful are the effects when they meet amiss — 
 when the luimanizing friend and companion of the man is 
 converted into the light degraded toy of an idle hour ; the 
 object of a sordid appetite that lives but for a moment, 
 and then expires in loathing and disgust ! The better 
 feelings are iced over at '■l^eir source, chilled h^ the freez-
 
 90 TALES OP THE BOKDERS. 
 
 ing and deadening contact — -where tliere is nothing to 
 inspire confidence or solicit esteem ; and, if these pass not 
 through the first, the inner circle — that cu-cle within which 
 the social aiFections are formed, and from whence they 
 emanate — how can they possibly flow through the circles 
 which He beyond ? But here, Mr. Lindsay, is the farm of 
 Lochlea, and yonder bro-mi cottage, beside the three elms, 
 is the dwelling of my parents." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
 That makes her loy'd at home, revered abroad." 
 
 Cotter^* Saturday Night, 
 
 There was a wide and cheerful circle this evening round 
 the hospitable hearth of Lochlea. The iather of my friend, 
 a patriarchal-looking old man, with a countenance the 
 most expressive I have almost ever seen, sat beside the 
 wall, on a large oaken settle, which also served to accom- 
 modate a young man, an occasional visitor of the family, 
 dressed in rather shabby black, whom I at once set down 
 as a probationer of divinity. I had my own seat beside 
 him. Tlie brother of my friend (a lad cast in nearly the 
 same mould of form and feature, except, perhaps, that his 
 frame, though muscvilar and strongly set, seemed in the 
 main less formidably robust, and his countenance, though 
 expressive, less decidedly intellectual) sat at my side. 
 My friend had dra^vn in his seat beside his mother, a well- 
 formed, comely brunette, of about thirty-eight, whom I 
 might almost have mistaken for his elder sister ; and two 
 or three younger members of the family were grouped 
 behind her. The fire blazed cheerily within the wide and
 
 KEC0LLECTI0N3 OF BURNS, 91 
 
 open chimney ; and, throwing its strong light on the faces 
 and Hmbs of the circle, sent onr shadows flickering across 
 the rafters and the wall behind. The conversation was 
 animated and rational, and every one contributed his share. 
 But I was chiefly interested in the remarks of the old man, 
 for whom I already felt a growing veneration, and in those 
 of his wonderfally-gifled son. 
 
 " Unquestionably, Mr. Burns," said the man in black, 
 addressing the farmer, " politeness is but a very shadow, 
 as the poet hath it, if the heart be wanting. I saw, to- 
 night, in a strictly polite family, so marked a presumption 
 of the lack of that natural affection of which politeness is 
 but the portraiture and semblance, that truly I have been 
 grieved in my heart ever since." 
 
 *' Ah, Mr. Murdoch," said the farmer, " there is ever 
 more hypocrisy in the world than in the church, and that, 
 too, among the class of fine gentlemen and fine ladies who 
 deny it most. But the instance " — 
 
 " You know the family, my worthy friend," continued 
 Mr. ^Murdoch — " it is a very pretty one, as we say verna- 
 cularly, being numerous, and the sons highly genteel 
 young men ; the daughters not less so. A neighbour of 
 the same very polite character, coming on a visit when I 
 was among them, asked the father, in the course of a con- 
 versation to which I was privy, how he meant to dispose 
 of his sons ; when the father replied that he had not yet 
 determined. The visitor said, that were he in his place, 
 seeing they were all well-educated young men, he would 
 send them abroad ; to which the father objected the indu- 
 bitable fact, that many young men lost their health in 
 foreign countries, and very many their lives. ' True,' did 
 the visitor rejoin ; ' but, as you have a number of sons, it 
 will be strange if some one of them does not live and 
 make a fortune.' Now, ^Ir. Burns, what will you, who 
 know the feelings of paternity, and the incalculable, and
 
 92 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 assuredly I may say, invaluable value of hiiniau souls, 
 think when. I add, that the father commended the hint, as 
 showing the wisdom of a shrewd man of the world!" 
 
 " Even the chief priests," said the old man, " pronounced 
 it imlawful to cast into the treasury the thirty pieces of 
 silver, seeing it was the price of blood ; but the gentility 
 of the present day is less scrupulous. There is a laxity of 
 principle among us, Mv. Murdoch, that, if God restore us 
 not, must end in the ruin of our country. I say laxity 
 of principle ; for there have ever been evil manners among 
 us, and waifs in no inconsiderable number, broken loose 
 from the decencies of society — more, perhaps, in my early 
 days than there are now. But our principles at least were 
 sound ; and not only was there thus a restorative and con- 
 servative spirit among us, but, what was of not less impor- 
 tance, there was a broad gulf, like that in the parable, 
 between the two grand classes, the good and the evil — a 
 gulf which, when it secured the bettor class from contami- 
 nation, interposed no barrier to the reformation and return 
 of even the most vile and profligate, if repentant. But 
 this gulf has disappeared, and we are standing unconcern- 
 edly over it, on a hollow and dangerous marsh of neutral 
 ground, which, in the end, if God open not our eyes, must 
 assuredly give way under our feet." 
 
 " To what, father," inquired my friend, who sat listen- 
 ing with the deepest and most respectful attention, " do 
 you attribiite the change ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied the old man, " there have been 
 many causes at work ; and, though not impossible, it 
 would cfrtainly be no easy task to trace them all to their 
 Bcverul effects, and give to each its due place and impor- 
 tance. But there is a deadly evil among us, though you 
 ■will hear of it from neither press nor pulpit, which I am 
 disposed to rank first in the number — the affectation of 
 gentility. It has a threefold influence among us : it con-
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. 9> 
 
 founds the grand eternal distinctions of right and wrong, 
 by erecting into a standard of conduct and opinion that 
 heterogeneous and artificial whole which constitutes the 
 manners and morals of the upper classes ; it severs those 
 ties of affection and good-will which should bind the 
 middle to the lower orders, by disposing the one to regard 
 whatever is below them with a true contemptuous indif- 
 ference, and by provoking a bitter and indignant, though 
 natural jealousy in the other for being so regarded; and, 
 finally, by leading those who most entertain it into habits 
 of expense, torturing their means, if I may so speak, on 
 the rack of false opinion' — disposing them to think, in their 
 blindness, that to be genteel is a first consideration, and to 
 be honest merely a secondary one — it has the effect of so 
 hardening their hearts, that, like those Carthaginians of 
 whom we have been lately reading in the volume I\Ir. 
 ^Murdoch lent us, they offer up their very children, sou.ls 
 and bodies, to the unreal, phantom-like necessities of their 
 circumstances." 
 
 " Have I not heard you remark, father," said Gilbert 
 " that the change you describe has been very marked 
 among the ministers of our church ? " 
 
 " Too marked and too striking," replied the old man ; 
 " and in affecting the respectability and usefulness of so 
 important a class, it has educed a cause of deterioration, 
 distinctly from itself, and hardly less formidable. There 
 is an old proverb of our country — ' Better the head of the 
 commonality than the tail of the gentry.' I have heard 
 yovi quote it, liobert, oftener than once, and admire its 
 iioinely wisdom. Now, it bears directly on what I have 
 to remark — the ministers of our church have moved but 
 one step during the last sixty years; but that step has 
 been an all-important one — it hiis been from tlie best 
 place in relation to the people, to the worst in relation to 
 the aristocracv."
 
 94 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, -worthy Mr. Burns," said Mr. Murdoch, 
 " there is great truth, according to mine own experience, 
 in that which you affirm. I may state, I trust, -mthout 
 over-boasting or conceit, my respected friend, that my 
 learning is not inferior to that of our neighbour the 
 clergyman — it is not inferior in Latin, nor in Greek, nor 
 yet in French literature, INIr. Burns, and probable it is he 
 would not much court a competition, and yet, when I last; 
 waited at the manse regarding a necessary and essential 
 certificate, Mr. Burns, he did not so much as ask me to sit 
 down." 
 
 "Ah!" said Gilbert, who seemed the wit of the family, 
 " he is a highly respectable man, Mr. ISIurdoch — he has a 
 fine house, fine furniture, fine carpets — all that constitutes 
 respectability, you know ; and his family is on visiting 
 terms with that of the laird. But his credit is not so 
 respectable, I hear." 
 
 " Gilbert," said the old man, with much seriousness, " it 
 is ill with a people when they can speak lightly of their 
 clergymen. There is still much of sterling worth and 
 serious piety in the Church of Scotland ; and if the in- 
 fluence of its ministers be unfortixnately less than it waa 
 once, we must not cast the blame too exclusively on them- 
 selves. Other causes have been in operation. The church, 
 eighty years ago, was the sole guide of opinion, and the 
 only source of thought among us. There was, indeed, but 
 one way in which a man could learn to think. His mind 
 became the subject of some serious impression : — he applied 
 to his Bible, and, in the contemplation of the most im- 
 })ortant of all concerns, his newly awakened faculties re- 
 ceived their first exercise. All of intelligence, all of moral 
 good in him, all that rendered him worthy of the name of 
 man, he owed to the ennobling influence of his church ; 
 and is it wonder that that influence should be all-powerful 
 i'lom tliis circumstance alone? But a thoroujjh change
 
 ■RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 95 
 
 has taken place ; — new sources of intelligence have been 
 opened up ; we have our newspapers, and our magazines, 
 and our voltimes of miscellaneous reading ; and it is now 
 possible enough for the most cultivated mind in a parish 
 to be the least moral and the least religious ; and hence 
 necessarily a diminished influence in the church, inde- 
 pendent of the character of its ministers." 
 
 I have dwelt too long, perhaps, on the conversation of 
 the elder Burns ; but I feel much pleasure in thus develop- 
 ing, as it were, my recollections of one whom his powerful- 
 minded son has described — and this after an acquaintance 
 with our Henry IMackenzies, Adam Smiths, and Dugald 
 Stewarts — as the man most thoroughly acquainted with the 
 world he ever knew. Never, at least, have I met with 
 any one who exerted a more wholesome influence, through 
 the force of moral character, on those around him. "We sat 
 down to a plain and homely supper. The slave question 
 had, about this time, begun to draw the attention of a few 
 of the more excellent and intelligent among the people, 
 and the elder Burns seemed deeply interested in it. 
 
 " This is but homely fare, Mr. Lindsay," he said, point- 
 ing to the simple viands before us, *' and the apologists of 
 slavery among us would tell you how inferior we are to 
 the poor negroes, who fare so much better. But surely 
 'man liveth not by bread alone!' Our fathers who died 
 for Christ on the hillside and the scaifold were noble men, 
 and never, never shall slavery produce such, and yet they 
 toiled as hard, and fared as meanly as we their children." 
 
 I coiild feel, in the cottage of such a peasant, and seated 
 beside such men as his tAvo sons, the full force of the re- 
 mark. And yet I have heard the miserable sophism of 
 imprincipled power against Avhich it was directed — a 
 sophism so insulting to the dignity of honest poverty — a 
 thousand times repeated. 
 
 Supper over, the family circle widened round the
 
 9G TALES OP THE BORBEnS. 
 
 heartli ; and the old man, taking down a large clasped 
 Bible, seated himself beside the iron lamp which now 
 lighted the apartment. There was deep silence among lis 
 as he turned over the leaves. Never shall I forget hig 
 appearance. He was tall and thin, and though his framo 
 was still vigorous, considerably bent. His features wero 
 high and massy — the complexion still retained much ot 
 the freshness of youth, and the eye all its intelligence ; but 
 the locks were waxing thin and grey roimd his high, 
 thoughtful forehead, and the upper part of the head, which 
 was elevated to an unusual height, was bald. There was 
 an expression of the deepest seriousness on the counte- 
 nance, which the strong vunbery shadows of the apartment 
 served to heighten ; and when, laying his hand on the 
 page, he half turned his face to the circle, and said, " Let 
 us worship God" I was impressed by a feeling of awe and 
 reverence to which I had, alas ! been a stranger for years. 
 I was affected too, almost to tears, as I joined in the psalm; 
 for a thousand half-forgotten associations came rushing 
 upon me ; and my heart seemed to swell and expand as, 
 kneeling beside him when he prayed, I listened to his 
 solemn and fervent petition, that God might make manifest 
 his great power and goodness in the salvation of man. Nor 
 was the poor solitary wanderer of the deep forgotten. 
 
 On rising from our devotions, the old man grasped me 
 by the hand. "I am happy," he said, " that we should 
 have met, Mr. Lindsay. I feel an interest in you, and 
 must take the friend and the old man's privilege of giving 
 you an advice. The sailor, of all men, stands most in need 
 of religion. His life is one of continued vicissitude — of 
 unexpected success, or unlooked-for misfortune ; he is 
 ever passing from danger to safety, and from safety to 
 danger ; his dependence is on the ever-varying winds, his 
 abode on the unstable waters. And the mind takes a 
 peculiar tone from what is peculiar in the circumstances.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. 97 
 
 With nothing stable in the real world around it on -which 
 it may rest, it forms a resting-place for itself in some wild 
 code of belief. It peoples the elements with strange occiilt 
 powers of good and evil, and does them homage — address- 
 ing its prayers to the genius of the winds, and the spirits 
 of the waters. And thus it begets a religion for itself; — 
 for what else is the professional superstition of the sailor ? 
 Substitute, my friend, for this — (shall I call it unavoidable 
 superstition ?) — this natural religion of the sea, the rehgion 
 of the Bible. Since you must be a believer in the super- 
 natural, let your belief be true ; let your trust be on Him 
 who faileth not — your anchor •within the vail ; and all shall 
 be well, be your destiny for this world what it may." 
 We parted for the night, and I saw him no more. 
 Next morning, Eobert accompainied me for several miles 
 on my way. I saw, for the last half hour, that he had 
 something to communicate, and yet knew not how to set 
 about it ; and so I made a full stop. 
 
 "You have something to tell me, Mr. Burns," I said: 
 " need I assure you I am one you are in no danger from 
 trusting." He blushed deeply, and I saw him, for the first 
 time, hesitate and falter in his address. 
 
 "Forgive me," he at length said — "believe me, Mr. 
 Lindsay, I would be the last in the world to hurt the feel- 
 ings of a friend — a — a — but you have been left among us 
 penniless, and I have a very little money which I have no 
 use for — none in the least ; — will you not favour me by 
 accepting it as a loan ? " 
 
 I felt the full and generous delicacy of the proposal, 
 and, with moistened eyes and a swelling heart, availed 
 myself of his kindness. The sum he tendered did not 
 much exceed a guinea ; but the yearly earnings of the 
 peasant Burns fell, at tliis period of his life, rather below 
 eight pounds. 
 
 Vol-, n. D
 
 98 TALES OF TUB BORDEBJS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 " Corbies an' clergy are a shot right kittle." — Brigs of Ayr. 
 
 The years passed, and I Avas again a dweller on the sea; 
 but the ill-fortune which had hitherto tracked me like a 
 bloodhound, seemed at length as if tired in the pursuit, and 
 I was now the master of a West India trader, and had 
 begun to lay the foundation of that competency which has 
 secured to my declining jears the quiet and comfort which, 
 for the latter part of my life, it has been my happiness to 
 enjoy, !My vessel had ai-rived at Liverpool in the latter 
 part of the year 1734, and I had taken coach for Irvine, 
 to visit my mother, whom I had not seen for several years. 
 There was a change of passengers at every stage ; but I 
 saw little in any of them to interest me, till Avithin about a 
 score of mUflS of my destination, when I met with an old 
 respectable townsman, a friend of my father's. There was 
 but another passenger in the coach, a north country 
 gentleman from the "West Indies. I had many questions 
 to ask my townsman, and many to answer — and the time 
 passed lightly away. 
 
 " Can you tell me aught of the Burnses of Lochlea ? " I 
 inquired, after learning that my mother and other rela- 
 tives were well. "I met with the young man Robert 
 about five years ago, and have often since asked myself 
 what special end providence could have in view in making 
 such a man." 
 
 " I was acquainted with old William Btirns," said ray 
 companion, " when he was gardener at Denholm, an' got 
 intimate wi' his son Ilobert when he lived wi' its at 
 Irvine, a twalmonth syne. The faither died shortly ago, 
 eairly straitened in his means, I'm feared, and no very 
 square wi' the laird— an' ill wad he hae liked that, for an
 
 KECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. 99 
 
 honester man never breatlied. Robert, pnir clileld, is no 
 very easy either." 
 
 "In his circumstances? " I said. 
 
 " Ay, an' waur : — he got entangled wi' the kirk on an 
 unlucky sculduddery business, an' has been writing bitter, 
 wicked ballads on a' the guid ministers in the country 
 ever syne. I'm vexed it's on them he suld hae fallen ; an' 
 yet they hae been to blame too." 
 
 " Robert Burns so entangled, so occupied!" I exclaimed; 
 " you grieve and astonish me." 
 
 " We are puir creatures, [Matthew," said the old man ; 
 " strength an' weakness are often next door neighbours in 
 the best o' us ; nay, what is our vera strength taen on the 
 ae side, may be our vera weakness taen on the ither. 
 Never was there a stancher, firmer fallow than Robert 
 Burns ; an' now that he has taen a wrang step, puir chield, 
 that vera stanchness seems just a weak want o' ability to 
 yield. He has planted his foot where it lighted by 
 mishanter, and a' the guid an' ill in Scotland wadna 
 budge him frae the spo^" 
 
 " Dear me ! that so pov/^erful a mind should be so frivo- 
 lously engaged 1 Making baUads, you say? — with what 
 success ? " 
 
 " All, Matthew lad, when the strong man puts out his 
 strength," said my companion, " there's naething frivolous 
 in the matter, be his object what it may. Robert's ballads 
 are far, far aboon the best things ever seen in Scotland 
 af«re; we auld folk dinna ken whether maist to blame or 
 praise them, but they keep the young people laughing frae 
 the ae nuik o' the shire till the ither." 
 
 " But how," I inquired, " have the better clergy ren- 
 dered themselves obnoxious to Burns? The laws he has 
 violated, if I rightly understand you, are indeed severe, 
 and somewhat questionable in their tendencies ; and even 
 good men often press them too far."
 
 100 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "And in the case of Robert," said the old man, " our 
 clergy have been strict to the very letter. They're guid 
 men an' faithfu' ministers ; but ane o' them, at least, an' he 
 ft leader, has a liarsh, ill temper, an' mistakes sometimes 
 the corruption o' the auld man in him for the proper zeal 
 o' the neAV ane. Nor is there ony o' the ithers wha kent 
 what they had to deal wi' when Eobert cam afore them. 
 They saw but a proud, thrawart ploughman, that stood 
 tincow'ring under the ghmsh o' a hail session ; and so they 
 opened on him the artillery o' the kirk, to bear down his 
 pride. "VVha could hae told them that they were but 
 frushing their straw an' rotten wood against the iron scales 
 o' Leviathan ? An' now that they hae dune their maist, 
 the record o' Robert's mishanter is lying in whity-brown 
 ink yonder in a page o' the scssion-buik, while the ballads 
 Lae sunk deep deep intil the very mind o' the country, 
 and may live there for hunders and hunders o' years." 
 
 " You seem to contrast, in this business," I said, " our 
 better ■with what you must deem our inferior clergy. You 
 mean, do you not, the higher and lower parties in our 
 church ? IIow are they getting on now ? " 
 
 "Never worse," replied the old man ; "an', oh, it's surely 
 ill when the ministers o' peace become the very leaders o' 
 contention ! But let the blame rest in the right place. 
 Peace is surely a blessing frae Heaven — no a guid wark 
 demanded frae man ; an' when it grows our duty to be in 
 war, it's an ill thing to be in peace. Our Evangelicals are 
 etan'iu', pair fulk, whar their faithcrs stood ; an' if they 
 maun cither fight or be beaten frae their post, why, it's 
 just their duty to fight. But the Moderates are rinnin' 
 mad a'thegithcr amang us : signing our auld Confession, 
 just that they maj' get intil the kirk to preach against it ; 
 paring the New Testament doun to the vera standard o' 
 heathen Plawto ; and sinking ae doctrine after anither, till 
 they leave ahint naetlung but deism that might scunner
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. 101 
 
 » 
 
 on infidel. Deed, Matthew, if there comena a change 
 among them, an' that sune, they'll swamp the puir kirk a' 
 thegither. The cauld morality that never made ony ano 
 mair moral, taks nae hand o' the people ; an' patronage, as 
 meikle's they roose it, winna keep up either Idrk or manso 
 o' itsel. Sorry I am, sin' Robert has entered on the quarrel 
 at a', it suld hae been on the wrang side." 
 
 " One of my chief objections," I said, " to the religion 
 of the Moderate party is, that it is of no use." 
 
 " A gey serious ane," rejoined the old man ; " but may- 
 be there's a waur still. I'm unco vexed for Robert, baith 
 on his worthy faither's account and his ain. He's a fear- 
 some fellow when ance angered, but an honest, warm- 
 hearted chield for a' that ; an' there's mair sense in yon 
 big head o' his, than in ony ither twa in the country." 
 
 " Can you tell me aught," said the north country gentle- 
 man, addressing my companion, " of Mr. R , the chapel 
 
 minister in K ? I was once one of his pupils in the 
 
 far north ; but I have heard nothing of him since he left 
 Cromarty," 
 
 "Why," rejoined the old man, ** he's just the man that, 
 mair nor a' the rest, has borne the brunt o' Robert's fear- 
 some waggery. Did ye ken him in Cromarty, say ye?" 
 
 " He was parish schoolmaster there," said the gentle- 
 man, " for twelve years ; and for six of these I attended 
 his school. I cannot help respecting him ; but no one 
 ever loved him. Never surely was there a man at once so 
 unequivocally honest and so thoroughly unamiable." 
 
 "You must have found him a rigid disciplinarian," I 
 said. 
 
 " He was the most so," he replied, " from the days of 
 Dionysius, at least, that ever taught a school. I remember 
 there was a poor fisher boy among us named Skinner, who, 
 as is customary in Scottish schools, as you must know, 
 blew the horn for gathering the scholars, and kept the
 
 102 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 catalogue and the key ; and who, in return, was educated 
 by the master, and received some little gratuity from the 
 scholars besides. On one occasion, the key dropped out 
 of his pocket ; and, when school-time came, the irascible 
 dominie had to burst open the door with his foot. He 
 raged at the boy with a fury so insane, and beat him so 
 unmercifully, that the other boys, gathering heart in the 
 extremity of the case, had to rise en masse and tear him 
 out of his hands. But the curious part of the story is yet 
 to come : Skinner has been a fisherman for the last twelve 
 years ; but never has he been seen disengaged, for a 
 moment, from that time to this, without mechanically 
 thrusting his hand into the key pocket." 
 
 Our companion furnished us with two or three other 
 
 anecdotes of Mr. R . He told us of a lady who was so 
 
 overcome by sudden terror on unexpectedly soeing him, 
 many years after she had quitted his school, in one of the 
 pulpits of the south, that she fainted away; and of another 
 of his scholars, named M'Glashan, a robust, daring fellow 
 of six feet, who, when returning to Cromarty from some 
 of the colonies, solaced himself by the way with thoughts 
 of the hearty drubbing with which he was to clear oiF all 
 his old scores vith the dominie." 
 
 " Ere his return, however," continued the gentleman, 
 
 ** Mr. R had quitted the parish ; and, had it chanced 
 
 otherwise, it is questionable whether M'Glashan, with all 
 his strength and courage, would have gained anything in 
 an encounter with one of the boldest and most powerful 
 mr-n in the country." 
 
 Such were some of the chance glimpses which I gained, 
 at this time, of by far the most powerful of the opponents 
 of Burns. He Avas a good, conscientious man ; but unfor- 
 tunate in a harsh, violent temper, and in sometimes mis- 
 taking, as my old townsman remarked, the dictates of that 
 temper for those of duty.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BUKNS. 103 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " It's hardly in a body's pow'r 
 To keep at times frae being sour, 
 
 To see bow things are shar'd — 
 How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
 While coofs on countless thousands rant, 
 
 And kenna how to wair't." — Epistle to Davie. 
 
 I visited my friend, a few days after my arrival in Irvine, 
 at the farm-house of Mossgiel, to which, on the death of 
 his father, he had removed, with his brother Gilbert and his 
 mother. I could not help observing that his manners were 
 considerably changed : my welcome seemed less kind and 
 hearty than I could have anticipated from the warm-hearted 
 peasant of five years ago, and there was a stern and almost 
 supercilious elevation in his bearing, which at first pained 
 and ofiended me. I had met mth him as ho was returning 
 from the fields after tlie labours of the day; the dusk of 
 twilight had fallen; and, though I had calculgiled on passing 
 the evening with him at the farm-house of JNIossgiel, so dis- 
 pleased was I, that, after our first greeting, I had more 
 than half changed my mind. The recollection of his former 
 kindness to me, however, suspended the feeling, and I 
 resolved on throwing myself on his hospitaUty for the night, 
 however cold the welcome. 
 
 "I have come all the way from Irvine to see you, Mr. 
 Burns," I said. "For the last five years, I have thought 
 more of my mothor and you than of any other two persons 
 in the country. May I not calculate, as of old, on my 
 supper and a bed ? " 
 
 There was an instantaneous change in his expression. 
 
 " Pardon me, my friend," he said, grasping my hand ; 
 " I have, unwittingly, been doing you wrong ; one may
 
 104 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 siirely be the master of an Indiaman and in possession of 
 a heart too honest to be spoiled by prosperity ! " 
 
 The remark served to explain the haughty coldness of 
 his manner which had so displeased me, and which was 
 but the unwillingly assumed armour of a defensive pride. 
 
 " There, brother," he said, throwing down some plough 
 irons which he carried, "send wee Davoc with these to the 
 smithy, and bid him tell Kankin I won't be there to-night. 
 The moon is rising, Mr. Lindsay — shall we not have a stroll 
 together through the coppice?" 
 
 " That of all things," I replied ; and, parting from Gil- 
 bert, we struc^lij into the wood. 
 
 The evening, considering the lateness of the season, for 
 winter had set in, was mild and pleasant. The moon at 
 full was rising over the Cumnock hills, and casting its 
 faint light on the trees that rose around us, in their wind- 
 ing-sheets of brown and yellow, Hke so many spectres, or 
 that, in the more exposed glares and openings of the 
 wood, stretched their long naked arms to the sky. A 
 light breeze went rustUng through the withered grass ; 
 and I could see the faint twinkling of the falling leaves, as 
 they came showering down on every side of us. 
 
 " We meet in the midst of death and desolation," said 
 my companion — "we parted when aU around us was fresh 
 and beautiful. My father was with me then, and — and 
 Mary Campbell — and now" 
 
 " Mary ! your Mary ! " I exclaimed — " the young — the 
 beautiful — alas 1 is she also gone?" 
 
 " She has left mo," he said — "left me. Mary is in her 
 grave !" 
 
 I felt my heart swell, as the image of that loveliest of 
 creatures came rising to my view in all her beauty, as I 
 liad seen her by the river side ; and I knew not what to 
 reply. 
 
 " Yes," contkiued my friund, " she's in her grave ; — we
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS, 105 
 
 parted for a few days, to re-unite, as we hoped, for ever ; 
 and, ere these few days had passed, she was m her grave. 
 B^Tt I was unworthy of her — unworthy even then ; and 
 now But she is in her grave ! " 
 
 I grasped his hand. " It is difficult," I said, "to lid the 
 heart submit to these dispensations, and, oh, how utterly 
 impossible to bring it to listen ! But life — your life, my 
 friend — must not be passed in useless sorrow. I am con- 
 vinced, and often have I thought of it since our last meet- 
 ing, that yours is no vulgar destiny — though I know not 
 to what it tends." 
 
 'Downwards!" he exclaimed — "it tends downwards; — 
 I see, I feel it ; — the anchor of my affection is gone, and I 
 drift shoreward on the rocks." 
 
 " 'Twere ruin," I exclaimed, " to think so 1" 
 
 " Not half an hour ere my father died," he continued, 
 " he expressed a ^Tish to rise and sit once more in his 
 chair ; and we indulged him. But, alas 1 the same feeling 
 of imeasiness which had prompted the wish, remained "with 
 him still, and he sought to return again to his bed. ' It is 
 not by quitting the bed or the chair,' he said, ' that I need 
 seek for ease : it is by quitting the body.' I am oppressed, 
 Llr. Lindsay, by a somewhat similar feeling of uneasiness, 
 and, at times, would fain cast the blame on the circum- 
 stances in which I am placed. But I may be as far 
 mistaken as my poor father. I would fain live at peace 
 with all mankind — nay, more, I would fiin love and do 
 good to them all ; but the villain and the oppressor coma 
 to set their feet on my very neck, and crush me into the mire 
 — and must I not resist? And when, in some luckless 
 hour, I yield to my passions — to those fearful passions 
 that must one day overwhelm me — when I yield, and my 
 whole mind is darkened by remorse, and I groan under 
 the disciphne of conscience, then comes the odious, abomi- 
 nable hypocrite — the devourer of widows' houses and the
 
 lOG TAXES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 substance of the orphan — and demands that my repentance 
 be as public as liis own hollow, detestable prayers. And 
 can I do other than resist and expose him? My heart 
 tells me it was formed to bestow — why else does every 
 misery that I cannot relieve render me wretched? It 
 tells me, too, it was formed not to receive — why else 
 does the proffered assistance of even a friend fill my 
 whole soul 'with indignation? But ill do my circum- 
 stances agree with my feelings. I feel as if I were 
 totally misplaced in some frolic of nature, and wander 
 onwards in gloom and unhappiness, seeking for my pro- 
 per sphere. But, alas ! these efforts of xmeasy misery 
 are but the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the 
 walls of his cave." 
 
 I agaui began to experience, as on a former occasion, 
 the o'ermastering power of a mind larger beyond compari- 
 son than my own ; but I felt it my duty to resist the 
 influence. " Yes, you are misplaced, my friend," I said — 
 " perhaps more decidedly so than any other man I ever 
 knew; but is not this characteristic, in some measure, of 
 tlie whole species ? We are all misplaced ; and it seems 
 a part of the scheme of deity, that Ave should work our- 
 selves up to our proper sphere. In what other respect 
 does man so differ from the inferior animals as in those 
 aspirations which lead him through all the progressions of 
 improvement, from the lowest to the highest level of his 
 nature ?" 
 
 " Tliat may be philosophy, my friend," he replied, " but 
 a heart ill at ease finds little of comfort in it. You knew 
 my father : need I say he was one of the excellent of the 
 earth — a man who held dii'ectly from God Almighty the 
 patent of his lionours? I saw that father sink broken- 
 hearted into the grave, the victim of legalized oppression 
 — yes, saw him overborne in the long contest which his 
 high spirit and his indomitable love of the right had
 
 BECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 107 
 
 incited him to maintain — overborne by a mean, despicable 
 scoundrel, one of the creeping things of the earth. Heaven 
 knows I did my utmost to assist in the struggle. In my 
 fifteenth year, Mr. Lindsay, when a thin, loose-joiated boy, 
 I did the work of a man, and strained my unknit and 
 overtoiled sinews as if life and death depended on the 
 issue, till oft, in the middle of the night, I have had to 
 fling myself from my bed to avoid instant suffocation— an 
 effect of exertion so prolonged and so premature. Nor has 
 the man exerted himself less heartily than the boy — in the 
 roughest, severest labours of the field, I have never yet 
 met a competitor. But my labours have been all in vain 
 — I have seen the evU bewailed by Solomon — the righteous 
 man falling doAvn before the Avicked." I oould answer only 
 with a sigh. " You are in the right," lie continued, after 
 a pause, and in a more subdued tone : " man is certainly 
 misplaced — the present scene of thing? ie below the dignity 
 of both his moral and intellectual natui'e. Look round 
 you — (we had reached the summit of a grassy eminence 
 which rose over the wood, and commanded a pretty exten- 
 sive view of the surrounding country) — see yonder scat- 
 tered cottages, that, in the faint light, rise dim and black 
 amid the stubble fields — my heart warms as I look on 
 them, for I know how much of honest worth, and sound, 
 generous feeling shelters under these rooftrecs. But why 
 so much of moral excellence united to a mere machinery 
 for ministering to the ease and luxury of a few of, perhaps, 
 the least worthy of our species — creatures so spoiled by 
 prosperity that the claim of a common nature has no force 
 to move them, and who seem as miserably misplaced as the 
 myriads whom they oppress?" 
 
 " If I'm designed yon lordling's slave — 
 By nature's law designed — 
 Why was an independent wish 
 E'er planted in my mind ?
 
 108 TALES OP THE BOKDEBS. 
 
 If not, ■why am I subject to 
 
 His cruelty and scorn? 
 Or why has man the will and power 
 
 To make his fellow mourn?" 
 
 " I would hardly know what to say in return, my friend," 
 I rejoined, " did not you, yourself, furnish me "with the 
 reply. You are groping on in darkness, and it may be 
 imhappiness, for yoiir proper sphere ; but it is in obedience 
 to a great though occult law of our nature — a law, general 
 as it affects the species, in its course of onward progression 
 — particular, and infinitely more irresistible, as it operates 
 on every truly superior intellect. There are men born to 
 wield the destinies of nations — nay, more, to stamp the 
 impression of their thoughts and feelings on the mind of 
 the whole civilized world. And by what means do we 
 often find them roused to accomplish their appointed work ? 
 At times hounded on by sorrow and suffering, and thus in 
 the desigri of providence, that there may be less of sorrow 
 and suffering in the world ever after — at times roused by 
 cruel and maddening oppression, that the oppressor may 
 perish in his guilt, and a whole country enjoy the blessings 
 of freedom. If Wallace had not suffered from tyranny, 
 Scotland would not have been free." 
 
 " But how apply the remark?" said my companion. 
 
 " Eobert Burns," I replied, again grasping his hand, 
 "yours, I am convinced, is no vulgar destiny. Your 
 griefs, your sufferings, your errors even, the oppressions 
 you have seen and felt, the thoughts which have arisen 
 in your mind, the feelings and sentiments of which it 
 has been the subject, are, I am convinced, of infinitely 
 more importance in their relation to your country than 
 to yourself You are, wisely and benevolently, placed far 
 below your level, that thousands and ten thousands of 
 your countrymen may be the better enabled to attain to 
 theirs. Assert the dignity of manhood and of genius, and
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURKS. 109 
 
 there will be less of wrong and oppression in the world 
 ever after." 
 
 I spent the remainder of the evening in tlie farm-house 
 of Mossgiel, and took the coach next morning for Liverpool. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 " His is that language of the heart 
 
 In which the answering heart would speak — 
 Thought, word, that bids the wai-m tear start, 
 
 Or the smile light up the check ; 
 And his that music to whose tone 
 
 The common pulse of man keeps time, 
 In cot or castle's mirth or moan, 
 
 In cold or sunny clime." — American poet. 
 
 The love of literature, when once thoroughly awakened 
 in a reflective mind, can never after cease to influence it. 
 It first assimilates our intellectual part to those fine intel- 
 lects which live in the world of books, and then renders 
 cur connection with them indispensable, by laying hold of 
 that social principle of our nature which ever leads us to 
 the society of our fellows as our proper sphere of enjoy- 
 ment. My early habits, by heightening my tone of thought 
 and feeling, had tended considerably to narrow my circle 
 of companionship. My profession, too, had led me to be 
 much alone ; and now that 1 had been several years the 
 master of an Indiaman, I was qviite as fond of reading, and 
 felt as deep an interest in Avhatever took place in the 
 literary world, as when a student at St. Andrew's. There 
 was much in the literattire of the period to gratify my 
 pride as a Scotchman. The despotism, both political and 
 religious, which had overlaid the energies of our country 
 for more than a century, had long been removed, and the 
 BAtional miud had swelled and expanded under a better
 
 110 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 system of things, tiJl its influence had become co-extensive 
 •wdth civilized man. Hume had produced his inimitable 
 history, and Adam Smith his wonderful work, which was 
 to revolutionize and new-model the economy of all the 
 governments of the earth. And there, in my little library, 
 were the histories of Henry and Robertson, the philosophy 
 of Kaimes and Reid, the novels of Smollett and Mackenzie, 
 and the poetry of Beattie and Home. But, if there was 
 no lack of Scottish intellect in the literature of the time, 
 there was a decided lack of Scottish manners ; and I knew 
 too much of my huinbli"; countrymen not to regret it. True, 
 I had before me the writings of Eamsay and my unfortu- 
 nate friend Ferguson ; but there was a radical meanness 
 in the first that lowered the tone of his colouring far be- 
 neath the freshness of truth, and the second, whom I had 
 seen perish — too soon, alas ! for literature and his country 
 — had given us but a few specimens of his power when 
 his hand was arrested for ever. 
 
 My vessel, after a profitable, though somewhat tedious 
 voyage, had again arrived in Liverpool. It was late in 
 December, 1786, and I was passing the long evening in 
 my cabin, engaged with a whole sheaf of pamphlets and 
 nmgazines which had been sent me from the shore. The 
 Lounger was, at this time, in course of pviblication. I had 
 ever been an admirer of the quiet elegance and exquisite 
 tenderness of Mackenzie; and, though I might not be 
 <|uite disposed to think, with Johnson, that "the chief 
 glory of every people arises from its authors," I certainly 
 f(!lt all the prouder of my country, from the circumstance 
 tliat so accomplished a writer was one of my countrymen. 
 I liad read this evening some of the more recent numbers, 
 half disposed to regret, however, amid all the pleasure 
 they afforded me, that the Addison of Scotland had not 
 done for the manners of his country what his illustrious 
 prototype had done for those of England, when my eye fell
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. Ill 
 
 on tlie ninety-seventh number. I read the introdtictory 
 sentences, and admired their truth and elegance. I had 
 felt, in the contemplation of supereminent genius, the plea- 
 sure which the writer describes, and my thoughts reverted 
 to my two friends — the dead and the hving. " In the 
 view of highly superior talents, as in that of great and 
 stupendous objects," says the essajdst, "there is a sub- 
 limity which fills the soul with wonder and dehght — which 
 expands it, as it were, beyond its usual bounds, and which, 
 investing our nature with extraordinary powers and extra- 
 ordinary hono'ii's, interests our curiosity and flatters our 
 pride-" 
 
 1 read on with increasing interest. It was evident, from 
 the tone of the introduction, that some new luminary had 
 arisen in the literary horizon, and I felt somewhat like a 
 schoolboy when, at his first play, he waits for the drawing 
 up of the curtain. And the curtain at length rose. "The 
 person," continues the essayist, " to whom I allude" — and 
 he alludes to him as a genius of no ordinary class — " is 
 Eobert Burns, an Ayrshire ploughman." The effect on my 
 nerv^es seemed electrical ; I clapped my hands, and sprung 
 from my seat : " Was I not certain of it 1 Did I not fore- 
 see it !" I exclaimed. " My noble-minded friend, Eobert 
 Burns!" I ran hastily over the warm-hearted and gene« 
 rous critique, so unlike the cold, timid, equivocal noticei 
 with which the professional critic has greeted, on their 
 first appearance, so many works destined to immortality. 
 It was jMackenzic, the discriminating, the classical, the 
 elegant, who assured me that the productions of this 
 " heaven-taught ploiighman were fraught with the high- 
 toned feeling and the power and energy of expression 
 characteristic of the mind and voice of the poet" — Avith 
 the solemn, the tender, the sublime ; that they contained 
 images of pastoral beauty which no other writer had ever 
 surpassed, and strains of wild humour which only the
 
 112 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 hlglier masters of the lyre had ever equalled ; and that the 
 genius displayed in them seemed not less admirable in 
 tracing the manners than in painting the passions, or in 
 drawing the scenery of nature. I flung down the essay, 
 ascended to the deck in three huge stride*-, leaped ashore, 
 and reached my bookseller's as he was shutting up for 
 the night. 
 
 " Can you furnish me with a copy of Biirns' Poems," I 
 said, "either for love or money?" 
 
 " I have but one copy left," replied the man, " and here 
 it is." 
 
 I flung down a guinea. " The change," I said, "I shall 
 get when I am less in a hurry." 
 
 'Twas late that evening ere I remembered that 'tis cus- 
 tomary to spend at least part of the night in bed. I read 
 on and on with a still increasing astonishment and delight, 
 laughing and crjnng by turns. I was quite in a new world ; 
 all was fresh and unsoUcd — the thoughts, the descriptions, 
 the images — as if the volume I read was the first that had 
 ever been written ; and yet all was easy and natural, ajid 
 appealed, with a truth and force irresistible, to the recol- 
 lections I cherished most fondly. Nature and Scotland 
 met me at every turn. I had admired the polished com- 
 positions of Popo, and Gray, and Collins, though I could 
 not sometimes help feeling that, with all the exquisite art 
 they displayed, there was a little additional art wanting 
 still. In most cases the scaffolding seemed incorporated 
 ■with the structure whicli it had served to rear ; and, 
 though certainly no scafl'okling could be raised on surer 
 principles, I could have wished that the ingenuity which 
 had been tasked to erect it, had been exerted a little far- 
 ther in taking it doAvn. But the work before me was evi- 
 dently the production of a greater artist ; not a fragment of 
 the Bcaffoldiiig remained — not so much aa a mark to show 
 how it had been constructed. The whole seemed to have
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP BURIES. 113 
 
 risen like an exhalation, and, in this respect, reminded me 
 of the structures of Shakspeare alone. I read the inimit- 
 able " Twa Dogs." Here, I said, is the full and perfect 
 realization of what Swift and Dryden were hardy enough 
 to attempt, but lacked genius to accomplish. Here are 
 dogs — bona fide dogs — endowed indeed with more than 
 human sense and observation, but true to character, as 
 the most honest and attached of quadrupeds, in every line. 
 And then those exquisite touches which the poor man, 
 inured to a life of toil and poverty, can alone rightly un- 
 derstand! and those deeply-based remarks on character, 
 ■which only the philosopher can justly appreciate ! This 
 is the true catholic poetry, which addresses itself not to 
 any little circle, walled in from the rest of the species by 
 some peculiarity of thought, prejudice, or condition, bnt 
 to the whole kuman family. I read on : — " The Holy 
 Fair," " HaUow E'en," "The Vision," the "Address to the 
 Deil," engaged me by turns ; and then the strange, up- 
 roarious, unequalled " Death and Dr. Hornbook." This, 
 I said, is something new in the hterature of the world. 
 Shakspeare possessed above aU men the power of instant 
 and yet natural transition, from the lightly gay to the 
 deeply pathetic — from the wild to the humorous ; but the 
 opposite states of feeling which he induces, however close 
 the neighbourhood, are ever distinct and separate ; tlie 
 oil and the water, though contained in the same vessel, 
 remain apart. Here, however, for the first time, they mix 
 and incorporate, and yet each retains its whole nature and 
 full effect. I need hardly remind the reader that the feat 
 has been repeated, and even with more completeness, iu 
 the wonderful " Tarn o' Shanter." I read on. " Tho 
 Cotter's Saturday Night " filled my whole soul — my heart 
 throbbed and my eyes moistened ; and never before did I 
 feel half so proud of my country, or know half so well on 
 
 •what score it was I did best in fueling proud. 1 had 
 
 D 2
 
 114 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 perused the entire volume from beginning to end, ere I 
 remembered I had not taken supper, and that it was more 
 than time to go to bed. 
 
 But it is no part of my plan to furnish a critique on the 
 poems of my friend. I merely strive to recall the thoughts 
 and feelings Avliich my first perusal of them awakened, and 
 thus only as a piece of mental history. Several months 
 elapsed from this evening ere I could hold them out from 
 me sufficiently at arms' length, as it were, to judge of their 
 more striking characteristics. At times the amazing amount 
 of thought, feeling, and imagery which they contained — 
 their wonderful continuity of idea, Avithout gap or inter- 
 stice — seemed to me most to distinguish them. At times 
 they reminded me, compared with the writings of smoother 
 poets, of a collection of medals which, unlike the thin 
 polished coin of the kingdom, retained all the significant 
 and pictorial roughness of the original die. But when, 
 after the lapse of weeks, months, years, I found them rising 
 up in my heart on every occasion, as naturally as if they 
 had been the original language of all my feehngs and 
 emotions — when I felt that, instead of remaining outside 
 my mind, as it were, hke the writings of other poets, they 
 had 60 amalgamated themselves with my passions, my 
 sentiments, my ideas, that they seemed to have become 
 portions of my very self— I was led to a final conclusion 
 regarding them. Their grand distinguishing characteristic 
 is their unswerving and perfect truth. The poetry of 
 Shakspeare is the mirror of life — that of Bums the expres- 
 sive and richly modulated voice of human nature.
 
 KECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 115 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Bums ivas a poor man from hjs birth, and an exciseman from neces- 
 sity ; but— I win say it ! — the sterling of his honest worth, poverty could 
 not debase; and his independent British spirit oppression might bend, 
 but could not subdue." — Letter to Mr. Graham. 
 
 I have been listening for the last half hour to the wild 
 music of an Eolian harp. How exquisitely the tones rise 
 and fall ! — now sad, now solemn — noAV near, now distant. 
 The nerves thrill, the heart softens, the imagination awakes 
 as we listen. What if that delis-htful instrument be ani- 
 marted by a living soul, and these finely-modulated tones 
 be but the expression of its feehngs ! What if these dying, 
 melancholy cadences, which so melt and sink into the 
 heart, be — what we may so naturally interpret them — the 
 melodious sinkings of a deep-seated and hopeless unhappi- 
 ncss ! Nay, the fancy is too wild for even a dream. But 
 are there none of those fine analogies, which run through 
 the whole of nature and the whole of art, to subhme it 
 into truth ? Yes, there have been such living harps among 
 us ; beings, the tones of whose sentiments, the melody of 
 whose emotions, the cadences of Avhose sorrows, remain to 
 thrill, and delight, and humanize our souls. They seem 
 born for others, not for themselves. Alas, for the hapless 
 companion of my early youth ! Alas, for him, the pride 
 of his country, the friend of my maturer manhood ! — But 
 my narrative lags in its progress. 
 
 My vessel lay in the Clyde for several weeks during the 
 summer of 1794, and I found time to indulge myself in a 
 brief tour along the western coasts of the kingdom, from 
 Glasgow to the Borders. I entered Dumfries in a calm, 
 lovely evening, and passed along one of the principal streets. 
 The shadows of the houses on the western side wore 
 stretched half-way across the pavement, while, on the side
 
 116 * TAi.ES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 opposite, the bright sunshine seemed sleeping on the jutting 
 irregular fronts, and high antique gables. There seemed a 
 •world of well-dressed company this evening in tovra ; and I 
 learned, on inquiry* that all the aristocracy of the adjacent 
 country, for twenty miles round, had oome in to attend a 
 county ball. They went fluttering along the sunny side ot 
 the street, gay as butterflies — group succeeding group. 
 On the opposite side, in the shade, a solitary individual 
 was passing slowly along the pavement. I knew him at a 
 glance. It was the first poet, perhaps the greatest man, of 
 his age and country. But why so solitary ? It had been 
 told me that he ranked among his friends and associates 
 many of the highest names in the kingdom, and yet to- 
 night not one of the hundreds who fluttered past appeared 
 inclined to recognise him. lie seemed too — but perhaps 
 fancy misled me — as if care-worn and dejected; pauied, 
 perhaps, that not one among so many of the great should 
 have humility enough to notice a poor exciseman. I stole 
 up to him unobserved, and tapped him on the shoulder; 
 there Avas a decided fierceness in his manner as he turned 
 abruptly round, but, as he recognised me, his expressive 
 countenance lighted up in a moment, and I shall never 
 forget the heartiness with which he grasped my hand. 
 
 We quitted the streets together for the neiglibouring 
 fields, and, after the natural interchange of mutual con- 
 gratulations — " How is it," I inquired, " that you do not 
 •cem t6 have a single acquaintance among all the gay and 
 great of the country?" 
 
 " I lie under quarantine," he replied ; " tainted by the 
 plague of liberalism. Tliere is not one of the hundreds we 
 passed to-night whom I could not once reckon among my 
 intimates." 
 
 The intelligence stunned and irritated me. "How 
 infinitely absurd 1" I said. " Do they dream of sinking you 
 into a common man ?''
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 117 
 
 " Even so," he rejoined. " Do they not all know I have 
 been a ganger for the last five years !" 
 
 The fact had both grieved and incensed me long before. 
 I knew, too, that Pye enjoyed his salary as poet laureate of 
 the time, and Dibdin, the song writer, his pension of two 
 hundred a-year, and I blushed for my country. 
 
 "Yes," he continued — the iU-assumed coolness of his 
 manner giving way before his highly excited feelings — 
 '* they have assigned me my place among the mean and the 
 degraded, as their best patronage ; and only yesterday, after 
 an official threat of instant dismission, I was told it was 
 my business to act, not to think. God help me! what 
 have I done to provoke such bitter insult? I have ever 
 discharged my miserable duty — discharged it, Mr. Lindsay, 
 however repugnant to my feelings, as an honest man ; and 
 though there awaited me no promotion, I was silent. The 
 wives or sisters of those whom they advanced over me had 
 
 bastards to some of the family, and so their influence 
 
 ■was necessarily greater than mine. But now they crush 
 me into the very dust. I take an interest in the struggles 
 of the slave for his freedom ; I express my opinions as if I 
 myself were a free man ; and they threaten to starve me 
 and my children if I dare so much as speak or think." 
 
 I expressed my indignant sympathy in a few broken 
 sentences; and he went on with kindUiig animation: — 
 
 "Yes, they would fain crush me into the very dust! 
 Tliey cannot forgive me, that, being born a man, I should 
 walk erect according to my nature. Mean-spirited and 
 despicable themselves, they can tolerate only the mean- 
 spirited and the despicable ; and were I not so entirely in 
 their power, Mr. Lindsay, I could regard them with the 
 proper contempt. But the wretches can starve me and my 
 children — and they know it ; nor docs it mend the matter 
 that I know in turn, Avhat pitiful, miserable, little creatures 
 they are. What care I for the butterflies of to-night ? —
 
 118 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 tliey passed me without the honour of their notice ; and I, 
 in turn, suffered them to pass withoxit the honour of mine ; 
 and I am more than quits. Do I not know that they and 
 I are going on to the faliilment of our several destinies ? — 
 they to sleep, in the obscurity of their native insignificance, 
 with the pismires and grasshoppers of all the past, and I to 
 be whatever the millions of my unborn countrymen shall 
 yet decide. Pitiful little insects of an hour ! what is their 
 notice to me ! But I bear a heart, Mr. Lindsay, that can 
 feel the pain of treatment so unworthy ; and I must con- 
 fess it moves me. One cannot always live upon the future, 
 divorced from the sympathies of the present. One cannot 
 always solace one's sylf under the grinding despotism that 
 would fetter one's very thoughts, Avith the conviction, how- 
 ever assured,- that posterity will do justice both to the 
 oppressor and the oppressed. I am sick at heart ; and 
 were it not for the poor little things that depend so entirely 
 on my exertions, I could as cheerfully lay me down in the 
 grave as I ever did in bed after the fatigues of a long day's 
 labour. Heaven help me I I am miserably unfitted to 
 struggle with even the natural evils of existence — how 
 niuGh more so when these are multiplied and exaggerated 
 by the proud, capricious inhumanity of man !" 
 
 " There is a miserable lack of right principle and right 
 lieling," I said, "among our upper classes in the present 
 day; but, alas for poor human nature! it has ever been 
 so, and, I am afraid, ever will. And there is quite as much 
 of it in savage as in civilized life. I have seen the exclusive 
 aristocratic spirit, with its one-sided injustice, as rampant 
 in a wild isle of tlie Pacific as I ever saw it among ourselves." 
 
 "Tis slight comfort," said my friend, with a melancholy 
 smile, " to be assured, when one's heart bleeds from the 
 cruelty or injustice of our fellows, that man is naturally 
 cruel and unjust, and not less so as a savage than when 
 better taught. I knew you, Mr, Lindsay, when you were
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. 119 
 
 younger and less fortunate ; but you have now readied 
 that middle term of life when man naturally takes up the 
 Tory and lays do^vn the Whig ; nor has there been ajight 
 in your improving circumstances to retard the change ; 
 and so you rest in the conclusion that, if the weak among 
 us suffer from the tyranny of the strong, 'tis because human 
 nature is so constituted, and the case therefore cannot be 
 helped." 
 
 "Pardon me, Mr. Burns,'' I said, "I am not quite so 
 finished a Tory as that amounts to." 
 
 "I am not one of those fanciful declaimers," he con- 
 tinued, " who set out on the assumption that man is i5ree- 
 born. I am too well assured of the contrary. Man is not 
 free-born. The earlier period of his existence, whether as 
 a puny child or the miserable denizen of an uninformed 
 and barbarous state, is one of vassalage and subserviency. 
 He is not born free, he is not born rational, he is not bom 
 virtuous ; he is born to become aU these. And woe to the 
 sophist who, with arguments dra^vn from the unconfirmed 
 constitution of his childhood, would strive to render liis 
 imperfect, because immature, state of pupilage a per- 
 manent one ! We are yet far below the level of which our 
 nature is capable, and possess in consequence but a small 
 portion of the liberty which it is the destiny of our species 
 to enjoy. And 'tis time our masters should be taught so. 
 You will deem me a wild Jacobin, Mr. Lindsay ; but per- 
 secution has the effect of making a man extreme in these 
 matters. Do help me to curse the scoundrels ! — my busi- 
 ness to act, not to think ! " 
 
 We were silent for several minutes. 
 
 "I have not yet thanked you, Mr. Burns," I at length 
 said, " for the most exquisite pleasure I ever enjoyed. You 
 have been my companion for the last eight years." 
 
 His countenance brightened. 
 
 " Ah, here I am boring you with my miseries and my
 
 120 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 ill-nature," he replied ; " but you must come along with 
 me and see the bairns and Jean ; and some of the best 
 songs I ever wrote. It will go hard if we hold not care at 
 the staff's end for at least one evening. You have not yet 
 seen my stone punch-bowl, nor my Tam o'Shanter, nor a 
 hundred other fine things beside. And yet, vile ^vretch 
 that I am, I am sometimes so unconscionable as to be 
 unhappy with them all. But come along." 
 
 We spent this evening together with as much of happi- 
 ness as it has ever been my lot to enjoy. Never was there 
 a fonder father than Burns, a more attached husband, or a 
 warmer friend. There was an exuberance of love in Ids 
 large heart, that encircled in its flow, relatives, friends, 
 associates, his country, the world ; and, in his kinder 
 moods, the sympathetic influence which he exerted over 
 the hearts of others seemed magical. I laughed and cried 
 this evening by turns ; I was conscious of a wider and 
 warmer expansion of feeling than I had ever experienced 
 before ; my very imagination seemed invigorated by 
 breathing, as it were, in the same atmosphere with his. 
 We parted early next morning — and when I again visited 
 Dumfries, 1 went and wept over his grave. Forty years 
 have now passed Since his death, and in that time many 
 poets have arisen to achieve a rapid and brilliant celebrity; 
 but they seem the meteors of a lower sky ; the flush passes 
 hastily from the expanse, and we see but one great light 
 looking steadily upon us from above. It is Burns who is 
 exclusively thy poet of his country. Other writers inscribe 
 their names on the plaster Avhich covers for the time the 
 outside structure of society ; his is engraved, like that of 
 the Egyptian architect, on the ever-during granite ■within. 
 The fame of the others rises and falls with the uncertain 
 undulations of the mode on which they have reared it; 
 bis remains fixed and permanent, as the human nature on 
 which it is based. Or, to borrow iha figures Johnson
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. J 21 
 
 employs in illustrating the vmfluctuating celebrity of a 
 scarcely greater poet — *' The sand heaped by one flood is 
 scattered by another, but the rock always continues in its 
 place. The stream of time, which is continually washing 
 the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes, without injury, 
 by the adamant of Shakspeare."
 
 122 TALES OP THB BORDERS, 
 
 THE PROFESSOR'S TALES. 
 THE CONVIVIALISTS. 
 
 We must introduce our readers, with an apology for our 
 abruptness, into a party of about half-a-dozen young gal- 
 lants, who had evidently been making deep and frequent 
 libations at the shrine of Bacchus. The loud biu'sts of 
 hearty laughter which rang round the room like so many 
 triple bobmajors, the leering eyes, the fimiihar diminutives 
 with which the various parties addressed each other, and 
 the frequent locking of hands together in a grasp the 
 force of which was meant to express an ardour of social 
 fi'iendship which words were too Aveak to convey — aU 
 showed that tlie symposiasts had cleared the fences which 
 prudence or selfishness set up in the sober intercourse of 
 life, and were now, with loosened reins, spurring away 
 over the free vdld fields of fancy and fun. An immense 
 quantity of walnut-shells — which the mercurial compota- 
 tors had been amusing themselves by throwing at each 
 other — lay scattered about the table and on the floor ; two 
 or three shivered wine glasses had been shoved into the 
 centre of the table, the fragments glittering upon a pile of 
 glorious Woodvilles, all speckled over, like Jacob's sheep ; 
 each man had one of the weeds stuck rakishly in the corner of 
 his moutli, and was knocking off the ashes upon his deviled 
 biscuits ; and, to the right of the president's chair, a long 
 straggling regiment of empty bottles gave dumb but elo- 
 quent proof of the bibulous capabilities of the company. 
 Each man was talking vehemently to his neighbour, and 
 every one for himself; in order, as a wag among them said,
 
 THE CONVIVIAXISTS. 123 
 
 to get through the work quickly, and jump at ouce to a 
 conclusion. They were, as Sheridan has it, " arguing in 
 platoons." There was one exception, however, to the 
 boisterous mii-th of the convivialists, in the person of 
 Frank Elliot, in celebration of whose obtaining his medical 
 degree the feast had been given. He was leaning back in 
 his chair, gazing, with a slight curl of contempt on his lip, 
 at the rude glee of his associates. He had distinguished 
 himself so highly among his fellow-students, that one of 
 the professors had, in the ceremony of the morning, singled 
 him out, before all his contemporaries, with the highest 
 eulogiums, and had predicted, in the most flattering man- 
 ner, his certain celebrity in his profession. Perhaps the 
 natural vanity which these public honours had created, 
 the bright prospect which lay before him, and his being 
 less excited than his companions — caused him to tui-n, 
 with disgust, from the silly ribaldry and weak witticisms 
 which circled round his table. Amid the uproar his 
 sUence was for some time tmheeded ; but at length Harry 
 Whitaker, his old college chum, now lieutenant in his 
 Majesty's navy, and with a considerable portion of broad 
 sailor's humour and slang, observed it, and slapping him 
 roundly on the back, cried, " Hilloa, Frank ! wliat are you 
 dodging about ? — quizzing the rig of your convoy, because 
 they have too much light duck set to walk steadily through 
 the water?" 
 
 " Frank ! Avhy, isn't he asleep all this time ? I haven't 
 heard his voice this half hour," exclaimed anothar. 
 
 " ' Faroe meum, quisquis tanges cava marmora somnum 
 Rumpere ; sive bibas, sive lavcre, tace,' " 
 
 said Elliot beseechingly. 
 ( " Come, come," said Harry, *' none of your heathenish 
 lingo over the mahogany. Boys ! I move that Frank be 
 made to swallow a tumbler of port for using bad language.
 
 124 TALES OP THE BOKDEliS. 
 
 and to make him fit company for the rest of us honest 
 fellows." 
 
 " Fiat experimentum in corpore vili,''* squeaked a first year 
 medical student, shoving the lighted end of his cigar, by 
 mistake, into his mouth when he had deUvered his sen- 
 tence, and then springing up and sputtering out a mighty 
 oath and a quantity of hot tobacco ashes. 
 
 " Ashes to ashes," cried Harry, filling up a tumbler to 
 the brim ; " we'll let you off this time, as you're a fire- 
 eater ; but rally round, lads, and see this land shark swal- 
 low his grog." 
 
 " Nay, but, my friends " began Frank, seeing, with 
 
 horror, that the party had gathered round him, and that 
 Harry held the glass inexorably in his mouth. 
 
 " Get a gag rigged," shouted the young sailor ; " we'll 
 find a way into his grog shop." 
 
 " Upon my word, Wliitaker," said Frank, with a ludi- 
 crous intonation of voice, between real anger and distress, 
 " this is too hard on one who has filled fairly from the 
 first — to punish him without an inquiry into the justice of 
 the case." 
 
 " Jcddart justice — hang first, and judge after !" roared a 
 student from the sylvan banks of the Jed. 
 
 "No freeman can, under any pretence," hiccupped a 
 young advocate, who was unable to rise from his chair, 
 " be condemned, except by the legal decision of his peers, 
 or by the law of the land. So sayeth the Magna Charta — 
 King John — (hie) — right of all frceborn Englishmen — in- 
 cluding thereby all inhabitants of Great Britain, incorpo- 
 rated at the Union — hie — and Ireland." 
 
 Whitaker set the tumbler down in despair, finding l4iat 
 his companions, like the generality of raw students, wero 
 so completely wedded to their pedantry, that the fine, ii 
 insisted on, would have to go all round. 
 
 " Let's have a song, Phimeson," cried Frank, very glad
 
 THE CONVIVIALISTS. 125 
 
 to escape from his threatened bumper, and still fearful that 
 it might be insisted upon ; " a song extempore, as becomes 
 a poet in his cups, and in thine own vein ; for what says 
 Spenser ? — 
 
 ' For Bacchus' fruit is friend to Phoebus wise ; 
 And when, with wine, the brain begins to sweat, 
 The numbers flow as fast as spring doth rise.' " 
 
 " By Jove, boys ! you shall have it," cried Ehimeson, 
 filling his glass with unsteady hand, and muttering, frora 
 the same prince of poets — 
 
 " ' Who can counsell a thirstie soule, 
 
 With patience to forbeare the offred bowle ? ' " 
 
 *' That is the pure well of English undefiled, old fellows, 
 and so here goes — 'The Lass we Love!' 
 
 Tune — ' Duncan Davison.'' 
 " Come, fill your glass, my trusty friend. 
 And fill it sparkling to the brim — 
 A flowing bumper, bright and strong — 
 And push the bottle back again ; 
 For Avhat is man without his drink? 
 An oyster prison'd in his shell ; 
 A rushlight in the vaults of death ; 
 A rattlesnake without his tail. 
 
 CHonus. 
 This world, wc know, is full of cares, 
 And sorrow dnrkens every day ; 
 But wine and love shall be the stars 
 To light us on our weary way. 
 
 Beyond yon hills there lives a lass, 
 Her name I dare not even speak ; 
 The wine that sparkles in my glass 
 Was ne'er so rosy as her check. 
 Iler neck is clearer than the spring 
 That streams the water liUes on ; 
 So, here's to her 1 long have loved— 
 The fairest flower ui Albion.
 
 126 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 Let knaves and fools this world divide, 
 
 As they have done since Adam's time; 
 
 Let misers by their hoards abide, 
 
 And poets weave their rotten rhyme; 
 
 But ye, who, in an hour like this, 
 
 Feel every pulse to rapture move, 
 
 Fill high ! each lip the goblet kiss — 
 
 The pledge shall be — ' The Lass we Love ! ' " 
 
 After a good deal of roaritorious applause, the young 
 gentlemen began to act upon the hint contained in the 
 song, and each to give, as a toast, the lady of his heart. 
 When it came to EUiot's turn, he declared he was tmable 
 to fulfil the conditions of the toast, as there was not a 
 ■woman in the world for whom he had the slightest 
 predilection. 
 
 " "^Vhy, thou personified snowball ! thou human icicle ! " 
 cried "Whitaker. 
 
 " Say an avalanche," interrupted Frank ; " for, when 
 once my heart is shaken, it will be as irresistible in its 
 course as one of these 'thunderbolts of snow.'" 
 
 " Still, it's nothing but cold snow, for all that," cried 
 Harry. 
 
 "^\^lo talks of Frank Elliot and love in the same 
 breath ? " cried Khimeson ; " why, his heart is like a rock, 
 and love, like a torpid serpent, enclosed in it." 
 
 " True," replied Frank ; " but, you know, these same 
 serpents sting as hard as ever when once they get into the 
 open air; besides, love, as the shepherd in Virgil dis- 
 covered, is an inhabitant of the rocks." 
 
 " Confound the fellow ! he's a walking apothegm — as 
 consequential as a syllogism 1" muttered Harry; "but 
 come now, Frank, let us have the inexpressive she, with- 
 out backing and filling any longer." 
 
 " Upon my word, Harry, it is out of my power ; but, in 
 
 a few weeks, I liope to " said Elliot. 
 
 " Hope, Frank, hope, my good fcUow, is a courtier very
 
 THE CONVIVIALISTS. 127 
 
 pleasant and agreeable in tds conversation, but very much 
 given to forget his promises. But I'll tell you, Frank, 
 siQce you won't give a toast, I will, because I know it wiU 
 punish you— so, gentlemen " 
 
 The toast was only suited for the meridian of the place 
 in which it was given, and we will, therefore, be excused 
 from repeating it. But Whitaker had judged rightly that 
 he had punished his friend, who, from the strictness of his 
 education, and a certain deHcacy in his opinions respecting 
 women, coxdd never tolerate the desecration of these 
 opinions by the libertine ribaldry which forms so great a 
 part of the conversation of many men after the first bottle. 
 Frank's brow darkened, his keen eye turned with a glance 
 of indignation to Harry ; and he was prevented only by 
 the circumstance of being in his own house, from instantly 
 kicking him out of the room. 
 
 " Look at Frank now, gentles," continued the young 
 sailor, Avhen the mirth had subsided; "his face is as long 
 as a ropewalk, while every one of yours is as broad as the 
 main hatchway. He has a reverence for women as great 
 as I have for my own tight, clean, sprightly craft ; but 
 because a fellow kicks one of my loose spars, or puts it to 
 a base use, I'm not to quarrel with him, as if he had called 
 my vessel a collier, eh ? Frank, my good fellow, you're 
 too sober; you're thinking too much of yourself; you're 
 looking at the world with convex glasses ; and thus the 
 world seems httle — you yourself only great ; but, recoUect, 
 everybody looks through a convex glass; and that's vanity, 
 Frank :— there, now! the murder's out." 
 
 "Nay, Harry," cried Ehimeson, goodnaturedly ; for he 
 saw Elliot's nether lip grow white with suppressed passion- 
 " don't push Frank too hard, for charity's sake." 
 
 " Charity, to be sure ! " interrupted Harry ; " but con- 
 sider what I must have suffered if I had not got that dead 
 weight pitched overboard. I was labouring in the trough,
 
 128 TALS3 OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 man, and Avould have foundered witli that spite in mj 
 hold. Charity begins at home." 
 
 " 'Tis a pity tliat the charity of many persons ends there 
 too," said Frank drily. 
 
 " Frank's wit is like the King of Prussia's regiment ot 
 death," said the young seaman — " it gives no quarter. 
 But come now, my lads, rig me out a female craft fit for 
 that snow-blooded youngster to go captain of in the voyage 
 of matrimony ; do it shipshape, and bear a hand. I Avould 
 try it myself; but the room looks, to my eyes, as it were 
 filled with dancing logarithms ; and then he's so cold, 
 alow, misty-hearted " 
 
 *' That if," cried Ilhimeson, interrupting him, " he ad- 
 dresses a lady as cold, slow, and misty-hearted as himself, 
 they may go on courting the whole course of their natural 
 lives, like the assymptotes of a h}^erbola, which approach 
 nearer and nearer, ad infinitum, Avithout the possibility of 
 ever moeling." 
 
 " Ila, ha, ha !— ay," shouted Harry ; " and if he ad- 
 dresses one of a sanguine temperament, there will be a 
 pretty considerable traflic of quarrels carried on between 
 them, typified and illustrated very well by the constant 
 commerce of heat which is maintained between the poles 
 and the equator, by the agency of opposite currents in the 
 atmosphere. By Jove I Frank, matrimony presents the 
 fire of two batteries at you ; one rakes you fore and aft, 
 and the other strikes between wind and water." 
 
 " And pray, Harry, what sort of a consort \\rill you sail 
 with yourself?" inquired Kliimcson. This was, perhaps, 
 .". question, of all others, that the young sailor would have 
 wiblied to avoid answering at that time. He was the 
 accepted lover of the sister of his friend Elliot — and, at 
 the moment he was running Frank down, to be, as he 
 himself might have said, brought up standing, was suffi- 
 ciently disagreeable.
 
 THE C0NVIVALIST3. 129 
 
 ** Come, come, Harry," cried the young poet, seeing the 
 sailor hesitate ; " let's have her from skysail-mast fid to 
 keel — from starboard to larboard stunsails — fr'om the tip 
 of the flying jib-boom to the taffrail." 
 
 "They're all fireships, Rhimeson !" replied Harry, with 
 forced gaiety — for he was indignant at Elliot's keen and 
 suspicious glance — " and, if I do come near them, it shall 
 always be to ^^dndward, for the Christian pui'pose of blow- 
 ing them out of the water." 
 
 " A libertine," said Frank, significantly, "reviles women 
 just in the same way that licentious priests lay the blame 
 of the disrespect with which parsons are treated on the 
 ii-religion of the laity." 
 
 "I don't understand either yoxir wit or your manner, 
 Frank," replied Harry, giving a lurch in his chair ; " but 
 this I know, that I don't care a handfid of .shakings for 
 either of them ; and I say still, that women are all fire- 
 ships — keep to "windward of them — pretty things to try 
 your young gunners at ; but, if you close with them, 
 you're gone, that's all." 
 
 " I'll tell you what you're very like, just now, Harry," 
 said Frank — who had been pouring down glass after glass 
 of wine, as if to quench his anger — "you're just like a 
 turkey cock after his head has been cut off, which will 
 keep stalking on in the same gait for several yards before 
 he drops." 
 
 "Elliot! do you mean to insiilt me?" cried Whitakcr, 
 springing furiously from his seat. 
 
 " I leave that to the decision of your own incomparable 
 judgment, sir," replied Elliot, bowing, with a sneer just 
 visible on his features. 
 
 "If I thought so, Frank, I would but it's impossible; 
 
 you are my oldest friend." And tho young sailor sat down 
 with a moody brow. 
 
 ""\Miat would you, sir?" said Elliot, in a tone of calm 
 
 Vol. II. B
 
 130 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 coutempt ; " bear it meekly, I presume ? Nay, do not look 
 big, and clench your hands, sir, unless, like Bob Acres, 
 you feel your valour oozing out at your palms, and are 
 striving to retain it!" 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Elliot," cried the young sailor, again 
 springing to his feet, and seizing a decanter of wine by the 
 neck, " I don't know what prevents me from driving this 
 at your head." 
 
 " It would be quite in keeping with the rest of your 
 gentlemanly conduct, sir," replied Frank, stUl keeping his 
 seat, and looking at Harry with the most cool and provok- 
 ing derision ; *' but I'll tell you why you don't — you dare 
 not!" 
 
 " But that you are Harriet Elliot's brother" ^began 
 
 Harry, furiously. 
 
 "Scoundrel!" thundered Elliot, rising suddenly, and 
 making a stride towards the young sailor, while the veins 
 of his brow protruded like lines of cordage ; " utter that 
 name again, before me, with these blasphemous hps" 
 
 Elliot had scarce, however, let foil the opprobrious 
 -Epithet, ere the decanter flew, with furious force, from 
 Whitaker's hand, and, narrowly missing Frank's head, wa« 
 fihivercd on the wall beyond. 
 
 In a moment the young sailor was in the nervous grasp 
 of Frank, who, apparently without the slightest exertion 
 ^f his vast strength, lifted up the comparatively slight form 
 of Whitaker, and laid him on his back on the floor. 
 
 " Be grateful, sir," said he, pressing the prostrate youth 
 firmly down with one hand; "be grateful to the laws of 
 liospitality, which, thougli you may think it a slight matter 
 to violate, prevent me from striking you in my own house, 
 or pitching you out of the window. Rise, sir, and begone." 
 
 Harry rose slowly ; and it was almost fearful to sec the 
 change which passion had wrought in a few moments on 
 his features. The red flush of drunken rage was entirely
 
 THE COKVIVIALISTS. 131 
 
 gone, and the livid cheek, the pale quivering lip, and col- 
 lected eye, which had usurped its place, showed that the 
 degradation he had just undergone had completely sobered 
 him, and given his passion a new but more malignant 
 character. He stood for a brief period in moody silence, 
 whilst the rest of the young men closed round him and 
 Frank, with the intention of reconciling them. At length 
 he moved away towards the door, pushing his friends rudely 
 aside ; but turning, before he left the room, he said, in a 
 voice trembling with suppressed emotion — 
 
 " I hope to meet Mr. Elliot where his mere brute strength 
 will be laid aside for more honourable and equitable wea- 
 pons." 
 
 " I shall be happy, at any place or time, to show my 
 sense of Mr. Wliitaker's late courtesy," replied Frank, bow- 
 ing slightly, and then drawing up his magnificent figure 
 to its utmost height. 
 
 " Let it be noii\ then, sir," said the young sailor, step- 
 ping back into the centre of the room, and pointing to a 
 brace of sharps, which, among foils and masks, hung on 
 one of the walls. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! — for God's sake, not now ! " burst from 
 every one except Frank. 
 
 " It can neither be now nor here, sir," replied he, firmly, 
 motioning Whitaker haughtily to the door. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Harry, turning round to his friends 
 with a loud laugh of derision, "you see that vanity is 
 stronger than valour. Pompey's troops were beaten at the 
 battle of Pharsalia, only because they were afraid of their 
 pretty faces. Upon my soul, I believe Mr. EUiot's hand- 
 some features stand in the way of his gallantry," 
 
 " Begone, trifler 1" cried Frank, relapsing into fury. 
 
 " Coward ! " shouted the young sailor at the top of his 
 Voice. 
 
 "Hal" exclaimed Elliot, starting, as if an adder had
 
 132 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 Stung him ; then, with a convulsive effort controlling his 
 rage, he took down the swords, threw one of them upon 
 the table, and putting his arm into Rhimeson's, beckoned 
 the young sailor to follow him, and left the apartment. 
 As it was in vain that the remainder of the young men 
 attempted to restrain Whitaker, they agreed to accompany 
 him in a body, in order, if possible, to prevent mischief; 
 all but the young advocate whom we have before men- 
 tioned, who, having too great a respect for the law to 
 patronise other methods of redressing grievances, ran off 
 to secure the assistance of the city authorities. 
 
 The moon, which had been wading among thick masses 
 of clouds, emerged into the clear blue sky, and scattered 
 her sUver showers of light on the rocks and green sides of 
 Arthur's Seat, as the young men reached a secluded part 
 in the valley at its foot. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " exclaimed the young poet to Frank, 
 as they turned to wait for Whitaker and his companions, 
 " how horrible it is to desecrate a scene and hour like this 
 by violence — perhaps, Elliot, by murder ! " Frank did not 
 reply ; his thoughts were at that time with his aged mother 
 and his now unprotected sister ; and he bitterly reflected 
 that to whoever of them, in the approaching contest, 
 wounds or death might fall, poor Harriet would have 
 equally to sulFcr. But the young sailor, still boiling with 
 rage, at that moment approached, and throwing his cloak 
 on a rock, cried, " Now, sir 1 " and placed himself in atti- 
 tude. 
 
 I'htir swords crossed, and, for a brief space, nothing Avas 
 heard but the hard breathing of the spectators and the 
 clashing of the steel, as the well-practised combatants 
 parried each other's thrusts. Elliot was, incomparably, the 
 cooler of the two, and he threw away many chances in 
 which his adversary placed himself open to a palpable hit, 
 his aim being to disarm his antagonist without wounding
 
 THE CONVIVIALISTS. 133 
 
 him. An uuforeseen accident prevented this. TMiitaker, 
 pressing furiously forward, struck his foot against a stone, 
 and faUing, received ElHot's sword in his body, the hilt, 
 striking with a deep, quick, sullen sound against his breast. 
 The young sailor fell with a sharp aspiration of anguish ; 
 snd his victorious adversary, horrified by the sight, and 
 rendered silent by the sudden revulsion of his feelings, 
 stood, for some time, gazing at his sword, from the point 
 of which the blood drops trickled slowly, and fell on the 
 dewy sward. " 'Tis the blood of my dearest, oldest friend 
 • — of my brother ; and shed by my hand ! " he muttered at 
 length, flinging away the gi-iilty blade. His only answer 
 was the groans of his victim, and the shrill whistle of the 
 weapon as it flew through the air. 
 
 " Harry, my friend, my brother !" cried the young man, 
 in a tone of unutterable anguish, kneeling down on the 
 grass, and pressing the already cold clammy hand of his 
 late foe." 
 
 " Your voice is pleasant to me, Frank, even in death," 
 muttered the young sailor, in a thick obstructed voice. 
 " I have done you wrong— forgive me while I can hear 
 you; and tell Harriet — oh !" 
 
 " I do, I do forgive you ; but, oh ! how shall I forgive 
 myself? Speak to me, Harry !" And Elliot, frantic at the 
 sight of the bloody motionless heap before him, repeated 
 the name of his friend till his voice rose into a scream of 
 agony that curdled the very blood of his friends, and 
 re-echoed among the rocks above, like the voices of tor- 
 tured demons. Affairs were in this situation when the 
 young advocate came running breathless up to them, and 
 saw, at a glance, that he was too late. " Fly, for Heaven's 
 sake ! fly, Elliot ; here is money ; you may need it," he 
 cried ; " the officers will be here instantly, and your exis- 
 tence may be the forfeit of this unhappy chance. Fly ! 
 every moment lost is a ?tab at your life !"
 
 134 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 " Be it so," replied the wretched young man, rising and 
 gazing -with folded arms down upon his victim ; " what 
 have I to do with life ? — he has ceased to live. I will not 
 leave him." 
 
 His friends joined in urging Elliot to instant flight ; but 
 he only pointed to the body, and said, in the low tones of 
 calm despair : " Do you think I can leave him now, and 
 thus? Let those fly who are in love with life; I shall 
 remain and meet my fate." 
 
 "Frank EUiot!" muttered the wounded man, reviving 
 from the fainting fit into which he had fallen ; " come near 
 to me, for I am very weak, and swear to grant the request 
 I have to make, as you woidd have my last moments free 
 from the bitterest agony." 
 
 Elliot flung himself on the ground by the side of his 
 friend, and, in a voice broken by anguish, swore to attend 
 to his words. " Then leave this spot immediately," said 
 the young sailor, speaking slowly and with extreme diffi- 
 culty ; " and should this be my last request— as I feel it 
 must be — get out of the country till the present unhappy 
 aflair is forgotten ; and moreover, mark, Frank — and, my 
 friends, attend to my words : — I entreat, I command you to 
 lay the entire blame of this quarrel and its consequences 
 on me. One of you will write to my poor father, and say 
 it was my last request that he should consider Elliot inno- 
 cent, and that I give my dying curse to any one who shall 
 attempt to revenge my death. Ah ! that was a pang ! How 
 dim your faces look in the moonlight ! Your hand, dearest 
 Frank, once more ; and now away ! Keep this, I charge 
 you, from my Harriet — mjj Harriet! God!" And, with 
 a shudder, tliat shook visibly his whole frame, the unfor- 
 tunate youth relapsed into insensibility. There Avas a 
 brief pause, during which the feelings of the spectators 
 may be better imagined tlian described, though, assuredly, 
 admiration of the generous anxiety of the young sailor to
 
 THE CONVIVIALISTS. 135 
 
 do justice to his friend was the prevailing sentiment of 
 their minds. At length the stifled soimd of voices, and 
 the dimly seen forms of two or three men stealing towards 
 them, within the shadow of the moimtain, ronsed them 
 from their reverie ; and Ehimeson, who had not till now 
 spoken, entreated Elliot to obey the dying request of his 
 friend, and fly before the police reached them. " I have 
 not before urged you to this," he said, " lest you should 
 think it was from a selfish motive ; for, as your second, I 
 am equally implicated Avith jow in this unhappy affair ; but 
 now,'" continued he, with melancholy emphasis, "there 
 is nothing to be gained and everything to be hazarded by 
 remaining." 
 
 The generous argument of the poet at length overcame 
 Elhot's resolution ; he bent do"\vn quickly and kissed the 
 cold lips of his friend, then waving a ailent adieu to the 
 others, he quitted the melancholy scene. The poHce — for 
 it proved to be they — Avere within a hundred yards of the 
 spot when the young men left the rest of the group, and, 
 instantly emerging from the shadow which had till now 
 partially concealed them, the leader of the party directed 
 one of his attendants to remain with the body, and set off, 
 with two or three others, in pursuit of the fugitives. 
 
 " Follow me," cried Rhimeson, when he saw this move- 
 ment of the pursuers ; and springing as he spoke towards 
 the entrance of a narrow defile which lay entirely in the 
 shadow of the mountain. A deep convidsive sob burst 
 from the pent-up bosom of ElUot ere he replied : " Leave 
 me to my fate, my friend ; I cannot fly ; the weight of his 
 blood crushes me ! " 
 
 " This is childish, unjust," said Rhimeson, with strong 
 emotion ; " but once more, Frank, will you control this 
 weakness and follow me, or will you slight the last -ttdsh of 
 one friend, and sacrifice another, by remaining ? for with- 
 out you I will not stir. Now, choose."
 
 136 TALES OF THE BOUDERS. 
 
 " Lead on," said Elliot, rousing himself with a convul- 
 sive effort ; and, striking into the gloom, the two young men 
 sped forward with a step as fleet as that of the hunted deer. 
 
 Their pursuers having seen them stand, had slackened 
 theu' pace, or it is probable the fugitives would have been 
 captured before Rhimeson had prevailed on his friend to 
 fly; but now, separating so as to intercept them if they 
 deviated from the direct path, the poHcemen raised a loud 
 shout and instantly gave chase. But the young poet, in his 
 sohtai'y rambles amid the noble scenery of Arthur's Seat 
 and the adjoining valleys, had become intimately acquainted 
 with every path which led" through their romantic re- 
 cesses ; and he now sped along the broken footway which 
 skirted the mountain-side with as much confidence as if 
 he had trod on a level sward in the light of noonday. 
 Elliot, having his mind diverted by the necessity of look- 
 ing to his immediate preservation — for the path, strewed 
 with fragments of rock, led along what might well be 
 termed a precipice, of two or three hundred feet in height 
 — roused up all his energies, and followed his friend with 
 a speed which speedily left their pursuers far behind. Thus 
 they held on for about a quarter of an ho\xr, gradually 
 and obliquely ascending the mountain side, until the voices 
 of the policemen, calling to each other far dovra in the 
 valley, proved that they had escaped the immediate danger 
 which had threatened them. Still, however, Rhimeson 
 kept on, though he relaxed his pace in order to hold some 
 communication with his companion. 
 
 " We have distanced the bloodhounds for the nonce, 
 Frank," he said ; " these ale-swilling rascals cannot set a 
 stout heart to a stey brae ; but whither shall we go now ? 
 Edinburgh, perliaps Scotland, is too hot to hold us, and 
 the i)oint is how to get out of it. What do you advise ?" 
 
 "I am utterly careless about it, Rhimeson; do as you 
 think best," replied Elliot, in a tone of deep despondency.
 
 THE CONVIVIALTSTS. 137 
 
 " Cheer up, clieer up ! my dear Frank," said the young 
 poet, feigning a confidence of hope which his heart belied. 
 " Whitaker may still recover ; he is too gallant a fellow 
 to be lost to us in a drunken brawl ; and even if the worst 
 should happen, it must still keep you from despair to 
 reflect that you were forced into this rencontre, and that it 
 was an unliappy accident, resulting from his own violence 
 and not your intention, which deprived him of his life." 
 Elliot stopped suddenly, and gazing dovm from the height 
 which they had now reached into the valley, seemed to be 
 searching for the spot where the fatal accident had taken 
 place, as if to assist him in the train of thought which his 
 friend's words had aroused. The dark group of human 
 beings were seen dimly in the moonhght, moving with a 
 slow pace along the hollow of the gorge towards the city, 
 bearing along ^^'ith them the body of the young sailor. 
 
 " Dear, dear Frank," said Rhimeson, deeply commiserat- 
 ing the anguish which developed itself in the clasped up- 
 lifted hands and shuddering frame of his imhappy friend, 
 " bear up against this cruel accident like a man — he may 
 still recover." Elliot moved away from the ridge which 
 overlooked the valley, muttering, as if unconsciously — 
 
 " 'Action is momentary — 
 The motion of a muscle this way or that ; 
 SufTcring is long, obscure, and infinite!'* 
 
 How profound and awful is that sentiment ! " 
 
 The sound of a piece of rock dislodged from the moun- 
 tain side, and thundering and crashing down the steep, 
 awakened Khimeson from his contemplation of Elliot's 
 grief; and, springing again to the brink of the almost pre- 
 cipitous descent, he saw that one of their pursuers had 
 trept up by the inequalities of the rock, and was within 
 (^ few yards of the summit. 
 
 » Wordsworth.
 
 138 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Dog!" cried the young man, heaving off a fragment of 
 rock, and in the act of dashing it do-^vTi upon the unpro- 
 tected head of the policeman, "offer to stir, and I will 
 scatter your brains upon the cliffs!" 
 
 A shrill cry of terror burst from the poor fellow's lips as 
 he gazed upwards at the frightful attitude of his enemy, 
 and expected every moment to see the dreadful engine 
 hurled at his head. The cry was answered by the shouts 
 of his companions, who, by different paths, had arrived 
 within a short distance of the fugitives. 
 
 " Retire miscreant ! or I will send your mangled carcass 
 down to the foot without your help," shouted Rhimeson, 
 swinging the huge stone up to the extent of his arms. His 
 answer was a pistol shot, which, whistling past his cheek, 
 struck the uplifted fragment of rock with such force as to 
 send a stunning feeling up to his very shoulders. The 
 stone fell Irom his benumbed grasp, and, strilcing the edge 
 of the cliff, bounded innocuous over the head of the 
 policeman, Avho, springing upwards, was within a few feet 
 of Rhimeson before he had fully recovered himself 
 " Away 1" he cried, taking again the path up the mountain, 
 and closely followed by Elliot, who, during the few 
 moments in which the foregoing scene was being enacted, 
 had remained almost motionless — "Away! give them a 
 flying shot at least," continued he, feeling all the romance 
 of his nature aroused by the circumstances in which he 
 was placed. The policeman, however, who had only fired 
 in self-defence, refrained from using his other pistol, now 
 that the danger was past; but grasping it firmly in his 
 hand, he followed the steps of the young men with a speed 
 stimulated by the desire of revenge, and a kind of pro- 
 fessional eagerness to capture so daring an offender. But, 
 in spite of his exertions, the superior agility of the fugitives 
 gradually widened the distance between them ; and at 
 length, as they emerged from the rocky ground upon the
 
 THE C0NVIVIALIST3. 339 
 
 smooth short grass, where a footfall could not be heard, 
 the moon became again obscured by dark clouds, and 
 Ehimeson, -whispering his companion to observe his 
 motions, turned short oiF the path they had been foUowmg, 
 and struck eastward among the green hUls towards the 
 sea. They could hear the curse of the policeman, and the 
 click of his pistol lock, as if he had intended to send a 
 leaden messenger into the darkness in search of them. 
 But the expected report did not foUow ; and, favoured by 
 the continued obscurity of the night, they were, in a short 
 time, descending the hill beliind Duddingstone, which lies 
 at the opposite extremity of the King's Park. Still con- 
 tinuing their route eastward, they walked forward at a 
 rapid pace, consulting on their future movements. The 
 sound of wheels rapidly approaching, interrupted their 
 conversation. It was the south maU. 
 
 In a short time they Avere fl^iug through the country 
 towards Newcastle, at the rate of ten miles an hour, 
 including stoppages. Elliot was at the river side, search- 
 ing for a vessel to convey them to some part of the con- 
 tinent, and Ehimeson was dozing over a newspaper in the 
 Turk's Head in that town, when a policeman entered, and, 
 mistaking him for Elliot, took him into custody. How 
 their route had been discovered, Ehimeson knew not ; but 
 he was possessed of sufficient presence of mind to personate 
 his friend, and offer to accompany the police officer in- 
 stantly back to Edinburgh, leaving a letter and a con- 
 siderable sum of money for Elliot. In a few minutes, the 
 generous feUow leaped into the post-chaise, with a lieart 
 as light as many a bridegroom when flying on the wings 
 of love and behind the tails of four broken-Avinded hacks 
 to some Avilderness, where " transport and security en- 
 twine" — the anticipated scene of a delicious honey-moon. 
 Elliot, while in search of a vessel, had fallen in Avith a 
 young man Avhom he liad knoAvn as a medical student at
 
 140 TALES OF THE BOllDERS. 
 
 Edinburgh, and who was now about to go as surgeon of a 
 Greenland vessel, in order to earn, during the summer, 
 the necessary sum for defraying his college expenses. He 
 accompanied Elliot to his inn, and heard, dm-ing the way, 
 the story of his misfortunes. It is unnecessary to describe 
 Frank's surprise and grief at the capture of his friend, 
 Iihimeson. At lirst, he determined instantly to return and 
 relieve him from durance. But, influenced by the en- 
 treaties contained in Rhimeson's note, and by the argu- 
 ments of the young Northumbrian, he at length changed 
 this resolution, and determined on accepting the situation 
 of surgeon in the whaling vessel for which his present 
 companion had been about to depart. Frank presented 
 the Northumbrian with a sum more than equal to the 
 expected profits of the voyage, and received his thanks in 
 tones wherein the natural roughness of his accent was 
 increased to a fearful degree by the strength of his emotion. 
 All things being arranged, Frank shook his acquaintance 
 by the hand, and remarked that it would be well for him 
 to keep out of the way for a while. So bidding the man 
 of harsh aspirations adieu, he made his way to the coach, 
 and, in twenty-four hours, was embarked in the Labrador, 
 with a stiff westerly breeze ready to carry him away from 
 all that he loved and dreaded. 
 
 Let the reader imagine that six months have passed over 
 — and let him imagine, also, if he can, the anguish which 
 the mother and sister of Elliot suflered on account of his 
 mysterious disappearance. It was now September. The 
 broad harvest moon was shining full upon the bosom of 
 Teviot, and glittering upon the rustling leaves of the woods 
 that overliang her banks, and pouring a flood of more 
 golden light u])on the already golden grain that waved — 
 ripe for the sickle— along the margin of the lovely stream , 
 the stars, few in number, but most brilliant, hud taken 
 their places in the sky ; the owl was whooping from the
 
 THE C0NVIVIALIST3. 141 
 
 ivied tower ; the corn-craik was calling drowsily ; now and 
 then the distant baying of a watch-dog startled the sUence, 
 otherwise undisturbed, save by the plaintive murmuring 
 of the stream, which, as it flowed past, uttered such 
 querulous sounds, that, as some one has happily expressed 
 it, " one was almost tempted to ask what ailed it." A 
 traveller was moving slowly up the side of the river, and 
 ever and anon stopping, as if to muse over some particular 
 object. It was Elliot. He had returned from Greenland, 
 and, in disguise, had come to the place of his birth — to the 
 dwelling of his mother and his sister ; he had heard that 
 his mother was ill — that anxiety, on his account, had 
 reduced her almost to the grave — and that she was now 
 but slowly recovering. He had been able to acquire no 
 information respecting "V\^iitaker ; and the weight of his 
 friend's blood lay yet heavy on his soul, for he considered 
 himself as his murderer. It was with feelings of the most 
 miserable anxiety that he approached the place of his 
 bb th. The stately beeches that lined the avenue which 
 led to his mother's door were in sight ; they stooped and 
 raised their stately branches, Avith all the gorgeous drapery 
 of leaves, as if they welcomed him back ; the very river 
 seemed to utter, in accents familiar to him, that he was 
 now near the hall of his fathers. Oh ! how is the home of 
 our youth enshrined in our most sacred affections ! by 
 what multitudinous fibres is it entwined with our heart- 
 strings! — it is part of our being — its influences remain with 
 us for ever, though years spent in foreign lands divide us 
 from " our early home that cradled life and love." Elliot 
 was framed to feel keenly these sacred influences — and 
 often, even after brief absences from home, he had expe- 
 rienced them in deep intensity ; but now the throb of 
 exultation was kept do'\\Ti by the crushing weight of re- 
 morse, and the gush of tenderness checked by bitter fears. 
 He entered the avenue which led up to the house. Yonder
 
 142 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 were the windows of his motlier's chamber — there was a 
 light in it. He would have given worlds to have seen 
 before him the interior. As he quickened his pace, he 
 heard the sound of voices in the avenue. He turned aside 
 out of the principal walk ; and, standing under the branches 
 of a venerable beech, which swept down almost to the 
 ground, and fully concealed him, he waited the approach 
 of the speakers, in hopes of hearing some intelligence 
 respecting his family. Through the screen of the leaves 
 he presently saw that it was a pair of lovers, for their arms 
 were locked around each other, and their cheeks were 
 pressed together as they came down the avenue — treading 
 as slowly as though they were attempting to show how 
 much of rest there might be in motion. 
 
 "To-morrow, then, my sweet Harriet," said the young 
 man, " I leave you ; and though it is torture to me to be 
 away from your side, yet I have resolved never again to 
 see you until I have made the most perfect search for your 
 brother ; until I can win a dearer embrace than any I have 
 yet received, by placing him before you." 
 
 " Would to heaven it may be so 1" replied the young 
 lady ; " but my mother — how will I be able to support her 
 when you are gone, dearest Henry? She is kept up only 
 by the happy strains of hope which your very voice creates. 
 How shall I, myself unsupported, ever keep her from 
 despondency ? Oh ! she will sink — she will die 1 Remain 
 with us, Henry ; and let us trust to pi'ovidence to restore 
 my brother to us — if he be yet alive !" 
 
 " Ask it not, my beloved Harriet, I beseech you," said 
 the young man, " lest I be unable to deny you. If your 
 brother, as is likely, has sought some foreign land, and 
 remains in ignorance of my recovery from the wounds I 
 received from him, how shall I answer to myself— how 
 shall I even dare to ask for this fair hand — how shall I 
 ever hope to rest upon your bosom in peace — if I do not
 
 THE CON\^VIALISTS. . 143 
 
 use every possible means to discover him? my dear 
 Elliot — friend of my youth — if thou couldest translate the 
 language of my heart, as it beats at this moment — if thou 
 couldest hear my sacred resolve!" — 
 
 "Whitaker, my friend I Harriet, my beloved sister!" 
 cried Elliot, bursting out from beneath the overspreading 
 beech, and snatching his sister in his arms — " I am here — 
 I see all — I understand the whole of the events — how much 
 too graciously brought about for me, Father of mercies ! I 
 acknowledge. Let us now go to my mother." 
 
 It is in scenes such as this that we find how weak words 
 are to describe the feelings of the actors — the rapid transi- 
 tion of events — the passions that chase one another over 
 the minds and hearts of those concerned, like waves in a 
 tempest. Nor is it necessary. The reader who can feel 
 and comprehend such situations as those in which the 
 actors in our httle tale are placed, are able to draw, from 
 their own hearts and imaginations, much fitter and more 
 rapidly sketched portraitures of the passions which are 
 awakened, the feelings that develop themselves in such situa- 
 tions and with such persons, than can be painted in words. 
 
 The harvest moon was gone, and another young moon 
 was in the skies, when "\^Tiitaker, and the same young lady 
 of whom we before spoke, irode down the avenue, locked 
 in each other's arms, and -with cheek pressed to cheek. 
 They talked of a thousand things most interesting to per- 
 sons in their situation — for they were to be married on the 
 morrow— but, perhaps, not so interesting to our readers, 
 many of whom may have performed in the same scenes. 
 
 Elliot's mother was recovered; and he himself was 
 happy, or, at least, he put on all the trappings of happi- 
 ness ; for, in a huge deer-skin Esqmmaux dress, which he 
 had brought from Greenland, he danced at his sister's 
 wedding until the great bear had set in the sea, and the 
 autumn sun began to peer through the shutters of the 
 drawing-room of his ancient hall.
 
 144 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 PHILIPS GREY. 
 
 " Death takes a thousand shapes i 
 Borne on the wings of sullen slow disease, 
 Or hovering o'er the field of bloody fight, 
 In calm, in tempest, in the dead of night, 
 Or in the lightning of the summer moon ; 
 In all how terrible !" 
 
 Among the many scenes of savage sublimity which the 
 lowhinds of Scotland display, there is none more impres- 
 sive in its solitary grandeur, than that in the neighbour- 
 hood of Loch Skene, on the borders of MolFatdale. At a 
 considerable elevation above the sea, and surrounded by 
 the loftiest mountains in the south of Scotland, the loch 
 has collected its dark mass of Avaters, astonishing the lovers 
 of nature by its great height above the valley which he 
 has just ascended, and, by its still and terrible beauty, over- 
 powering his mind with sentiments ol" melancholy and awe. 
 Down the cliffs which girdle in the shores of the loch, and 
 seem to support the lofty piles of mountains above them, 
 a hundred mountain torrents leap from rock to rock, flash- 
 ing and roaring, imtil they reach the dark reservoir be- 
 neath. A canopy of grey mist almost continually shrouds 
 from the sight the summits of the hills, leaving the im- 
 agination to guess at those immense heights which seem 
 to pierce the very clouds of heaven. Occasionally, how- 
 ever, this veil is withdrawn, and then you may see the 
 sovereign brow of Palmoodie encircled with liis diadem of 
 snow, and the green summits of many less lofty hills 
 arranged round him, like corn-tiers uncovered before their 
 monarch. Amid this scene, consecrated to solitude and 
 the most sombre melancholy, no soimd comes upon the 
 !y\ountain breeze, save the wail of the plover, or the whir
 
 PillJ.ll'S GUtV. 145 
 
 of the heathcock's wing, or, haply, the siillen plunge of a 
 trout leaping up in the loch. 
 
 At times, indeed, the solitary wanderer may be startled 
 by the scream of the grey eagle, as dropping with the 
 rapidity of light from his sohtary cliff, he shoots past, en- 
 raged that his retreat is polluted by the presence of man, 
 and then darts aloft into the loftiest chambers of the sky ; 
 or, dallying with the piercing sunbeams, is lost amid their 
 glory.* At the eastern extremity of the loch, the super- 
 fluous waters are discharged by a stream of no great size, 
 but which, after heavy showers, pours along its deep and 
 turbid torrent A\T.th frightful impetuosity. 
 
 After running along the mountain for about half a mile, 
 it suddenly precipitates itself over the edge of a rocky ridge 
 which traverses its course, and, falling sheer doAvn a height 
 of three himdred feet, leaps and bounds over some smaller 
 precipices, until, at length, far down in INIoffatdale, it 
 entirely changes its character, and pursues a calm and 
 peaceful course through a fine pastoral country. Standing 
 
 * Round about the shores of Loch Skene the Ettrick Shepherd herded the 
 flocks of his master, and fed his boyish fancies witli the romance and beauty 
 ■which breathes from every feature of the scone. One day, v lieu we were at Loch 
 Skene on a fishing excursion witli him, he pointed up to the black crag over- 
 hanging the water, and said—" Vou see tlie edge o' that cliff; I ance as near 
 dropped frae it intil eternity as 1 dinna caie to think o'. I was herdin' aboot 
 here, and lang and lang I thoclit o' P]icclin' up to the eyry, frae wlixh I could 
 hear the young eagles screamin' as plain as my ain bonny JIary Gray (his 
 youngest daughter) when she's no phased wi' tlic colk-y ; but the fear o' the 
 auld anes aye keepit me frae the attempt. At last, ae day, when I was at the 
 head o' the cliff, and the auld eagle away frae the nest, I took heart o' grace, and 
 clambered down (for there was nae gettin' up). Weel, sir, I was at the maist 
 kittle bit o' the craig, wi' my foot on a bit ledge jnst wide enough to bear me, 
 and sair bothered wi' my plaid and stick, when, guid safs! I heard the boom o' 
 the auld eagle's wings come whaff, whatliug through the air, and in a moment o' 
 time she brought me sic a whang wi' her wing, iis she rushed enra^'cd by, and 
 then turning short again and fetching me auitlier, I thought I was gane for 
 ever; but providence gave me presence o' mind to regain my former resting- 
 place, and there flinging off my plaid, I keepit aye nobbing the bird wi' my stick 
 till I was out o' danger. It was a fearsome time!' It would have been dread- 
 ful had the pleasure which "Kilmeuy," "Queen Ilynde," and the hundred other 
 beautiful creations which the glorious old bard has given us, been all thus 
 destroyed " at one fell swoop." 
 
 E 2
 
 146 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 on the \)row of a mountain which overlooks the fall, the 
 eye takes in at once the Avhole of the course which we 
 have described ; and, to a poetical mind, which recognises 
 in mountain scenery the cradle of Hberty and the favourite 
 dwelling-place of imagination, the character of the stream 
 seems a t}^e of the human mind : stormy, bounding, and 
 impetuous, when wrapped up in the glorious feelings 
 which belong to romantic countries ; peaceful, dull, and 
 monotonous, amid the less interesting lowlands. Yet, 
 after indulging in such a fancy for a time, another reflec- 
 tion arises, which, if it be less pleasing and poetical, is, 
 perhaps, more useful — that the impetuous course of the 
 mountain torrent, though gratifying to the lover of nature, 
 is imaccompanied with any other benefit to man, while the 
 stream that pursues its unpretending path through the 
 plains, bestows fertility on a thousand fields. Such 
 thoughts as these, however, only arise in the mind when 
 it has become somewhat familiar with the surrounding 
 scenes. The roar of the cataract, the savage appearance 
 of the dark rocks that border the falling waters, and that 
 painful feeling which the sweeping and inevitable course 
 of the stream produces, at first paralyze the mind, and, for 
 some time after it has recovered its tone, occupy it to the 
 exclusion of every other sentiment. 
 
 And now, gentle readei", lot us walk toward the simple 
 stone seat, which some shepherd boy has erected under yon 
 silvery-stemmed birch tree, where the sound of the water- 
 fall comes only in a pleasant monotone, and where the 
 most romantic part of old Scotland is spread beneath our 
 feet. There you see the eternal foam of the torrent, with- 
 out being distracted with its roar ; and you can trace the 
 course of the stream till it terminates in yon clear and 
 jjcllucid pool at the foot of the hill, which seems too pure 
 for aught but — 
 
 " A mirror anil a bath for beauty'" youngest daughters;"
 
 PHILIPS GRET. 147 
 
 yet, beautiful in its purity as it seems, it is indeed the 
 scene of the following true and terrible tale : — 
 
 Phihps Grey was one of the most active young shepherds 
 in the parish of Traquair. For two or three years he had 
 carried off the medal given at the St. Eonan's border 
 games to him who made the best high leap ; and, at the 
 last meeting of the games, he had been first at the running 
 hop-step-and-jump ; had beat all competitors in running • 
 and, though but slightly formed, had gained the second 
 prize for throwing the hammer — a favourite old Scottish 
 exercise, but almost unknown in England. Athletic sports 
 were, indeed, his favourite pursuit, and he cultivated them 
 with an ardour which very few of our readers Avill be able 
 to imagine. But among the shepherds, and, indeed, all 
 inhabitants of pastoral districts, he who excels in these 
 sports possesses a superiority over his contemporaries, 
 which cannot but be gratifying in the highest degree to 
 its possessor. His name is kno"\vn far and wide ; his 
 friendship is courted by the men ; and his hand, either as 
 a partner in a country dance, or in a longer " minuet of 
 the heart," marriage, is coquetted for by the maidens : 
 he, in fact, possesses all the power which superiority ot 
 intellect bestows in more poptdous and polished societies. 
 But it is by no means the case, as is often said, that ardour 
 in the pursuit of violent sports is connected with ignorance 
 or mediocrity of intellect. On the contrary, by flir the 
 greater number of victors at games of agility and strength, 
 will be found to possess a degree of mental energy, which is 
 in fact, the power that impels them to corporeal excitement 
 and is often the secret of their success over more muscular 
 antagonists. Philips Grey, in particular, was a striking 
 instance of this fact. Notwithstanding his passion for 
 athletic sports, he had found time, Avhile on the hill-side 
 tending his flock, or in the long winter nights, to make 
 himself well acquainted with the Latin classics. This is
 
 148 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 by no means uncommon among the Scottish peasantry. 
 Smith, and Black, and Murray, are not singular instances 
 of self-taught scholars ; for there is scarce a valley in 
 Scotland in which you will not hear of one or more young 
 men of this stamp. Philips also played exquisitely on the 
 violin, and had that true taste for the simple Scottish 
 melody which can, perhaps, be nowhere cultivated so well 
 as among the mountains and streams which have frequently 
 inspired them. Many a time, when you ask the name of 
 the author of some sweet ballad which the country girl is 
 breathing amongst these hills, the tear will start into her 
 eye as she answers — " Poor Philips Grey, that met a 
 dreadful death at the Grey Mare's Tail." With these 
 admirable qualities. Philips unfortunately possessed a 
 mood of mind which is often an attendant on genius — he 
 was subject to attacks of the deepest melancholy. Gay, 
 cheerful, humorous, active, and violent in his sports as he 
 was, there were periods when the darkest gloom over- 
 shadowed his mind, and when his friends even trembled 
 for his reason. It is said that he frequently stated his 
 belief that he should die a dreadful death. Alas ! that 
 this strange presentiment shovild have indeed been pro- 
 phetic ! It is not surprising that Philips Grey, with his 
 accomplishments, should have won the heart of a maiden 
 somewhat above his own degree, and even gained the 
 consent of her father to his early marriage. The old man 
 dwelt in MofTatdale; and the night before Philips' wedding- 
 day, he and his younger brother walked over to his in- 
 tended father-in-law's house, in order to be nearer the church. 
 That night the young shepherd was in his gayest humour; 
 his bonny bride was by his side, and looking more beautiful 
 tlian ever ; he sang his finest songs, played his favourite 
 tunes, and completely bewitched his companions. All on 
 a sudden, while he was relating some extraordinary feat of 
 strength which had been performed by one of his acquaint-
 
 PHILIPS GRET. 149 
 
 ances, lie stopped in the middle of the stoiy, and exchanged 
 the animation with which he was speaking for sUence and 
 a look of the deepest despair. His Mends were horror- 
 struck ; but as he insisted that nothing was the matter 
 with him, and as his younger brother said that he had not 
 been in bed for two nights, the old man dismissed the 
 family, saying — " Gang awa to bed, Phihps, my man, and 
 get a sound sleep ; or if you do lie wauken a wee bittie, 
 it's nae great matter : odd ! it's the last nicht my bonny 
 Marion '11 keep ye lying wauken for her sake. Will't no, 
 my bonnie doo ? " 
 
 "Deed, faither, I dinna ken," quoth Marion, simply, 
 yet archly ; and the party separated. 
 
 Philips, however, walked down the burn side, in order 
 to try if the cool air would dissipate his unaccountable 
 anxiety. But, in spite of his efforts, a presentiment of 
 some fatal event gathered strength in his mind, and he 
 involuntarily found himself revolving the occurrences of 
 his past life. Here he found little to condemn, for he had 
 never received an unkind word from his father, who was 
 now in the grave ; and his mother was wearing out a 
 green and comfortable old age beneath his ovm. roof He 
 had brought up his younger brothers, and they Avere now 
 in a fair way to succeed in life. He could not help feeling 
 satisfied at this, yet why peculiarly at this time he knew 
 not. Then came the thought of his lovely Marion, and 
 the very agony which at once rushed on his heart had 
 well nigh choked him. Immediately, however, the fear 
 which had hung about him seemed to vanish ; for, strange 
 and mysterious as it was, it was not siifliciently powerful 
 to withstand the force of that other horrible imaoiination. 
 So he returned to the house, and was surprised to find 
 himself considering how his little property should be dis- 
 tributed after his death. "When he reached the door, he 
 stopped for a moment, overcome with this pertinacity in
 
 150 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 the supernatural influence -which seemed exercised over 
 him ; and at length, with gloomy resolution, entered the 
 house. His brother was asleep, and a candle was burning 
 on the table. He sank down into a chair, and went on 
 with his httle calculations respecting his will. At length, 
 having decided upon aU these things, and having fixed 
 upon the churchyard of St. Mary's for his burial place, he 
 aros^ from his chair, took up the candle and crossed the 
 room towards his brother, intending to convey his wishes 
 to him. 
 
 The boy lay on the front side of one of those beds with 
 shding doors, so common in Scotland; and beyond him 
 there was room for Philips to lie down. Something bright 
 seemed gleaming in the dark recess of the bed. He ad- 
 vanced the candle, and beheld — oh, sight of horror ! — a 
 plate upon what bore the shape of a coffin, bearing the 
 words — "Philips Grey, aged 23." For a moment he 
 gazed steadily upon it, and was about to stretch out his 
 hand towards it, when the lid slowly rose, and he beheld 
 a mutilated and bloody corpse, the features of which were 
 utterly undistingvushable, but which, by some unearthly 
 impulse, he instantly knew to be his own. Still he kept 
 a cidm and unmoved gaze at it, though the big di'ops of 
 sweat stood on his brow with the agony of his feelings ; 
 and, while he was thus contemplating the dreadful reve- 
 lation, it gradually faded away, and at length totally 
 vanished. The power which had upheld him seemed to 
 depart along with the phantom ; liis sight failed him, and 
 he fell on the floor. 
 
 Presently he recovered, and found himself in bed, with 
 his brother by his side chafing his temples. He explained 
 everything that had occurred, seemed calm and collected, 
 shook his head when his brother attempted to explain away 
 the vision, and finally sank into a tranquil sleep. 
 
 Whether the horrible resemblance of his own coffin and
 
 PHILIPS GREY. 151 
 
 mutilated corpse was in reality revealed to liim by the 
 agency of some supernatural power, or whether it was (as 
 sceptics will say) the natural effect of his hypochondriac 
 state of mind, producing an optical deception, we will not 
 take upon us to determine ; certain, however, it is, that 
 with a calm voice and collected manner he described to 
 his brother James, a scene the dreadful reaKty of which 
 was soon to be displayed. 
 
 In the morning Philips awoke, cheerful and calm, the 
 memory of last night's occurrences seeming but a dreadftd 
 dream. On the grass before the door he met his beloved 
 Marion, who, on that blessed Sabbath, was to become his 
 wife. The sight of her perfect loveliness, arrayed in a 
 white dress, emblem of purity and innocence, filled his 
 heart with rapture; and as he clasped her in his arms, 
 every sombre feeling vanished away. It is not our intention 
 to describe the simplicity of the marriage ceremony, or the 
 happiness Avliich filled Philips Grey's heart during that 
 Sabbath morning, while sitting in the church by the side 
 of his lovely bride. 
 
 They returned home, and, in the afternoon, the young 
 couple, together with James Grey and the bride's-maid, 
 walked out among the glades of Craigieburn wood, a spot 
 rendered classic by the immortal Burns, Philips had 
 gathered some of the wild flowers that sprang amon"- their 
 feet— the pale primrose, the fair anemone, and the di-oop- 
 ing blue bells of Scotland— and wove them into a garland. 
 As he was placing them on Marion's brow, and shading 
 back the long flaxen tresses that hung across her cheek, 
 he said, gaily — "There wants but a broad water lily to 
 place in the centre of thy forehead, my sweet Marion ; for 
 where should the fairest flower of the valley be, but on the 
 brow of its queen ? Come with me, Jumie, and in half an 
 hour we \vill bring the fairest that floats on Loch Skene." 
 So, kissing the cheek of his bride, Phihps and hi/^ brother
 
 152 TALES OF THE BORDEllS. 
 
 set off lip tlie hill with the speed of the motintain deer. 
 They arrived at the foot of the waterfall, panting, and 
 excited with their exertions. By chmbing up the rocks 
 close to the stream, the distance to the loch is considerably 
 shortened ; and Philips, who had often clambered to the 
 top of the Bitch Craig, a high cliff on the INIanor 
 Water, proposed to his brother that they should " speel 
 the height." The other, a supple agile lad, instantly con- 
 sented. " Gie me your plaid then, Jamie, my man — it 
 Avill maybe fash ye," said Philips ; " and gang ye first, and 
 keep wed to the hill side." Accordingly the boy gave his 
 brother the plaid and began the ascent. "Wliile Philips 
 was knotting his brother's plaid round his body above his 
 own, a fox peeped out of his hole half way up the cliff, 
 and thinking flight advisable, dropped down the precipice. 
 Laughing till the very echoes rang. Philips folloAved his 
 brother. Confident in his agility, he ascended with a firm 
 step till he was within a few yards of the simimit. James 
 was now on the top of the precipice, and looking down on 
 his brother, and not knowing the cause of his mirth, ex- 
 claimed — "Daursay, callant, ye're fey."* In a moment 
 the memory of his last night's vision rushed on Philips 
 Grey's mind, his eyes became dim, his limbs powerless, he 
 dropped off the very edge of the giddy precipice, and his 
 form was lost in the black gulf below. For a few minutes, 
 James felt a sickness of heart which rendered him almost 
 insensible, and sank down on the grass lest he should fall 
 over the cliff. At length, gathering strength from very 
 terror, he advanced to the edge of the cataract and gazed 
 downwards. There, about two-thirds down the fall, he 
 could perceive the remains of his brother, mangled and 
 mutilated; the body being firmly wedged between two 
 projecting points of rock, whereon the descending water 
 
 • " Fey," a Scottish word, expressive of that unaccountable and violent mirtb 
 which is supposed frequently to portend sudden death.— En.
 
 PHILIPS GREY, 153 
 
 streamed, while the bleeding head hung dangling, and 
 almost separated from the body — and, turned upwards, 
 discovered to the horrified boy the starting eye-balls 
 of his brother, already fixed in death, and the teeth 
 clenched in the bitter agony which had tortured his pass- 
 ing spirit. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to detail the consequences of 
 this cruel accident. Assistance was procured, and the 
 mangled body conveyed to the house of Marion's father, 
 whence, a few short hours ago, the young shepherd had 
 issued in vigour and happiness. "Wlien the widowed bride 
 saw James Grey return to them with horror painted on 
 his features, she seemed instantly to divine the fuU extent 
 of her misfortune ; she sank down on the grass, with the 
 unfinished garland of her dead lover in her hand, and in 
 this state was carried home. For two days she passed 
 from one fit to another ; but on the night of the second 
 day she sank into a deep sleep. That night, James Grey 
 was watching the corpse of his brother ; the coffin was 
 placed on the very bed where they had slept two nights 
 ago. The plate gleamed from the shadowy recess, and the 
 words — "Philips Grey, aged '23," were distinctly visible. 
 While James Avas reflecting on the prophetic vision of his 
 brother, a figure, arrayed in white garments, entered the 
 room and moved towards the dead body. It was poor 
 Marion. 
 
 She slowly lifted the lid of the coffin, and gazed long 
 and intently on the features of her dead liusband. Then, 
 turning roiuid to James, she uttered a short shrill shriek, 
 and fell backwards on the corpse. She hovered between 
 life and death for a few days, and at length expired. She 
 now lies by the side of her lover, in the sohtary bru'ial 
 ground of St. IMary's. 
 
 Such is the event which combines, with others not less 
 dark and terrible, to throw a wild interest around those
 
 154 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 gloomy rocks. T»Iany a time you will hear the story from 
 the inhabitants of those hills ; and, -until fretted away by 
 the wind and rain, the plaid and the bonnet of the unfor- 
 tunate Philips Grey hung upon the sphntered precipice to 
 attest the truth of the tale.
 
 DONALD GOKM. 155 
 
 DONALD GORM. 
 
 In a remote corner of Assynt, one of the most remote and 
 savage districts in the Highlands of Scotland, there is a 
 certain wild and romantic glen, called Eddernahidish. In 
 the picturesqueness of this glen, however, neither wood nor 
 rock has any share ; and, although it may be difficult to 
 conceive of any place possessing that character without 
 these ordinary adjuncts, it is, nevertheless, true, that 
 Eddernahulish, vnth neither tree nor precipice, is yet 
 strikingly picturesque. The wide sweep of the heath-clad 
 hills whose gradual descents form the spacious glen, and 
 the broad and brawling stream careering through its 
 centre, give the place an air of solitude and of quiet repose 
 that, notwithstanding its monotony, is exceedingly im- 
 pressive. 
 
 On gaining any of the many points of elevation that 
 command a view of this desolate strath, you may descry, 
 towards its western extremity, a small, rude, but massive 
 stone bridge, grey with age ; for it was erected in the time 
 of that laird of Assynt Avho rendered himself for ever 
 jnfamous by betraying the Duke of Montrose, who had 
 sought and obtained the promise of his protection, to his 
 enemies. 
 
 Close by this bridge stands a little highland cottage, of, 
 however, a considerably better order than the common run 
 of such domiciles in this quarter of the world ; and be- 
 speaking a condition, as to circumstances, on the part of its 
 occupants, which is by no means general in the Highlands. 
 
 "Well what oi this cottage?" says the impatient reader.
 
 156 TALES OF THE BOHDEES. 
 
 " Wliat of it?" say we, witli the proiid consc'iousness of 
 having something worth hearing to tell of it. " Why, was 
 it not the birthplace of Donald Gorm?" 
 
 "And, pray, who or what was Donald Gorm?" 
 
 "We were just going to tell you when you interrupted 
 us ; and we ^^'ill now proceed to the fulfilment of that 
 intention." 
 
 Donald Gorm was a rough, rattling, outspoken, hot- 
 headed, and warm-hearted highlander, of about two-and- 
 thirty years of age. Bold as a lion, and strong as a 
 rhinoceros, with great bodily activity, he feared nobody ; 
 and having all the irascibility of his race, would fight with 
 anybody at a moment's notice. Possessing naturally a 
 great flow of animal spirits and much ready wit, Donald 
 was the life and soul of every merry-making in which he 
 bore a part. In the dance, his joyous whoop and haloo 
 might be heard a mile off; and the hilarious crack of his 
 finger and thumb, nearly a third of that distance. Donald, 
 in short, was one of those choice spirits that are always 
 ready for anything, and who, by the force of their in- 
 dividual energies, can keep a Avhole country-side in a stir. 
 As to his occupations, Donald's were various — sometimes 
 farming, (assisting his father, with whom he Hved,) some- 
 times herring fishing, and sometimes taking a turn at 
 harvest work in the Lowlands — by which industry he had 
 scraped a few poimds together ; and, being imrnarried, with 
 no one to care A;r but himself, he was thus comparatively » 
 independent — a circumstance which kept Donald's head at 
 its highest elevation, and his voice, when he spoke, at the 
 top of its bent. 
 
 The tenor of our story requires tliat we should now 
 advert to another member of Donald's family. This is a 
 brother of the latter's, who bore the euphonious and high- 
 flavoured patronymic of Duncan Dhu M'Tavish Gorm, or, 
 simply, Duncan Gorm, as he was, for shortness, called,
 
 DONALD GORM. 1 .'J / 
 
 altliougla certainly baptized by the formidable list of names 
 just given. 
 
 This Duncan Gorm was a man of totally different 
 character from his brother Donald. He was of a quiet 
 and peaceable disposition and demeanour — steady, sober, 
 and conscientious ; qualities which were thought to adapt 
 him well for the line of life in which he was placed. 
 This was as a domestic servant in the family of an exten- 
 sive highland proprietor, of the name of Grant. In this 
 capacity Duncan had, about a year or so previous to the 
 precise period when our story commences — which, by the 
 way, we beg the reader to observe, is now some ninety 
 years past — gone to the continent, as a personal attendant 
 on the elder son of his master, whose physicians had re- 
 commended his going abroad for the benefit of his health. 
 
 It Avas, then, about a year after the departiu-e of Duncan 
 and his master, that Donald's father received a letter from 
 his son, intimating the death of his young master, Avhich 
 had taken place at jMadrid, and, Avhat was much more sur- 
 prising intelligence, that the Avriter had determined on 
 settling in the city just named, as keeper of a tavern or 
 wine-house, in which calling he said he had no doubt he 
 would do well. And he was not mistaken ; in about six 
 months after, his family received another letter from him, 
 informing them that he was succeeding beyond his most 
 sanguine expectations — and hereby hangs our tale. 
 
 On Donald these letters of his brother's made a very 
 strong impression ; and, finally, had the effect of inducing 
 him to adopt a very strange and very bold resolution. 
 This was neither more nor less than to join his brother in 
 Madrid — a resolution from which it was found impossible 
 to dissuade him, especially after the receipt of Duncan's 
 second letter, giving intimation of his success. 
 
 With most confused and utterly inadequate notions, 
 therefore, of either the nature, or distance, or position of
 
 158 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 the coiintry to which he was going, Donald made pre- 
 parations for his journey. But they were merely such 
 preparations as he would have made for a descent on the 
 Lowlands, at harvest time. He put up some night-caps, 
 stockings, and shirts in a bundle, with a quantity of bread 
 and cheese, and a small flask of his native mountain dew. 
 This bundle he proposed to suspend, in the usual way, 
 over his shoulder on the end of a huge oak stick, which 
 he had carefully selected for the purpose. And it was thus 
 prepared — with, however, an extra supply of his earnings 
 in his pocket, of which he had a vague notion he woidd 
 stand in need— that Donald contemplated commencing his 
 journey to Madrid from the heart of the Highlands of 
 Scotland. In one important particular, however, did 
 Donald's outfit on this occasion, differ from that adopted 
 on ordinary occasions. On the present, he equipped him- 
 self in the full costume of his country — kilt, plaid, bonnet 
 and feather, sword, dirk, and pistols ; and thus arrayed, 
 his appearance was altogether very striking, as he was 
 both a stout and exceedingly handsome man. 
 
 Before starting on his extraordinary expedition, Donald 
 had learned which was the fittest seaport whereat to em- 
 bark on his progress to Spain ; and it was nearly all he had 
 learned, or indeed cared to inquire about, as to the place 
 of his destination. For this port, then, he finally set out ; 
 but over his proceedings, for somewhere about three weeks 
 after this, there is a veil which our want of knowledge of 
 facts and circumstances will not enable us to withdraw. 
 Of all subsequent to this, however, we are amply informed ; 
 and shall now proceed to give the reader the full benefit 
 of that information. 
 
 Heaven knows how Donald Ijad fought his way to 
 INradrid, or what particular route he had taken to attain 
 this consummation ; but certain it is, that, about the end 
 of the three weeks mentioned, the identical Donald Gorm
 
 DONALD GORM. 159 
 
 of whom we speak, kilted and hosed as he left Edderna- 
 hiilish, with a huge stick over his shoulder bearing a 
 bundle suspended on its farthest extremity, was seen, early 
 in the afternoon, approaching the gate of Alcala, one of the 
 principal and most splendid entrances into the Spanish 
 capital. Donald was staring about him, and at everything 
 he saw, with a look of the greatest Avonder and amazement; 
 and strange were the impressions that the peculiar dresses 
 of those he met, and the odd appearance of the buildings 
 within his view, made upon his unsophisticated mind and 
 bewildered sensorium. 
 
 He, in truth, felt very much as if he had by some 
 accident got into the moon, or some other planet tnan 
 that of which he was a born inhabitant, and as if the 
 beings around him were human only in form and feature. 
 The perplexity and confusion of his ideas were, indeed, 
 great — so great that he found it impossible to reduce them 
 to such order as to give them one single distinct impres- 
 sion. There were, however, two points in Donald's charac- 
 ter, which remained wholly vmaffected by the novelty ot 
 his position. These were his courage and bold bearing. 
 Not all Spain, nor all that was in Spain, could have de- 
 prived Donald of these for a moment. He was amazed, 
 but not in the least awed. He was, in truth, looking 
 rather fiercer than usual, at this particular juncture, in 
 consequence of a certain feeling of irritation, caused by 
 what he deemed the impertinent curiosity of the passers- 
 by, who, no less struck with his strange appearance than 
 he with theirs, were gazing and tittering at him from all 
 sides — treatment this, at which Donald thought fit to take 
 mortal oflence. Having arrived, however, at the gate ot 
 Alcala, Donald thought it full time to make some inquiries 
 as to where his relative resided. Feeling impressed with 
 the propriety of this step, he made up to a group of idle, 
 equivocal-looking fellows, who, ^vrapped up in long buttoned
 
 ^QQ TALKS OP THE BORDEUS. 
 
 dilapidated cloaks, were lounging about the gate; and, 
 plunging boldly into the middle of them, he delivered lum- 
 self thus, in his best English :— 
 
 "I say, freens, did you'll know, any of you, where my 
 
 broder stops?" 
 
 The men, as might be expected, first stared at^ the 
 speaker, and then burst out a-laughing in his face. They, 
 of course, could not comprehend a word of what he said ; 
 a circumstance on the possibiHty of which it had never 
 struck Donald to calculate, and to which he did not now 
 advert. Great, therefore, was his wrath, at this, ai)pa- 
 rently, contemptuous treatment by the Spaniards. His 
 highland blood mounted to his fVice, and with the 
 same rapidity rose his highland choler. Donald, lu 
 truth, akeady contemplated doing battle in defence of 
 his insulted consequence, and at once hung out Ins flag 
 
 of defiance. 
 
 "You tarn scarecrow-lookin rascals!" he sputtered out, 
 in great fury, at the same time shaking his huge clenched 
 brown fist in the faces of the whole group, their numbers 
 not in the least checking his impetuosity— " You cowartly, 
 starvation-Uketogs! I've a goot miad to make smashed 
 potatoes o' the whole boiUn o' ye. Tarn your Spanish noses 
 
 and whiskers!" 
 
 The fierce and determined air of Donald had the eflcct of 
 instantly restoring the gravity of the Spaniards, who, 
 totally at a loss to comprehend what class of the human 
 species he represented, looked at him with a n)ingled ex-^ 
 pression of artonishment and respect. At length, one of 
 their number discharged a volley of his native language at 
 Donald ; but it was, apparently, of civil and good-natured 
 import, for it was delivered in a mild tone, and accom- 
 panied by a conciliatory smile. On Donald, the language 
 was, of course, utterly lost— he did not comprehend a 
 word of it; but not so the indications of a friendly disposi-
 
 DONALD GORM. 161 
 
 tion to -whicli we have alluded ; these he at once appre- 
 ciated, and they had the effect of allaying his wrath a little, 
 and inducing him to make another attempt at a little civil 
 colloquy. 
 
 "Well," said Donald, now somewhat more calmly, "I 
 was shust ask you a ceevil question, an' you langh in my 
 face, which is not ceevil. In my country we don't do that 
 to anybody, far kss a stranger, Noo, may pe, -^ou'll not 
 know my broder, and there's no harm in that — none at 
 aU ; but you should shust have say so at once, an' there 
 would be no more apout it. Can none of you speak 
 Gaelic?" 
 
 To this inqiiiry, which was understood to be such, there 
 was a general shaking of heads amongst the Spaniards, 
 
 " Oich, oich, it must be a tarn strange covmtry where 
 there's no Gaelic, But, never mind — you cannot help 
 your misfortunes, I say, lads, -will ye teuk a tram. Hooch, 
 hurra ! prof, prof I Let's get a dram," And Donald flung 
 up one of his legs hilariously, while he gave utterance 
 to these uncouth expletives, Avhich he did in short joyous 
 shouts, " Where will we go, lads ? Did you'U know any 
 decen' pubhc-house, where we'll can depend on a goot 
 tram?" 
 
 To this invitation, and to the string of queries by which 
 it was accompanied, Donald got in reply only a repetition 
 of that shake of the head which intimated non-comprehen- 
 sion. But it was an instance of the latter that surprised 
 him more than all the others, 
 
 "Well, to be surely," he said, " if a man'll not under- 
 stand the offer of a tram, he'll understand nothing, and it's 
 no use saying more. Put maybe you'll understand the 
 sign, if not the word." And, saying this, he raised his 
 closed hand to liis hps and threw back his head, as if tak- 
 ing off a caulker of his own moimtain dew ; pointing, at 
 the same time, to a house which seemed to him to have 
 
 Vol. II. F
 
 1(52 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 the appearance of one of public entertainment. To 
 Donald's great satisfaction, he found that he had now 
 made himself perfectly intelHgible ; a fact which he recog- 
 nised in the smiles and nods of his auditory, and, still 
 more unequivocally, in the general movement which they 
 made after him to the "public-house;' to which he imme- 
 diately directed his steps. 
 
 At the head, then, of this troop of tatterdemallions, and 
 walking with as stately a step as a drum-major, Donald 
 may be said to have made his entrance into Madrid ; and 
 rather an odd first appearance of that worthy there, it cer- 
 tainly was. On entering the tavern or inn which he had 
 destined for the scene of his hospitalities, he strode in 
 much in the same style that he would have entered a 
 ];ublic-housc in Lochaber-namely, slapping the first person 
 lie met on the shoulder, and shouting some merry greet- 
 ing or other appropriate to the occasion. This precisely 
 Donald did in the present instance, to the great amazement 
 and alarm of a very pretty Spanish girl, who was perform- 
 ing the duty of iishering in customers, inclusive of that of 
 subsequently supplying their wants. On feeling the enor- 
 mous paw of Donald on her shoulder, and looking at the 
 strange attire in which he was arrayed, the girl uttered a 
 scream of terror, and fled into the interior of the house. 
 Unaccustomed to have his rude but hearty greetings re- 
 ceived in this way, or to find them producing an effect so 
 contrary to that which, in his honest warm-heartedness, 
 he intended them to produce, Donald was rather taken 
 aback by the alarm expressed by the girl ; but soon re- 
 covering his presence of mind — 
 
 "Oich, oichl" he said, laughing, and turning to his 
 ragged crew behind him, " ta lassie's frightened for Shon 
 Ilcclanman. Puir thing! It's weel seen she's no peen 
 procht up in Lochaber, or maype's no been lang in the 
 way o' keepin a public. It's—
 
 DOXALD GORM. 163 
 
 •' 'Haut awa, bite av\-a, 
 
 Haut awa frae ine, Tonal ; 
 What eare I for a' your wealth, 
 An' a' that ye can gie, Tonal ?' " 
 
 And, clianting this stanza of a well-known Scottish ditty, 
 at the top of his voice, Donald bounced into the first open 
 door he could find, still followed by his tail. These having 
 taken their seats around a table which stood in the centre 
 of the apartment, he next commenced a series of thunder- 
 ing raps on the board A\ith the hilt of his dirk, accom- 
 panied by stentorian shouts of, " Hoy, lassie ! House, 
 here! Hoy, hoy, hoy!" a summons which was eventually 
 answered by the landlord in person, the girl's report of 
 Donald's appearance and salutation to herself having de- 
 terred any other of the household from obeying the call of 
 so mid and noisy a customer, 
 
 " Well, honest man," said Donald, on the entrance of 
 his host, " -will you pe bringing us tAvo half mutchkins of 
 your pest whisky. Here's some honest lads I want to treat 
 to a tram." 
 
 The landlord, as might be expected, stared at this strange 
 guest, in utter imconsciousness of the purport of his de- 
 mand. Recollecting himself, however, after a moment, 
 his professional politeness returned, and lie began bowing 
 and simpering his inability to comprehend what had been 
 addressed to him. 
 
 " What for you'U boo, boo, and scrape, scrape tliere, 
 you tarn ass ! " exclaimed Donald, furiously. " Co and 
 pring us the whisky. Two half mutchkins, I say." 
 
 Again the polite landlord of the Golden Eagle, which 
 was the name of the inn, bowed his non-comprehension of 
 what was said to him. 
 
 " Cot's mercy ! can you'll not spoke English, either ?" 
 shouted Donald, despairingly, on his second rebuff, and at 
 the same time striking the table impatiently with his
 
 IQ^ TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 clenclied fist. " Can you'll spoke Gaelic, tlien V " he added ; 
 ard, ^vithout waiting for a reply, he repeated his demand 
 in that language. The experiment ^vas -unsnccessM. 
 Mine host of the Golden Eagle understood neither Gaelic 
 nor Enghsh. Finding this, Donald had once more recourse 
 to the dumb show of raising his hand to his mouth, as if m 
 the act of drinking; and once more he found the sign 
 perfectly intelhgible. On its being made, the landlord 
 instantly retired, and in a minute after returned with a 
 couple of bottles in hand, and two very large-sized glasses, 
 which he placed on the table. Eyeing the bottles con- 
 temptuously :-" It's no porter; it's whisky I'll order, 
 exclaimed Donald, angrily, conceiving that it was the 
 former beverage that had been brought him. " Porter s 
 drink for hoes, and not for human podies." Fmdmg it 
 wholly impossible, however, to make this sentiment under- 
 stood, Donald was compelled to content himself with the 
 liquor which had been brought him. Under this convic- 
 tion, he seized one of the bottles, filled up a glass to the 
 brim, muttering the while " that it was tam white, strange- 
 looking porter," started to his feet, and, holding the glass 
 extended in his hand, shouted the health of his ragged 
 company, in Gaelic, and bolted the contents. But the 
 effect of this proceeding was curious. The moment the 
 liquor, which was some of the common wine of Spain, was 
 over Donald's throat, he stared wildly, as if he had just 
 done some desperate deed-swallowed an adder by mistake, 
 or committed some such awkward oversight. This expres- 
 sion of horror was followed by the most violent sputtermgs 
 and hideous grimaces, accompanied by a prodigious assem- 
 blage of curses of all sorts, in Gaelic and English, and 
 Bometimes of an equal proportion of both. 
 
 "Oich, oich! poisoned, by Cot !— vinckar, horrid vine- 
 kar 1 Laiilort, I say, what cursed stuffs is this you kive us ?" 
 And again Donald sputtered with an energy and perse-
 
 DONALD GORM. 165 
 
 verance that nothing but a sense of the utmost disgust and 
 loathing could have inspired. Both the landlord and 
 Donald's own guests, at once comprehending his feelings 
 regarding the wine, hastened, bj every act and sign they 
 could think of, to assure him that he was wi'ong in enter- 
 taining so unfavourable an opinion of its character and 
 qiialities. Mine host, filling up a glass, raised it to his 
 mouth, and, sipping a little of the liquor, smacked his lips, 
 in token of high relish of its excellences. He then handed 
 the glass round the company, all of whom tasted and 
 approved, after the same expressive fashion ; and thus, 
 without a word being said, a collective opinion, hollow 
 against Donald, was obtained. 
 
 "Well, well, trink the apominations, and be curst to 
 you!" said Donald, who perfectly understood that judg- 
 ment had gone against him, " and much goot may't do 
 you ! but mysel would sooner trink the dirty bog water of 
 Sleevrechkin. Oich, oich ! the dirts! But I say, lanlort, 
 maype you'll have got some prandies in the house ? I can 
 make shift wi' that when there's no whisky to be cot." 
 
 Fortunately for Donald, mine host of the Golden Eagle 
 at once understood the word brandy, and, understanding 
 it, lost no time in j)lacing a measure of that liquor before 
 him ; and as little time did Donald lose in swallowing an 
 innnense bumper of the inspiring alcohol. 
 
 " Ay," said Donald, with a look of great satisfaction, on 
 performing this feat, " that's something like a human 
 Christian's trink. No your tam vinekar, as would colic a 
 horse." Saying this, he filled up and discussed another 
 modicum of the brandy ; his followers, in the meantime, 
 having done the same duty by the two bottles of wine, 
 which were subsequently replaced by other two, by the 
 order of their hospitable entertainer. On Donald, however, 
 his libations were now beginning to produce, in a very 
 marked manner, their i;sual effects. He was first getting
 
 166 TALES OF THE EOKDERS. 
 
 into a state of higli excitation ; thumping the table violently 
 witla his fist, and sputtering out furious discharges of 
 Gaelic and English, mingled in one strange and unintel- 
 ligible mess of words, and seemingly oblivious of the fact 
 that not a syllable of what he said could be comprehended 
 by his auditory. This, then, was a circumstance Avhich 
 did not hinder him from entertaining his Mends with a 
 graphic description of Eddernahulish, and a very animated 
 account of a particular deer-chase in which he had once 
 been engaged. In short, in the inspiration of the hour, 
 Donald seemed to have entirely forgotten every circum- 
 stance connected with his present position. He appeared 
 to have forgotten that he was in a foreign land ; forgotten 
 the purpose that brought him there ; forgotten his brother ; 
 forgotten those associated with him were Spaniards, not 
 Atholemen ; in truth, forgotten everything he should have 
 recollected. In this happy state of obfliscation, Donald 
 continued to roar, to drink, and to talk away precisely as 
 he was wont to do in Rory MTadyen's "pubUc" in Kilni- 
 chrochokan. From being oratorical, Donald became musi- 
 cal, and insisted on having a song from some of his friends ; 
 but failing to make his request intelUgible, he volun- 
 teered one himself, and immediately struck up, in a 
 strong nasal twang, and with a voice that made the whole 
 house ring : — 
 
 " Ta Heelan hills are liigb, high, high, 
 An' ta Ileelan miles are long ; 
 But, then, my freens, remcmpcr you, 
 Ta lleclan whisky's Btroug, strong, strong ! 
 Ta Heelaa whisky's strong, 
 
 •* And who shall care for ta length o' ta mile, 
 Or who shall care for ta hill, 
 If he shall have, 'fore he tcukit la way, 
 In him's check one Heelan shill ? 
 
 In him's cheek one Heelan shill ?
 
 DONALD GOKM. 167 
 
 " An' maype he'll pe teukit twa ; 
 I'll no say is no pe tree ; 
 And what although it should pe four? 
 Is no pussiness you or me, me, me — 
 Is no pussiness you or me." 
 
 Suiting the action to, at least, the spirit of the song, 
 Donald tossed off another bumper of the alcohol, which 
 had the rather odd effect of recalling him to some sense of 
 his situation, instead of destroying, as might have been 
 expected, any httle glimmering of hght on that subject 
 which he might have previously possessed. On discussing 
 the last glass of brandy — 
 
 " Now, lads," said Donald, " I must pe going. It's gettin 
 late, and I must find oot my brother Ttmcan G»rm, as 
 decen' a lad as between this and Eddernahulish." Having 
 said this, and paid his reckoning, Donald began shaking 
 hands with his friends, one after the other, previous to 
 leaving them ; but his fiiends had no intention whatever 
 of parting with him in this way. Donald had incautiously 
 exposed his wealth when settling with the landlord ; and 
 of his wealth, as well as his wine, they determined on 
 having a share. The ruffians, in short, having communi- 
 cated -svith each other, by nods and winks, resolved to dog 
 him ; and, when fitting place and opportunity should pre- 
 sent themselves, to rob and murder him. Fortunately for 
 Donald, however, they had not exchanged intelligence so 
 cautiously as to escape his notice altogether. He had seen 
 and taken note of two or three equivocal acts and motions 
 of liis friends; but had. had sufiicient prudence, not only 
 to avoid all remark on them, but to seem as if he had not 
 observed them. Donald, indeed, could not well conceive 
 •what these secret signals meant ; but he felt con\inced that 
 they meant " no goot ; " and he therefore determined on 
 keeping a sharp look-out, not only while he was in the 
 presence of his boon companions, but after he should have
 
 1G8 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 left them ; for he had a vague notion that they might 
 possibly follow him for some evil purpose. 
 
 Under this latter impression — which had occurred to 
 him only at the close of their orgie, no suspicion unfavour- 
 able to the characters of his guests having before struck 
 him — Donald, on parting from the latter at the door of the 
 inn in which they had been regaling, might have been 
 heard muttering to himself, after he had got to some little 
 distance : — 
 
 *' Tarn rogues, after all, I pelieve." 
 
 Having thus distinctly expressed his sentiments regard- 
 ing his late companions, Donald pursued his way, although 
 he was very far from knowing what that way should be. 
 Street *after street he traversed, making frequent vain 
 inqiiiries for his " broder, Tuncan Gorm," untU. midnight, 
 when he suddenly found himself in a large, open s^iace, 
 intersected by alleys formed by magnificent trees, and 
 adorned by playing fountains of great beauty and elegance. 
 Donald had got into the Prado, or public 2-)romenade of 
 Madrid ; but of the Prado Donald knew nothing ; and 
 much, therefore, did he marvel at what sort of a place he 
 had got into. The fountains, in particular, perplexed and 
 amazed him ; and it was while contemplating one of these, 
 Avith a sort of bewildered curiosity, that he saw a human 
 ligure glide from one side to the other of the avenue in 
 wliich the object of his contemplation was situated, and at 
 the distance of about twenty yards. Donald was startled 
 l)y the apparition ; and, recollecting his former associates, 
 clapped his right hand instinctively on the hilt of his 
 broadsword, and his left on the butt of a pistol — one of 
 those stuck in his belt — and in this attitude awaited the 
 re-appearance of the skulker ; but he did not make him- 
 self again visible. Donald, however, felt convinced that 
 there was danger at hand, and he determined to keep 
 himself prepared to encounter it,
 
 DONALD GORM. 169 
 
 " Some o' ta vinekar-drinking rascals," muttered Donald. 
 " It was no honest man's drink ; nor no goot can come o' a 
 country where they swallow such apominable liquors." 
 
 Thus reasoned Donald Avith himself, as he stood vigilantly 
 scanning the locaUties around him, to prevent a sudden 
 surprise. While thus engaged, four different persons, all 
 at once, and as if they had acted by concert, started each 
 from behind a tree, and approached Donald from four 
 different points, with the purpose, evidently, of distracting 
 his attention. At once perceiving their intention, and not 
 doubting that their purposes were hostile, the intrepid 
 Celt, to prevent hmiself being surrounded, hastily retreated 
 to a wall which formed part of the structure of the fountain 
 on which he had been gazing, and, placing his back against 
 it, awaited, with his dra-\vn sword in one hand and a pistol 
 in the other, the approach of his enemies, as he had no 
 doubt they were. 
 
 "Well, my friends," said Donald, as they drew near 
 him, and discovered to him four tall fellows, swathed up 
 to the eyes in their cloaks, and each with a drawn sword 
 in his hand, "what you'll want with me?" No answer 
 having been returned to this query, and the fellows con- 
 tinuing to press on, although now more cautiously, as they 
 had perceived that their intended victim was armed, and 
 stood on the defensive : " Py Shoseph ! " said Donald, " you 
 had petter keep your distance, lads, or my name's no Tonal 
 Gorm if I don't gif some of you a dish of crowdy." 
 
 And, as good as his word, he almost instantly after fired 
 at the foremost of his assailants, and brought him down. 
 This feat performed, instead of waiting for the attack of 
 the other three, he instantly rushed on them sword in hand, 
 and, by tlie impetuosity of his attack, and fury of his blows, 
 rendered all their skill of fence useless. Witli his huge 
 weapon and powerful arm, both of which he plied with a 
 rapidity and force which there was no resisting, he broke
 
 170 TALES OF THE liOllDERS. 
 
 tliroiigli their guards as easily as he would have beat down 
 so many osier wands, and wounded severely at every blow. 
 It was in vain that Donald's assailants kept retiring before 
 him, in the hope of getting him at a disadvantage — of find- 
 ing an opportunity of having a cut or a thrust at him. No 
 time was allowed them for any such exploit. Donald kept 
 pressing on, and showering his tremendous blows on them 
 so thickly, that not an instant was left them for aggression 
 in turn. They were, besides, rapidly losing relish for the 
 contest, from the ugly blows they were getting, without a 
 possibihty of returning them. Finding, at length, that the 
 contest was a perfectly hopeless one, Donald's assailants 
 fairly took to their heels, and ran for it ; but there was one 
 of their number who did not run far — a few yards, Avhen 
 he fell down and expired. His hurts had been mortal. 
 
 " Oich, oich, lad ! " said Donald, peering into the face of 
 the dead man, " you'll no pe shust that very weel, I'm 
 thinkin. The heelan claymore '11 not acree Avith your 
 Spanish stomach. But it's goot medicine lor rogues, for 
 all that." Having thus apostrophized the slain man, Donald 
 sheathed his weapon, muttering as he did so : " Ta cowartly 
 togs can fight no more's a turkey hens." 
 
 And, cocking his bonnet proudly, he commenced the 
 task of finding his way back to the city ; a task Avhich, 
 after a good many unnecessary, but, from his ignorance of 
 tlie localities, imavoidable deviations, he at length accom- 
 plialied. 
 
 Donald's most anxious desire now was to find a " pub- 
 lic " in which to quarter for the night; but, the hour 
 being late, tliis was no easy matter. Every door was 
 sliut, and the streets lonely and deserted. At length, 
 however, our liero stumbled on what appeared to him to 
 be something of the kind he Avanted, although he could 
 have wished it to have been on a fuUy smaller and 
 humbler scale. This Avas a large hotel, in Avhich every
 
 DONALD GORM. 171 
 
 window was blazing with light, anJ tlie rooms were filled 
 witli mirtliful music. Donald's first impression was tliat 
 it Avas a penny Avedding upon a great scale. It was, in 
 truth, a masquerade; and as the brandy which he had 
 drunk in the earlier part of the evening Avas still in his 
 head, he proposed to himself taking a very active part in 
 the proceedings. On entering the hotel, however, which 
 he did boldly, he Avas rather surprised at the splendours of 
 various kinds Avhich greeted his oyes^marble stairs, gor- 
 geous lamps, gilt cornices, &c.. &c., and sundry other 
 indications of grandeur Avhich he had never seen equalled 
 even in Tain or Dingwall, to say nothing of his native parish 
 of Macharuarich, and he had been in his time in every 
 public-house of any repute in all of them. These cir- 
 cumstances did not disabuse Donald of his original idea 
 of its being a penny -Avedding. He only thought that 
 they conducted these things in greater style in Spain than 
 in Scotland, and Avith this solution of the difficulty, sug- 
 gested by the said splendours, Donald mounted the broad 
 marble staircase, and stalked into the midst of a large 
 apartment filled Avith dancers. The variety and elegance 
 of the dresses of these last again staggered Donald's belief 
 in the nature of the merry-making, and made him doubt 
 Avhether he had conjectured aright. These doubts, how- 
 ever, did not for an instant shake his determination to 
 have a share in the fun. It Avas a joyous dancing party, 
 and that Avas qrate enough for him. In the meantime 
 he contented himself Avith staring at the strange but splen- 
 did figures by Avhom he Avas surrounded, and Avho Avero, 
 in various corners of the apartment, gliding through 
 the " mazy dance." But if Donald's surprise Avas great 
 at the costumes Avhich he Avas now so intently marking, 
 those Avho displayed them Avere no less surprised at 
 that Avhich he exhibited. Donald's strange, but striking 
 attire, in truth, had attracted all eyes ; and much did those
 
 172 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 who beheld it wonder in all the earth to what country it 
 belonged. But simple wonder and admiration were not 
 the only sensation* which Donald's garb produced on the 
 masquers. His kilt had other effects. It drove half the 
 ladies screaming out of the apartment, to its wearer's great 
 surprise and no small displeasure. The guise which 
 Donald wore, however, and which all believed to have 
 been donned for the occasion, was, on the whole, much 
 approved of, and the wearer, in more than one instance, 
 complimented for his taste in having selected so novel and 
 striking a garb. But even his warmest applauders objected 
 to the scantiness of the kilt, and hinted that, for decorum's 
 sake, this part of his dress should have been carried dovm 
 to his heels. This improvement on his kilt Avas suggested, 
 in the most pohte terms, to Donald himself, by a Spanish 
 gentleman, who spoke a little English, and who had ascer- 
 tained that our hero was a native of Great Britain, and 
 whom he believed to be a man of note. To this sugges- 
 tion Donald made no other reply than by a look of the 
 utmost indignation and contempt. The Spanish gentle- 
 man, whose name was Don Sebastanio, seeing that his 
 remark had given offence, hastened to apologise for the 
 liberty he had taken — assuring Donald that he meant 
 nothing disrespectful or insulting. This apology was just 
 made in time, as the irritable Celt had begun to entertain 
 the idea of challenging the Spaniard to mortal combat. 
 As it was, however, his good nature at once gave way to 
 the pacific overture that was made him. Seizing the 
 apologist by the hand, with a gripe that produced some 
 dismal contortions of countenance on the part of him on 
 whom it was inflicted — 
 
 " Is no liarm done at all, my friend. You'll not know 
 no pettcr, having never peen, I dare say, in our country, 
 or seen a hcelanmau pefore." 
 
 The Spaniard declared he never had had either of these
 
 DONALD GORM. 173 
 
 happinesses, aud concluded by inviting Donald to an adjoin- 
 ing apartment to have some refreshment — an invitation 
 •which Donald at once obeyed. 
 
 " Now, my good sir," said his companion, on their 
 entering a sort of refectory Avhere were a variety of tables 
 spread witli abundance of the good things of this life and 
 of ^Madrid, " what shall you prefer ? " 
 
 " Herself's not fery hungrj^ but a little thirsty," said 
 Donald, flinging himself doAvn on a seat in a free-and-easy 
 way, with his legs astride, so as to allow free suspension to 
 his huge goat-skin purse, and doffing his bonnet, and 
 wiping the perspiration from his forehead — " Herselfs no 
 fery hungry, but a little thii-sty ; and she'll teukit, if you 
 please, a fery small drop of whisky and water." 
 
 Tlie Spaniard Avas nonplussed. He had never even 
 heard of whisky in his life, and was therefore greatly at a 
 loss to understand Avhat sort of liquor his friend meant. 
 Donald; perceiving his difficulty, and guessing that it was 
 of the same nature with the one which he had already 
 experienced, hastily transmuted his demand for whisky 
 into one for brandy, which was immediately supplied him, 
 when Donald, pouring into a rummer a quantity equal to at 
 least six glasses, filled up with water, and drank the whole 
 off, to the inexpressible amazement of his companion, who, 
 however, although he looked unutterable things at the 
 enormous draught, was much too polite to say anything. 
 
 Thus primed a second time, Donald, seeing his new 
 friend engaged -wdth some ladies who had unexpectedly 
 joined him, returned alone to the dancing apartment, 
 which he entered with a whoop of encouragement to the 
 performers that startled every one present, and for an 
 instant arrested the motions of the dancers, who could 
 not comprehend the meaning of his uncouth cries. Ee- 
 gardless of this effect of his interference in the pro- 
 ceedings of the evening, Donald, with a countenance
 
 174 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 beaming with hilarity, and eyes sparkling with wild and 
 reckless glee, took up a conspicuous position in the room, 
 and from thence commenced edifying the dancers by a 
 series of short abrupt shouts or yells, accompanied by a 
 vigorous clapping of his hands, at once to intimate his 
 satisfaction with the performances, and to encourage the 
 performers themselves to further exertions. Getting gra- 
 dually, however, too much into the spii'it of the thing to 
 be content with being merely an onlooker, Donald all at 
 once capered into the middle of the floor, snapping his 
 fingers and thumbs, and calling out to the musicians to 
 strike up " Caber Feigh ; " and, without Avaiting to hear 
 whether his call was obeyed, he commenced a vigorous 
 exhibition of the highland fling, to the great amazement 
 of the bystanders, Avho, instantly abandoning their own 
 pursuits, crowded around him to -witness this to them 
 most extraordinary performance. Thus occupied, and 
 thus situated — the centre of a " glittering ring " — Donald 
 continued to execute Avith unabated energy the various 
 strongly-marked movements of his national dance, amidst 
 the loud applauses of the surrounding spectators. On con- 
 cluding — 
 
 " Oich, oich!" exclaimed Donald, out of breath with 
 liis exertion, and looking laughingly round on the circle 
 of bystanders. "Did ever I think to dance ta heelan 
 fling in Madrid! Och, no, no! Never, by Shoseph ! 
 But, I dare say, it'll pe the first time that it was ever 
 danced here." 
 
 From this moment Donald became a universal favourite 
 in the room, and the established lion of the night. Where- 
 cvcr lie went he was surrounded Avith an admiring group, 
 and was overloaded with civilities of all kinds, including 
 frequent offers of refreshment ; so that he speedily found 
 himself in most excellent quarters. There Avas, hoAvever, 
 one drawback in his happiness. lie could get no share in
 
 l)ONALi> Gorar, 175 
 
 tlie dancing excepting what lie chose to perform solus, as 
 there was nothing in that way to be seen in the room in 
 the shape of a reel, nor was there a single tune played of 
 which he could make either head or tail — nothing but 
 " your foreign trash, with neither spunk nor music in 
 them." Determined, however, since his highland fling 
 had been so much approved of, to give a specimen of the 
 highland reel, if he could possibly make it out, Donald, 
 as a first step, looked around him for a partner ; and see- 
 ing a very handsome gui seated iu one of the corners of 
 the apartment, and apparently disengaged, he made up to 
 her, and, making one of his best bows, solicited the honour 
 of her joining him in a reel. Without understanding the 
 language in which she was addressed, but guessing that it 
 conveyed an invitation to the floor, the young lady at 
 cnce arose and curtsied an acqiiicscence, when Donald, 
 taldng her gallantly by the hand, led her up to the front 
 of the orchestra, in order that he might bespeak the 
 appropriate music for the particular species of dance he 
 contemplated. On approaching sufliciently near to the 
 musicians — 
 
 " Fittlers," he shouted, at the top of his voice, " I sa}', 
 can you'll kive us ' Eothiemurchus' Rant,' or the 'Trucken 
 Wives of Fochabers ?' " 
 
 Then turning to his partner, and flinging his arms about 
 her neck in an ecstacy of Highland excitation, capering 
 at the same time hilariously in anticipation of the coming 
 strain— 
 
 " Thorn's the tunes, my lass, for putting mettle in your 
 heels." 
 
 A scream from the lady with whom Donald was using 
 these unwarrantable personal liberties, and a violent 
 attempt on her part to escape from them, suddenly ar- 
 rested Donald's hilarity, and excited his utmost surprise 
 In the next instant he was eiirrounded by at least half-a-
 
 176 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 dozen angry cavaliers, amongst wliom there was a bran- 
 disliiug of swords and mncli violent denunciation, all 
 directed against Donald, and excited by liis unmannerly 
 rudeness to a lady. It was some seconds before Donald 
 could comprehend the meaning of all this wrath, or 
 believe tliat he was at once the cause and the object of it. 
 But on this becoming plain — 
 
 " "Well, shentlemen," he said, " I did not mean any- 
 thing wrong. No offence at all to the girl. It was just 
 the fashion of my coiuitry ; and I'm sorry for it." 
 
 To this apology of Donald's, of which, of course, not a 
 word was understood, the only reply was a more fierce 
 flourishing of brands, and a greater volubility and vehe- 
 mence of abuse ; the effect of which was at once to 
 arouse Donald's choler, and to urge him headlong on 
 extremities. 
 
 " Well, well," he said, " if you'll not have satisfaction 
 any other way than py the sword, py the sword you shall 
 have it." 
 
 And instantly drawing, he stood ready to encounter at 
 once the whole host of his enemies. Wliat might have 
 been the result of so unequal a contest, had it taken place, 
 we cannot teU — and this simply because no encounter did 
 take place. At the moment that Donald was awaiting the 
 onset of the foe — a proceeding, by the way, which they were 
 now marvellously slow in adoj)ting, notwithstanding the 
 fury with which they had opened the assault, a party of 
 the king's guard, Avith fixed bayonets, rushed into the 
 apartment, and bore Donald forcibly out into the street, 
 where they left him, with angry signs that if he attempted 
 to return, he would meet witli still worse treatment. 
 Donald had prudence enough to perceive that any attempt 
 to resent the insult that had been offered him — seeing that 
 it was perpetrated by a dozen men armed with musket 
 and bayonet — would be madness, and therefore contented
 
 DONALD GORM. 177 
 
 himself witli muttering in Gaelic some expressions of high 
 indignation and contempt. Having dehvered himself to 
 this effect, he proudly adjusted his plaid, and stalked 
 majestically away. 
 
 It was now so far advanced in the morning that Donald 
 abandoned all idea of seeldng for a bed, and resolved on 
 prosecuting an assiduous search for his brother. This he 
 accordingly commenced, and numerous were the calls at 
 shops, and frequent the inquiries he made for Tuncan 
 Gorm ; but unavailing were they all. No one understood 
 a word of what he addressed to them ; and thus, of course, 
 no one could give him the information he desired. It was 
 in vain, too, that Donald carefully scanned every sign that 
 he passed, to see that it did not bear the anxiously looked 
 for name. On none of them did it appear. They were all, 
 as Donald himself said, Fouros, and Beuros, and Lebranos, 
 and Dranos, and other outlandish and unchristian-like 
 names. Not a heeland or lowland shopkeeper amongst 
 them. No such a decent and civilized name to be met Avith 
 as Gorm, or Brolachan, or M'Fadyen, or Macharuarich, or 
 M'Cuallisky. 
 
 Tired and disappointed, Donald, after wandering up 
 and down the streets for several hours, bethought him of 
 adjourning to a tavern to have something to eat, and pro- 
 bably something to drink also. Seeing such a house as 
 he wanted, he entered, and desired the landlord to furnish 
 him with some dinner. In a few seconds two dishes Avcrc 
 placed before him ; but what these dishes were, Donald 
 could not at all make out. They resembled nothing in the 
 edible way he had ever seen before, and the flavour Avas 
 most alarming. Nevertheless, being pretty sharp-set, he 
 resolved to try them, and for this purpose drew one of the 
 dishes towards him, when, having peered as curiously and 
 cautiously into it for a few seconds as if he feared it would 
 
 leap up in his face and bite him, and cuaiing his nose the 
 
 r 2
 
 178 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 •SN'liile into strong disapprobation of its odour, he lifted 
 several spoonfuls of tlie black greasy mess on his plate. 
 At this point Donald found his courage failing him ; but, 
 as his host stood behind his chair and was witness to all 
 his proceedings, he did not like either to express the 
 excessive disgust he was beginning to feel, nor to refuse 
 tasting of what was set before him. Mustering all his 
 remaining courage, therefore, he plunged his spoon with 
 desperate violence into the nauseous mess, Avhich seemed 
 to Donald to be some villanous compound of garlic, rancid 
 oil, and dough ; and raising it to his lips, shut his eyes, 
 and boldly thrust it into his mouth. Donald's resolution, 
 however, coidd carry him no farther. To swallow it he 
 found utterly impossible, now that the horrors of both 
 taste and smell were full upon him. In this predicament, 
 Donald had no other way for it bi;t to give back what he 
 liad taken; and this course he instantly followed, adding a 
 large interest, and exclaiming — 
 
 " ^ly Cot ! what sort of a country is this ? Your drinks 
 is poison, and your meats is poison, and everything is 
 apominations apout you. Oich, oich ! I wish to Cot I was 
 back to Eddernahulish again ; for I'U pe either poisoned 
 or murdered amongst you if I remain much longer here. 
 That's peyond all doubt." 
 
 And having thus expressed himself, Donald started to 
 his feet, and was about to leave the house without any 
 farther ceremony, when the landlord adroitly planted 
 himself between him and the door, and demanded the 
 reckoning. Donald did not know precisely what was 
 asked of him, but he guessed that it was a demand for 
 payment, and this demand he was determined to resist, on 
 the ground that what he could not eat he ought not to be 
 called on to pay for. Full of this resolution, and having 
 no doubt that he was right in his conjecture as to the 
 landlord's purpose in preventing his exit —
 
 DONALD GORJr. 179 
 
 "Pay for ta apominations !" said Donald, wrathfully. 
 " Pay for ta poison ! It's myself ■will see yoii at Jericho 
 first. Not a farthing, not one tarn farthing, -will I pay you 
 for ta trash. So stand ont of the way, my friend, pefore 
 worse comes of it." 
 
 Sa}dng this, Donald advanced to the door, and seizing 
 its guardian by the breast, laid him gently on his back on 
 the floor, and stepping over his prostrate body, wallced 
 deliberately out of the house, without fui'ther interrup- 
 tion, mine host not thinking it advisable to excite further 
 the choler of so dangerous a customer, and one who had 
 just given him so satisfactory a specimen of his personal 
 prowess. Another day had now nearly passed away, and 
 Donald was still as far, to all appearance, from finding the 
 object of his search as ever he had been. He was, more- 
 over, now both hungry and thirsty ; but these were evils 
 which he soon after succeeded in obviating for the time, 
 by a more successful foray than the last. Going into 
 another house of entertainment, he contrived to make a 
 demand for bread and cheese intelligible — articles which 
 he had specially condescended on, that there might be "no 
 mistake ; " and ^vith these and a pretty capacious measure 
 of brandy, he managed to effect a very tolerable passover. 
 Before leaving this house, Donald made once more the 
 already ofb but vainly-repeated inquiry, whether he knew 
 (he was addressing his landlord) where one Duncan Gorm 
 stopped. It did not now surprise Donald to find that his 
 inquiry was not understood ; but it did both surprise and 
 delight him when his host, who had abruptly left the room 
 for an instant, returned Avith a person who spoke very 
 tolerable English. This man was a muleteer, and had re- 
 sided for some years in London, in the service of the Spanish 
 ambassador. His name — a most convenient one for Donald 
 to pronounce — was ^Mendoza Ambrosius. On being intro- 
 duced to this personage, Donald expressed the utmost
 
 180 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 delight at finding in him one "who spoke a Christian 
 language, as he called it ; and, in the joy of his heart with 
 his good fortune, ordered in a jorum of brandy for the 
 entertainment of himself and Mr. Ambrosius. The liquor 
 being brought, and several horns of it discussed, Donald 
 and his new friend got as thick as " ben' leather." And 
 on this happy understanding being established, the former 
 began to detail, at all the length it would admit of, the 
 purpose of his visit to Madrid, and the occurrences that 
 had befallen him since his arrival ; prefacing these par- 
 ticulars with a sketch of his history, and some account of 
 the place of his nativity; and concluding the whole by 
 asking his companion if he could in any way assist him to 
 find his brother, Duncan Gorm. 
 
 The muleteer replied, in the best English he could 
 command, that he did not know the particular person 
 inquired after, but that he knew the residences of tAvo or 
 three natives of Britain, some of whom, he thought it 
 probable, might be acquainted with his brother ; and that 
 he would have much pleasure in conducting him to these 
 persons, for the purpose of ascertaining this. Donald 
 thanked his friend for his civility ; and, in a short time 
 thereafter, the brandy having been finished in the interim, 
 the two set out together on their expedition of inquiry. 
 It was a clear, moonlight night ; but, although it was so, 
 and the hour what would be considered in this country 
 early, the streets were nearly deserted, and as lonely and 
 quiet as if Madrid were a city of the dead. This stillness 
 had the ofTect of making the smallest sound audible even 
 at a great distance, and to this stillness it was owing that 
 Donald and his friend suddenly heard, soon after they had 
 set out, the clashing of swords, intermingled with occa- 
 sional shouts, at a remote part of the street they were 
 traversing. 
 
 "What's tat?" exclaimed Donald, stopping abruptly.
 
 DONALD GORM. 181 
 
 and cocking Ills ears at the well-known sound of clashing 
 steel. His companion, accustomed to such occurrences, 
 replied, with an air of indifference, that it was merely 
 some street brawl. 
 
 "It'll pe these tarn vinekar drinkers again," said Donald, 
 mth a lively recollection of the assault that had been made 
 upon himself; " maybe some poor shentleman's in distress. 
 Let us go and see, my tear sir." To this proposal, the 
 muleteer, with a proper sense of the folly of throwing him- 
 self in the way of mischief unnecessarily, would at first 
 by no means accede; but, on being urged by Donald, 
 agreed to move on a little "with him towards the scene 
 of conflict. This proceeding soon brought them near 
 enough to the combatants to perceive that Donald's 
 random conjectiire had not been far wrong, by discovering 
 to them one person, who, with his back to the wall, was 
 bravely defending himself against no fewer than four 
 assailants, all being armed with swords. 
 
 " Did not I tell you so ! " exclaimed Donald, in great 
 excitation, on seeing how matters stood. " Noo, Maister 
 Tozy Brozey, shoulder to shoulder, my tear, and we'll as- 
 sist this poor shentleman." Sajdng this, Donald drew his 
 claymore, and rushed headlong on to the rescue, calling 
 on Tozy Brozy to follow him; but Tozy Brozy's feelings 
 and impulses carried him in a totally different direction. 
 Fearing that his friend's interference in the squabble might 
 have the effect of directing some of the blows his way, he 
 fairly took to his heels, leaving Donald to do by himself 
 what to himself seemed needful in the case. In the mean- 
 time, too much engrossed by the duty before him to mind 
 much whether his friend followed him or not, Donald 
 struck boldly in, in aid of the " shentleman in distress," 
 exclaiming, as he did so — 
 
 " Fair play, my tears ! Fair play's a shewel everywhere, 
 aJid I suppose here too." And, saying this, with one
 
 182 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. 
 
 thundering blow that fairly split the skull of the unfortu- 
 nate wight on whom it fell in twain, Donald lessened the 
 number of the combatants by one. The person to whose 
 aid he had thus so unexpectedly and opportunely come, 
 seeing what an effectual ally he had got, gave a shout of 
 triumphant joy, and, although much exhausted by the 
 violence and length of his exertions in defending himself, 
 instantly became the assailant in his turn. Inspii'ed with 
 new Hfe and vigour, he pressed on his enemies with a fury 
 that compelled them to give way ; and, being splendidly 
 seconded by Donald, whose tremendous blows were falling 
 with powerful effect on those against whom they were 
 directed, the restdt was, in a few seconds, the flight of the 
 enemy ; who, in rapid succession, one after the other, took 
 to their heels, although not Avithout carrying along ■with 
 them several authentic certificates of the efficiency of 
 Donald's claymore. 
 
 On the retreat of the bravos — for such they were — the 
 person whom Donald had so efficiently served in his hour 
 of need, flew towards him, and, taking him in his arms, 
 poured out a torrent of thanks for the prompt and gallant 
 aid he had afforded him. But, as these thanks Avere ex- 
 pressed in Spanish, they were lost on him to whom they 
 Avere addressed. Not so, hoAvever, the indications of grati- 
 tude evinced in the acts by Avhich they Avere accompanied. 
 Tiiese Donald perfectly understood, and replied to them 
 as if their sense had been conveyed to him in a language 
 which he comprehended. 
 
 " No thanks at all, my tear sir. A Ileelantman Avill 
 {dways assist a freend Avhere a fcAV ploAvs Avill do him goot. 
 You would shust do the same to me, I'm sure. But," 
 added Donald, as he sheathed his most serviceable Aveapon, 
 " this is the tarn place for fechtin' I haA'c ever seen, I 
 thocht our oaati Ileelants pad enough, but this is ten times 
 Avorse, py Shoseph ! I have no pccn more than four-and-
 
 DONALD GORM. 183 
 
 twenty hours in Ma-a-treed, and I'll have peon in tree 
 fecht already." 
 
 More of this speech was understood by the person to 
 whom it was addressed, than might have been expected 
 under all these circumstances. This person was a Spanish 
 gentleman of rank and great wealth, of the name of Don 
 Antonio Nunnez, whose acquirements included a very 
 competent knowledge of the English language, which, 
 although he spoke it but indifferently, he understood very 
 weU. Yet it certainly did require all his knowledge of it, 
 to recognise it in the shape in which Donald presented it 
 to liim. This, however, to a certain extent, he did, and, in 
 English, now repeated his sense of the important obliga- 
 tion Donald had conferred on him. But it was not to 
 words alone that the grateful and generous Spaniard 
 meant to confine his acknowledgments of the service that 
 had been rendered him. Having ascertained that Donald 
 was a perfect stranger in the city, he insisted on his going 
 home with him, and remaining with him diu'ing his stay 
 in Madrid, and further requesting that he would seek at 
 his hands, and no other's, any service or obligation, of 
 whatever nature it might be, of which he should stand in 
 need during his stay. 
 
 To these generous proffers, Donald rephed, that the 
 greatest service that could be done him was to inform him 
 where he could find his brother, Duncan Gorm. Don 
 Antonio first expressed sui'prise to learn that Donald hud 
 a brother in Madrid, and then his sorrow that he did not 
 know, nor had ever heard of such a person. 
 
 " He'U keep a public," said Donald. 
 
 "A^Hiat is that, my fi-iend?" inquired Don Antonio. 
 
 "Sell a shilljto be sure — I'll thocht everybody know that," 
 • said Donald, a good deal surprised at the other's ignorance. 
 
 " Shill? shill?" repeated the Spaniard — "and pray, my 
 friend, what is a shU.1?"
 
 184 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 " Cot pless me ! don't you'll know what a shill is ? " re- 
 joined Donald, with increased amazement. " If you'll 
 come with me to Eddernahulish, I'll show you what a sliill 
 is, and help you to drink it too." 
 
 " Well, well, my friend," said Don Antonio. " I'll get 
 an explanation of what a ' shill ' is from you afterwards ; 
 but, in the meantime, you'll come with me, if you please, 
 as I am anxious to introduce you to some friends at 
 home ! " 
 
 Saying this, he took Donald's arm, in order to act as 
 his conductor, and, after leading him through two or three 
 streets, brought him to the door of a very large and hand- 
 some house. Don Antonio having knocked at this door, 
 it Avas immediately opened by a servant in splendid livery, 
 who, on recognising his master — for such was Donald's 
 friend — instantly stepped aside, and respectfully admitted 
 the pair. In the vestibide, or passage, which was exceed- 
 ingly magnificent, were a number of other serving men in 
 rich hveries, who drew themselves up on either side, in 
 order to allow their master and his friend to pass ; and 
 much did they marvel at the strange garb in which that 
 friend appeared. Don Antonio now conducted Donald up 
 the broad marbled staircase, splendidly iUvuninated with a 
 variety of elegant lamps, in Avhich the vestibule termin- 
 ated ; and, on reaching the top of the first fiight, ushered 
 him into a large and gorgeously-furnished apartment, in 
 which were two ladies dressed in deep mourning. To 
 these ladies, one of whom was the mother, the other the 
 sister of Don Antonio, the latter introduced his amazed 
 and awe-stricken companion, as a person to whom he was 
 indebted for his life. He then explained to his relations 
 wliat had occurred, and did not fliil to give Donald's 
 ])romptitude and courage a due share of his laudations. 
 "With a gratitude not less earnest than his own had been, 
 the. moth^iv and sister of Don Antonio took Donald by th**
 
 DONALD GORM. 185 
 
 hand; the one taking the right, and the other the left, 
 and, looking in his foce, Avith an expression of the utmost 
 kindness, thanked him for the great obligation he had 
 conferred on them. These thanks were expressed in 
 Spanish ; but, on Don Antonio's mentioning that Donald 
 was a native of Britain, and that he did not, as he 
 rather thought, understand the Spanish language, his 
 sister, a beautiful girl of one or two-and-twenty, repeated 
 them, in somewhat minced, but perfectly intelligible 
 English. Great as Donald's perturbation was at finding 
 himself so suddenly and unexpectedly placed in a situation 
 so much at variance AA-ith anything he had been accus- 
 tomed to, it did not prevent him marking, in a very special 
 manner, the dark sparkling eyes and rich sable tresses of 
 Donna Nunnez, the name of Don Antonio's sister. Nor, 
 we must add, did the former look with utter indifference 
 on the manly form, so advantageously set off as it was by 
 his native dress, of Donald Gorm. But of this anon. In 
 a short time after, a supper, corresponding in elegance and 
 splendour to all the other elegances and splendours of this 
 lordly mansion, was served up; and, on its conclusion, 
 Donald was conducted, by Don Antonio himself, to a 
 sleeping apartment, furnished with the same magnificence 
 that prevailed throughout the whole house. Having 
 ushered him into his apartment, Donald's host bade him a 
 kind good-night, and left him to his repose. 
 
 What Donald's feelings were on finding himself thus so 
 superbly quartered, noAV that he had time to think on the 
 subject, and could do so unrestrained by the presence of 
 any one, we do not precisely know; but, if one might 
 have judged by the under-breath exclamations in which 
 he indulged, and by the looks of amazement and inquiry 
 which he cast around him, from time to time, on the 
 splendours by which he was surrounded, especially on the 
 gorge nis bed, with its gilt canopy and curtains of crimson
 
 186 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 silk, which was destined for his night's resting-place, these 
 feelings would appear to have been, after all, fully more 
 perplexing than pleasing. It was, in truth, just too much 
 of a good thing ; and Donald felt it to be so. But still 
 the whole had a smack of good fortune about it that was 
 very far from being disagreeable, and that certainly had 
 the effect of reconciling Donald to the little discordance 
 between former "habits and present circumstances, which 
 his position for the time excited. 
 
 While at breakfast on the following morning with Don 
 Antonio and his mother and sister, the first asked Donald 
 if he had any particular ties in his own country that would 
 imperatively demand his return home ; and on Donald's 
 replying that there were none, Don Antonio immediately 
 inquired whether he would accept a commission in the 
 King of Spain's body-guards: — "Because," said he, "if 
 you will, I have, I believe, influence enough to procure it 
 for you." 
 
 Donald said he had no objection in the world to try it 
 for a year or two, at any rate — only he would like to con- 
 sult his "broder Tuncan" first. 
 
 " True, true," said Don Antonio ; " I promised to assist 
 you in finding out your relative — and I shall do so." 
 
 As good as his word in this particular, and a great deal 
 better in many others in which Donald was interested, 
 Don Antonio instantly set an inquiry on foot, which, in 
 less than two hours, brought the brothers together. The 
 sequel of our story, although containing the very essence 
 of Donald's good fortune, is soon told. Ilis brother, 
 highly approving of his accepting the commission offered 
 to him, Don Antonio lost no time in procuring him that 
 appointment ; and in less than three weeks from his arrival 
 in Madrid, Donald Gorm figured as a captain in the King 
 of Spain's body-guards, in which service he ultimately 
 attained the rank of colonel, together with a title of
 
 DONALD GORM. 187 
 
 honoui', which enabled him to ask, without fear of giving 
 offence, and to obtain, the hand of Donna Nunnez, with a 
 do^v^y second to that of no fair damsel in Spain. Donald 
 never again retiu'ned to Eddernahnlish, but continued in 
 the country of his adoption till his death; and in that 
 country some of his descendants to this hour bear amongst 
 t}:e proudest names of which it can boast.
 
 lyy TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 THE SURGEON'S TALES. 
 
 THE CURED INGRATE, 
 
 Evert person who has studied, even in the most cursory 
 manner, the checkered page of human life, must have ob- 
 serA'ed that there are in continual operation through man- 
 kind some great secret moral agents, the powers of which 
 are exerted within the heart, and beyond the reach of the 
 consciousness or observation of the individual himself who 
 is subject to their influence. There is a steadfastness of 
 virtiie in some high-minded men, which enables them to 
 lesist the insidious temptations of the bad demon ; there 
 is also a stern stability of vice often found in the unfor- 
 tunate outlaw, which disregards, for a time, the voice of 
 conscience, and spurns the whispered wooing of the good 
 principle, " charm it never so wisely;" yet the real con- 
 fessions of the hearts of those individuals Avould show 
 traces enough of the agency of the unseen power to prove 
 their want of title to an exception ft-om the general rule 
 which includes all the sons of Adam. We find, also, that 
 extraordinary moral effects are often produced, in a dark 
 and mysterious manner, from physical causes : every medi- 
 cal man has the power of recording, if he has had the 
 faculty of observing, changes in the minds, principles, and 
 feelings of patients who have come through the fiery ordeal 
 of a terrible disease, altogether unaccountable on any rules 
 of philosophy yet discovered. 
 
 Not many years ago, a well-dressed young woman called 
 one evening upon me, and stated that her lady, whoso
 
 THE CURED INGRATE. 189 
 
 name, slie said, would be communicated by herself, had 
 been ill for some days, and wished me to visit her privately. 
 I asked her when she required my attendance ; and got 
 for answer, that she, the messenger, would conduct me to 
 the residence of the patient, if it was convenient for me t<r 
 go at that time. I was disengaged, and agreed to accom- 
 pany the young woman as soon as I had given directions 
 to my assistant regarding the preparation of some medi- 
 cines which required the apphcation of chemical rules. 
 To be ingenuous, I was a little curious to know the secret 
 of this private call ; for that there was a secret about it 
 was plain, from the words, and especially the manner, of 
 the young woman, who spoke mysteriously, and did not 
 seem to wish any questions put to her on the subject of 
 her mission. The night was dark, but the considerate 
 messenger had provided a lantern; and, to anticipate my 
 scruples, she said that the distance we had to go would 
 not render it necessary for me to take my carriage — a five- 
 minutes' walk being sufficient to take us to our destination. 
 Resigning myself to the guidance of my conductress, I 
 requested her to lead the way, and we proceeded along 
 two neighbouring streets of considerable length, and then 
 
 turned up to • Square— a place where the rich and 
 
 fashionable part of the inhabitants of the town have their 
 residences. At the mouth of a coach entry, which ran 
 along the gable of a large house, and apparently led to the 
 back offices connected with the residence, the young wo- 
 man stopped, and whispered to me to take care of my 
 feet, as she was to use the liberty of leading me along a 
 meuse lane to a back entrance, through which I was to be 
 conducted into the chamber of the sick lady. I obeyed 
 her directions ; and, keeping close behind her, was led 
 along the lane, and through several turns and windings 
 which I feared I might not again be able to trace without 
 a guide, until we came to a back door, when the young
 
 190 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 woman — begging my pardon for her forwardness — took 
 hold of my hand, and led me along a dark passage, then 
 tip a stair, then along another passage, which was lighted 
 by some wax tapers placed in recesses in the wall ; at the 
 end of Avhich, she softly opened a door, and ushered me 
 into a very large bedroom, the magnificence of which was 
 only partly revealed to me by a small lamp filled with 
 aromatic oil, whose fragrance filled the apartment. The 
 young woman walked quickly forward to a bed, hung 
 with light green silk damask curtains fringed with yellow, 
 and luxuriously ornamented with a superfluity of gilding ; 
 and, drawing aside the curtains, she whispered a few Avords 
 into the ear of some one lying there, apparently in distress ; 
 then hurried out of the room, leaving me standing on the 
 floor, without introduction or explanation. 
 
 The novelty of my position deprived me for a moment 
 of my self-possession, and I stood stationary in the middle 
 of the room, deliberating upon whether I shoidd call back 
 my conductress, and ask from her some explanation, or 
 proceed forward to the couch, where, no doubt, my services 
 were required ; but my hesitation was soon resolved, by 
 the extraordinary appearance of an Indian-coloured female 
 countenance, much emaciated, and lighted up with two 
 bright orbs, occupying the interstice between the curtains, 
 and beckoning on me, apparently Avith a painful effort, 
 forward. I obeyed, and, throwing open the large folds of 
 damask, had as full a view of my extraordinary patient as 
 the light that emanated from the perfumed lamp, and 
 shone feebly on her dark countenance, would permit. She 
 beckoned to me to take a chair, which stood by the side 
 of the bed ; and, having complied with her mute request, 
 I begged to know Avhat was the complaint under which she 
 laboured, that I might endeavour to yield her such relief 
 as was in the power of our professional art. I thus limited 
 my question to tlie nature of her disease, in the expectation
 
 THE CURED IKGRATE. 191 
 
 tliat she herself would clear up the mystery which htmg 
 around the manner in which I was called, and introduced 
 to so extraordinary a scene as that which was now before 
 me. Her great weakness seemed to require some com- 
 posure, and a collecting of her scattered and reduced ener- 
 gies, before she could answer my simple question. I now 
 observed more perfectly than I had yet done the character 
 and style of the room into which I had been intro- 
 duced — its furniture, ornaments, and luxuries ; and, above 
 all, the extraordinary, foreign-looking invahd who seemed 
 to be the mistress of so much grandeur. Though a bed- 
 room, the apartment seemed to have had lavished upon its 
 iitting-up as much money as is often expended on a lord's 
 dra^\ing-room — the bed itself, the wardrobes, pier-glasses, 
 toilets, and dressing-cases, being of the most elaborate 
 workmanship and costly character — the pictures numerous, 
 and magnificently framed ; while on all sides were to be 
 seen foreign ornaments, chiefly Chinese and Indian, of 
 brilliant appearance, and devoted to purposes and uses of 
 refined luxiiry of which I could form no adequate concep- 
 tion. On a small table, near the bed, there was a midti- 
 plcity of boxes, vials, trinkets, and bijouterie of all kinds; 
 and fragrant mixtures, intended to perfume the apartment, 
 were exposed in various quarters, and even scattered exu- 
 berantly on spread covers of satin, with a view to their 
 yielding their sweets more freely, and filling all the corners 
 of the room. In full contrast with all this array of gran- 
 deur and luxury, lay the strange-looking individual already 
 mentioned, on the gorgeous bed. She was ajiparcntly an 
 East Indian ; and, though possessed of comely featiircs, 
 she was even darker than the fair Hindoos we often see in 
 this country. The sicknoss under which she laboured, 
 and which appeared to be very severe, had rendered her 
 thin and cadaverous-looking — nroking the balls of her 
 briUiant eyes assume the appearance of being protruded,
 
 192 TALES OP THE BORDERS, 
 
 and imparting to all her features a sharp, prominent aspect, 
 the very reverse of the natural Indian type ; yet, true to 
 her sex and the manners of her country, she was splendidly 
 decorated, even in this state of dishabille and distress ; the 
 coverlet being of rich Indian manufacture, and resplendent 
 with the dyes of the East — ^her gown and cap decorated 
 with costly needlework — her fingers covered with a pro- 
 fusion of rings, while a cambric handkerchief, richly em- 
 broidered, in her right hand, had partly enveloped in its 
 folds a large golden vinegarette, set profusely with glitter- 
 ing gems. 
 
 The rapid sui'vey which enabled me to gather this 
 general estimate of what was presented to me, was nearly 
 completed before the invalid had collected strength enough 
 to answer my question ; and she was just beginning to 
 speak — having as yet pronounced only a few inarticidate 
 syllables — when she was interrupted by the entrance of the 
 same young woman who had acted as my conductress, and 
 who now exhibited a manner the very opposite of the soft, 
 quiet, slipping nature of her former carriage. The sudden- 
 ness, and even impetuosity of her entry, was inconsistent 
 with the character of nurse to a lady in so distressed a 
 condition as that of her apparent mistress ; but her subse- 
 quent conduct was much more incomprehensible and ex- 
 traordinary ; for, without speaking and without stopping, 
 she rushed forward, and, taking me by the arm, hurried 
 me away through the door by which I had entered, along 
 the lighted passage, down the stair, and never stopped 
 until she landed me on the threshold of the back-door by 
 wliich I entered the house. At this time I heard tlie bell 
 of, as I thought, the fore or street door of the house ringing 
 violently ; and my conductress, without saying a word, 
 ran away as fast as the darkness would permit, leaving me, 
 perplexed and confounded at what I had seen and heard, 
 to find my way home in the best way I could-
 
 THE CURED INGllATE, 193 
 
 In my professional capacity I liad not been accustomed 
 to any mysterious or secret practice of our art, -which, 
 being exercised ostensibly and in reahty for tlie benefit of 
 mankind, requires no cloak to cover its operations; and, 
 though I was curious to know the secret of such incompre- 
 hensible proceedings, I felt no admiration of, or relish for 
 adventures so unsuited to the life and manners of a sober, 
 practical man. One thing, however, was clear, and seemed 
 suificient to reconcile my practical, every-day notions of 
 life with this mysterious negotiation, and even to solve the 
 doubt I entertained whether I should again trust myself 
 as a party to the devices of secrecy — and that was, that 
 the individual I had been thus called to see professionally 
 was in such a condition of body as required urgently the 
 administrations of a medical practitioner. On the follow- 
 ing day, I resolved upon making some inquiries, with a 
 view to ascertain who and what the individual was that 
 occupied the house to which I had been introduced, and 
 which, upon a survey in daylight, I could have no difficulty 
 in tracing ; but I happened to bo too much occupied to be 
 able to put my purpose into execution ; and was thus 
 obliged to remain, during the day, in a state of suspense 
 and ignorance of the secret involved in my previous night's 
 professional adventure. In the evening, however, and 
 about the same hour at which the messenger called for me 
 on the previous occasion, the same individual waited ou 
 me, with an apology for the apparently unceremonious 
 treatment I had received, and which, she said, would be 
 explained to my satisfaction ; and a renewed request that 
 I would again accompany her to the same house, and on 
 the same errand. I told the messenger that I bore no 
 great love to these secret adventures, but that I wovdd 
 consent, on this occasion, to make a sacrifice of my prin- 
 ciples and feelings to the hope of being able lo be of some 
 
 use, in a professional way, to the distressed lady I had seen 
 Vol. II. G
 
 194 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 on tlie previous occasion, wliose situation, so far as I could 
 judge from appearances, Avas not far removed from the 
 extremity of danger. I again, accordingly, committed my- 
 self to tlie guidance of the young woman ; and, after a 
 repetition of the windings and evolutions of the previous 
 visit, soon found myself again seated in the chair that stood 
 by the gorgeous bed of the strange invalid. Everything 
 seemed to be in the same situation as before : the lamp 
 gave out its weak light, the perfumes exhaled their sweets, 
 and the distressed lady exhibited the same strange contrast 
 between her reduced sickly condition and the superb 
 finery of her dishabille. 
 
 I had not been long seated, when she struggled to inform 
 me, in a very weak voice, that she was much beholden to 
 me for my attention, and grieved for the unceremonious 
 treatment I had received on my last visit. I replied, that 
 I laid my account with much greater personal inconve- 
 nience, in the pursuit of my profession, than any to which 
 she had subjected or could subject me — all such considera- 
 tions being, in my apprehension, of small importance in 
 comparison with the good we had often the power of 
 administering to individuals in distress ; and begged to 
 know the nature of the complaint luider which she too 
 evidently laboured, that I might endeavour to ameliorate 
 her sufferings, and restore her to that health Avithout 
 Avhich the riches she apparently was mistress of, could be 
 of small avail in rendering her happy. She appeared 
 grateful for the sentiments I expressed ; and proceeded to 
 tell me, still Avith the same struggling difficulty of utterance, 
 arising from her extreme Avcakness, that she Avas the Avife 
 
 of Colonel P , the proprietor of the mansion into Avhich 
 
 I had been thus secretly introduced, for reasons she would 
 explain in the course of her narrative. She had been 
 married to her husband, she proceeded, in the East Indies, 
 of which country she was a native ; and, having succeeded
 
 tnE CURED INGRATE. 195 
 
 to a large fortune on the death of her father, had given it 
 all freely without bond, contract, or settlement, to her 
 husband, whom she loved, honoured, and worshipped, be- 
 yond all earthly beings, and Avdth an ardour which had never 
 abated from the first moment she had become his wife. 
 Nor was the affection limited to one side of the house ; for 
 she was more than satisfied that her lord and master — 
 grateful, no doubt, for the rank, honour, riches, and inde- 
 pendence to which she had raised him — loved her wdth an 
 affection at least equal to her o^^ti. But all these advan- 
 tages (and she sighed deeply as she proceeded) were of 
 little consequence to the production of happiness, if the 
 greatest of all blessings, health, were denied to the pos- 
 sessor ; and that too she had enjoyed, uninterruptedly, until 
 about a month previously, when she was seized with an 
 illness, the nature of which she could not comprehend ; 
 and which, notwithstanding all the anxious efforts of her 
 husband, had continued unabated to that hour. 
 
 She paused, and seemed much exhausted by the struggle 
 ehe made to let me thus far into her history. The con- 
 cluding part of her statement, combined with the still 
 unexplained secrecy of my call, surprised me, and defied 
 my powers of penetration. This lady had been danger- 
 ously ill for a month, during aU which time no medical 
 man had been called to her aid ; and even now, wlien her 
 body was attenuated, and her strength exhausted to the 
 uttermost, professional assistance had been introduced into 
 the house by stealth, as if it Avere against the laws to ame- 
 liorate human sufferings by curing diseases. This appa- 
 rent anomaly in human conduct struck me so forcibly that 
 I could not refrain from asking the patient, even before 
 she recovered strength enough to answer me, what was her 
 or her husband's reason for not calling assistance ; and why 
 that assistance was at last requested under the cloud of 
 secrecy and apprehension.
 
 196 TALES Of THE BOKDERS. 
 
 " That I intended to explain to you," she said, after a 
 pause. " When I felt myself ill (and my complaint com- 
 menced by excruciating pains in my stomach, accompa- 
 nied with vomiting,) I told my husband that I feared it 
 ■would be necessary to call a doctor ; but, ah, sir ! the 
 very thought of the necessity of medical aid to the object 
 of so much love and tenderness, put him almost frantic. 
 He confessed that it Avas a weakness ; but declared his 
 inability to conquer it. Yet, alas ! his unremitting kind- 
 ness has not diminished my disease. Though I have taken 
 everything his solicitude has suggested and oflfered to me, 
 my pains still continue, my appetite is entu'ely gone, and 
 the weakness of my body has approached that of the help- 
 less infant. Three days ago I thought I would have 
 breathed my last ; and parting thoughts of my native 
 country, and the dear friends I left there to follow the 
 fortunes of a dearer stranger, passed through my mind 
 with the feeling of a long and everlasting farewell. My 
 husband wept over me, and prayed for my recovery ; but 
 he could not think me so ill as to make the call of the 
 doctor imperative ; and I did not press a subject which I 
 saw was painful to him. No, sir, I would rather have 
 died than have produced in him the slightest uneasiness ; 
 and my object in calling you in the secret manner you 
 have witnessed, was simply to avoid causing to him the 
 pain of thinking that my illness was so great as to render 
 your services absolutely necessary." 
 
 The communication I now heard, which was spoken in 
 broken sentences and after considerable pauses, in place of 
 clearing up my difficulty, increased it, and added to my 
 surprise. Some light was, no doubt, thro"\vn on the cause 
 which produced the secret manner of my visitation ; but 
 every other circumstance attending the unfortunate lady's 
 case was merged in deeper gloom and mystery. The 
 circumstance of a husband who loved his wife refusing to
 
 THE CURED INGRATE. 197 
 
 call professional assistance, appeared to be not less extra- 
 ordinary than the reason assigned for it — even with all the 
 allowances, justified by a very prevailing prejudice, in 
 some weak minds, against the extremity of calling a 
 
 doctor. I had heard something of Colonel P ; that 
 
 he was considered to be immensely rich, and known to be 
 a deep gambler, but I never understood that he was a 
 victim of weak or imaginary fears, and I was therefore 
 incHned to doubt the truth of the reason assigned by the 
 unsuspecting invalid, for the scrupulous delicacy of her 
 husband's affection and solicitude. I pondered for a mo- 
 ment, and soon perceived that the natm-e of her complaint, 
 and the kind of restoratives or medicines she might have 
 been receiving, would, in all lil<;eUhood, yield me more 
 information on the subject of my difficulty than I could 
 prociure from her broken sentences, which, at the best, 
 only expressed the sentiments of a mind clouded with the 
 prejudice of a devoted love and unbounded credulity. I 
 proceeded, therefore, to ascertain the nature of her com- 
 plaint ; and soon discovered that the seat of it was, as she 
 had said, in the region of the stomach, which not only 
 produced to her great pain internally, but felt sore on the 
 application of external pressure on the prcecordia. Other 
 symptoms of a disease in this principal organ were pre- 
 sent : such as fits of painful vomiting after attempting to 
 eat, her great emaciation, anxiety of countenance, thirst, 
 restlessness, and debility ; and, in ordinary circumstances, 
 I would have been inclined to conclude that she laboured 
 under some species of what we denominate (jasti'i'lis, or 
 inflammation of the stomach, though I could not account 
 for such a disease not having been resolved and ended in 
 much shorter time than the period which embraced her 
 sufferings. 
 
 I next proceeded to ascertain Avhat she had been taking 
 in the form of medicaments ; and discovered that her
 
 198 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 husband, proceeding on the idea that her stomach la- 
 boured under weakness and required some tonic medicine, 
 had administered to her, on several occasions, what we 
 term limatura ferri (iron filings) — a remedy for cases of 
 dyspepsia and bad stomachs, but not suited to the inflam- 
 matory disorders of the kind under which she was suffer- 
 ing. I asked her if she had any of the medicine lying by 
 her, and she replied, with simphcity, that her husband 
 generally took charge of it himself; but that he had that 
 evening laid a small paper, containing a portion of it, on 
 the top of a side-table, until he administered to her the 
 dose she was in the habit of receiving, and had gone aAvay 
 without laying it past, according to his custom. I took 
 up the paper, examined it, and found, according to the 
 rapid investigation I bestowed on it, without the aid of 
 any tests, that it possessed all the appearances of the genu- 
 ine medicine. I, however, took the precaution of empty- 
 ing a small portion of it into another paper, and slipping 
 it into my pocket unobserved by the patient. I then told 
 her that I thought she should discontinue the use of the 
 powder, which was entirely unsuited to her ailment. 
 
 " That is a cruel advice, sir,'' she cried, in a tone of 
 great excitement. " IIow can I discontinue a medicine 
 offered to me by the hands of a husband, without being 
 able to give any reason for rejecting his kindness? I 
 tremble to think of repaying all the attentions of that dear 
 man with ingratitude, and wounding his sensibility by 
 rejecting this testimony of his solicitude and affection. I 
 cannot — I feel I cannot. Tlie grief I would thereby pro- 
 duce to him would be reflected, by sympathy, on this 
 weak frame, which is unable to struggle much longer 
 with the pains of flesh alone, far less with the additional 
 anguish of a wounded mind, grieved to death at causing 
 sorrow to the man I so dearly love. Do not, oh I do not, 
 sir, make me an ingrate,"
 
 THE CURED INGRATE. 199 
 
 I was struck with the devotion of this gentle being, 
 ■who actually trembled at the idea of producing uneasiness 
 to the man Avhom she had raised to affluence, and who yet 
 would not allow her the benefit of a doctor in her distress; 
 but, while I was pleased Avith this exhibition of a feature 
 in the female character I had never before seen so strongly 
 developed, though I had read and heard much of the fide- 
 lity and affection of the women of the east, I was much 
 chagrined at the idea that so fair and beautiful a virtue 
 would probably prevent me from doing anything effectual 
 for a creature who, independently of her distance from her 
 country, had so many other claims on my sympathy. I 
 told her that I feared I could be of little service to her if 
 she could not resolve upon discontinuing her husband's 
 medicine ; and tried to impress upon her the necessity of 
 conforming to my advice, if she "wished to make herself 
 well — the best mode, assuredly, of making her husband 
 happy ; but she replied that she expected I woiild have 
 been able to give her something to restore her to health 
 independently of what she got from her husband — a result 
 she wished above all things, as she sighed for the oppor- 
 tunity of delighting him, by attributing to his medicines 
 and care her restoration and happiness. I replied that 
 that was impossible — a statement that stung her with dis- 
 appointment and pain. 
 
 " Then I Avill take my beloved's medicines, and die!" 
 she cried, with a low struggling voice — resigning herself 
 to the power of her weakness. 
 
 This extraoi'dinary resolution of a female devotee put 
 me in mind of the immolating custom of her coimtry- 
 women, called the suttee. It Avas a complete ultima ratio, 
 and put all my remedial plans at fault in an instant. Her 
 extreme weakness, or her devoted resolution, prevented 
 her from speaking, and I sat by her bodside totally at a 
 loss what to do, whether to persevere in my attempt to get
 
 200 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 her to renounce her husband's medicine and to conform to 
 my prescriptions, or to leave her to the fate she seemed to 
 court. I put several more questions to her, but received 
 no other answer than a wave of the hand — a plain token 
 of her -svish that I should leave her to the tender mercies 
 of her husband. I had now no alternative ; and, rising, I 
 bowed to her, and took my leave. I had some difficulty 
 in finding my way out of the house ; but, after several 
 ineffectual turns through -wTong passages, I reached the 
 door through which I had entered, and returned home. 
 
 The extraordinary scene I had witnessed engaged my 
 attention during the evening, but all my efforts at clearing 
 up the mystery that enveloped the proceedings of these 
 individuals were met by difficulties which for a time 
 seemed insuperable. I sat cogitating and recogltating 
 various theories and probabilities, and had several times 
 examined the iron powder, which, for better observation, 
 I had scattered on a sheet of white paper that lay on my 
 table. My intention was to test it, and I waited the 
 incoming of my assistant to aid me in my experiment. As 
 I looked at it at intervals between my trains of thought, I 
 was struck with a kind of glittering appearance it exhi- 
 bited, and which Avas more observable when it caught my 
 eye obliquely and collaterally, during the partial suspen- 
 sion of my perception by my cogitations. Roused by this 
 circumstance, I proceeded instantly to a more minute in- 
 vestigation ; and having, by means of a magnet, removed 
 all the particles of iron, what was my surprise to find a 
 residuum of triturated glass — one of the most searching 
 and insidious poisons known in toxicology. Good God! 
 what were my thoughts and feelings when the first flash 
 of this discovery flared upon my mind — solving, in an 
 instant, by the intensity of its painful light, all my doubts, 
 and realizing all my suspicions. Every circumstance of 
 this mysterious affair stood now revealed in clear relief — a
 
 THE CURED INGKATE. 201 
 
 dark scheme of murder, more revolting in its features than 
 any recorded in the malefactor's journal, was illumined 
 and exposed by a light Avhich exhibited not only the work- 
 ings of the design itself, but the reason Avhich led to its 
 perpetration. This man had married the confiding and 
 devoted foreigner for the sake of her immense wealth, 
 which raised him in an instant from mediocrity to magni- 
 ficence ; and, having attained the object of his ambition, 
 he had resolved — with a view to the concealment of the 
 means whereby he effected his purpose, and regardless of 
 the sacred obhgation of gratitude he owed to her who had 
 left her country, her relations, and friends, to trust herselt 
 to his protection and love — to immolate the faithful, kind- 
 hearted, and affectionate creature, by a cruel and pro- 
 tracted murder. In her own country the cowardly wretch 
 could not have braved the vengeance of her countrjTnen ; 
 but, in a distant land, Avhere few might be expected to 
 stand up for the rights of the injured foreigner, he had 
 tliought he might execute his scheme with secrecy and 
 success. But now it was discovered I By one of those 
 extraordinary detached traces of the finger of the Al- 
 mighty, exposed to the convicting power of divine intel- 
 lect, it was discovered ! 
 
 The great excitement produced in my mind by this 
 miraculous discovery prevented me for some time from 
 calmly deliberating on the steps I ought to pursue, with 
 the view of saving the poor foreigner from the designs of 
 her murderer. The picture of the devoted being lying, 
 like a queen, in the midst of the wealth she had brought 
 to her husband, and trembling at the very thought of 
 rejecting his poison, for fear of giving him the slightest 
 pain — yet on the very point of being sacrificed ; her wealtli, 
 love, confidence, and gentleness, repaid by death, and her 
 body consigned, unlamented by friends — who might never 
 hear of her fate — to foreign dust, rose continually on my
 
 202 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 imagination, and interested my feelings to a degree incom- 
 patible wth the exercise of a calm judgment. In propor- 
 tion as my emotion subsided, the difficulty of my situation 
 appeared to increase. I was, apparently, the only person 
 who knew anything of this extraordinary purpose, and I 
 saAV the imprudence of taking upon myself the total respon- 
 sibility of a report to the pubHc authorities in a case where 
 the chances of conviction would be diminished to nothing 
 by the determination of the \'ictim to save her destroyer, 
 whom she never would believe guilty, and by the want of 
 evidence of a direct nature that the powder I had tested 
 was truly destined for her reception ; while, in the event 
 of an impeachment and acqviittal of the culprit, I would 
 be exposed to his vengeance, and his poor ^vife would be 
 for ever subjected to his tyranny and oppression. On the 
 other hand, I was at a loss to know how I could again get 
 access to the sick victim, whom I had left without being 
 requested to repeat my visit ; and, even if that could be 
 accomplished, I had many doubts whether she Avould pay 
 the slightest attention or regard to my statement, that her 
 liusband, whom she seemed to prefer to her own divine 
 Brama, designed to poison her. Yet it was clear that the 
 poor victim behoved to be saved, in some way, from the 
 dreadful fate which impended over her ; and the neces- 
 sity of some steps being taken with rapidity and efficacy, 
 behoved to resolve scruples and doubts which otherwise 
 might have been considered worthy of longer time and 
 consideration. 
 
 Next day I found I had made little progress in coming 
 to a resolution what step to pursue, yet every hour and 
 minute that passed reproached me with cruelty, and my 
 imagination brought continually before my eyes the poor 
 victim swallowing the stated periodical quota of her death- 
 drug. I could have no rest or peace of mind till some- 
 tliing was done, at least to the extent of putting her on her
 
 THE CURED INGKATI'.. 203 
 
 guard against tte schemes of her cruel destroyer ; and, 
 after aU my cogitations, resolutions, and schemes, I found 
 myself compelled to rest satisfied with seeing her, laying 
 before her the true nature of her danger, and leaving to 
 the operation of the instinctive principle of self-preserva- 
 tion the working out of her ultimate safety. At the same 
 hour of the evening at which my former visit was made, I 
 repaired to the back entrance of the large mansion, and, 
 upon rapping at the door, "was fortunate enough to be 
 answered by the yoting woman who acted formerly as my 
 guide. She led me, at my request, instantly to the sick- 
 room of her lady, who, ha\dng immediately before been 
 seized with an attack of vomiting, was lying in a state of 
 exliaustion approaching to the inanity of death. I spoke 
 to her, and she languidly opened her eyes. I saw no pro- 
 spect of being able to impress upon her comatose mind the 
 awful truth I had come to communicate ; yet I had no 
 alternative but to make the attempt; and I accordingly 
 proceeded, with as few words as possible, and in a tone of 
 voice suited to the lethargic state of her mind and senses, 
 to inform her that the medicines she was getting from the 
 hands of her husband were fraught with deadly poison, 
 which was alone the cause of all her sufferings and agonies, 
 and Avould soon be the means of a painful death. These 
 words I spoke slowly and impressively, and watched the 
 effect of them Avith anxiety and solicitude. A convulsive 
 shudder passed over her, and shook her violently. She 
 opened her eyes, which I saw fill with tears, and fixed a 
 steady look on my countenance. 
 
 " It is mjwssible,'' she said, with a low, guttural tone, 
 but Avith much emphasis ; " and if it icere possible, I would 
 still take his medicine, and die, rather than outlive the 
 consciousness of love and fidehty," 
 
 These words she accompanied with a wave of her hand, 
 as if she ^^^shed me to depart, I could not get her to
 
 204 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 utter another syllable. I had discharged a painful duty ; 
 and, casting a look upon her, which I verily belieyed would 
 be the last I would have it in my power to bestoAv on this 
 personification of fidelity and gentleness, I took my de- 
 parture. 
 
 I felt myself placed in a very painful position for two or 
 three daj'^s after this interview, arising from a conviction 
 that I had not done enough for the salvation of this poor 
 victim, and yet without being able to fix upon any other 
 means of rendering her any assistance, unless I put into 
 execution a resolution that floated in my mind, to admonish 
 her husband, byan anonj'mous communication, and threaten 
 to divulge the secret of his guilt, unless he instantly de- 
 sisted from his nefarious purpose — a plan that did not re- 
 ceive the entire sanction of my honour, however much it 
 enlisted the approbation of my feelings. Some farther 
 time passed, and added, with its passing minutes, to my 
 mental disquietude. One evening, when I was sitting 
 meditating painfully on this sombre subject, a lackey, 
 superbly dressed, was introduced to me by my servant, 
 and stated that he had been commanded by his master, 
 
 Colonel P , to request my attendance at his house 
 
 without delay. I started at the mention of the name, and 
 the nature of the message ; and the man stared at me, as 
 I exhibited the irresolution of doubt and the perturbation 
 of surprise, in place / returning him a direct answei*. 
 Recovering myself, I replied, that I would attend upon the 
 instant ; and, indeed, I felt a greater anxiety to fly to that 
 house on Avhich my thoughts Avere painfully fixed, than I 
 ever did to visit the most valued friend I ever attended in 
 distress. As I hurried along, I took little time to think of 
 the object of my call ; but I suspected, either that Colonel 
 
 P had got some notice of my having secretly visited, 
 
 in my professional capacity, his wife, and being therefore 
 privy to his design — a state of opposing circumstances,
 
 THE CURED INGRATE. 205 
 
 which lie was now to endeavour in some way to counter- 
 act — or that, finding, from the extremity to which his 
 wife was reduced, that he was necessitated to call a doctor, 
 as a kind of cloak or cover to his cruel act, he had thus 
 made a virtue of necessity, when, alas ! it would be too 
 late for my rendering the unfortunate creature any service. 
 " He shall not, however, escape," muttered I, vehemently, 
 through my teeth, as I proceeded. " He little knows that 
 he is now calling to his assistance the man that shall hang 
 him." 
 
 I soon arrived at the house, and rung the front door 
 bell. The same powdered lackey who had preceded me, 
 opened the door. I was led up two pair of stairs, and 
 found myself in the same lobby with Avhich I had already 
 become somewhat familiar. I proceeded forward, think- 
 ing I was destined for the sick chamber of the lady ; but 
 the servant opened a door immediately next to that of her 
 room, and ushered me into an apartment furnished in an 
 elegant style, but much inferior to that occupied by his 
 wife. In a bed lay a man of a genteel, yet sinister cast of 
 countenance, with a large aquiline nose, and piercing 
 black ej-es. He appeared very pale and feverish, and 
 threw upon me that anxious eye which we often find in 
 patients avIio are under the first access of a serious disease; 
 as if nature, while she kept her secret from the under- 
 standing, communicated it to the feelings, whose eloquence, 
 expressed through the senses, we can often read with great 
 facility. I knew, in an instant, that he was committed, 
 by a relentless hand, to suH'oring, in all likelihood, in the 
 
 form of a fever. He told me he was Colonel P , and 
 
 that, having been very suddenly taken ill, he had become 
 alarmed for himself, and sent for me to administer to him 
 my professional services. I looked at him intently ; but 
 he construed my stare into the eagerness of professional 
 investigation. At that instant, a piercing scream rang
 
 206 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 tlirough the house, and made my cars tingle. I asked 
 him who had uttered that scream, which must have come 
 from some creature in the very extremity of agony, and 
 made an indication as if I would hasten to administer re- 
 lief to the victim. In an instant, I was close and firm in 
 the trembling clutch of the sick man, who, Avith a wild and 
 confused look, begged me not to sacrifice him to any 
 attention to the cause of this disturbance, which was 
 produced by a servant in the house habitually given, 
 through fits of hysterics, to the utterance of these screams. 
 I put on an appearance of being satisfied with this state- 
 ment ; but I fixed my eye relentlessly on him, as he still 
 shook, from the combined effects of his incipient disease, 
 and his fear of my investigating the cause of the scream. 
 I proceeded to examine into the nature of his complaint. 
 The S}Tnptoms described by him, and detected by my 
 observation, satisfied me that he had been seized with an 
 attack of virulent typhus ; and from the intensity of some 
 of the indications — particularly his languor and small 
 ptdse, his loss of muscular strength, violent pains in the 
 head, the inflammation of his eyes, the strong throbbing 
 of his temporal arteries, his laborious respiration, parched 
 tongue, and hot breath — I was convinced he had before 
 him the long sands of a rough and rapid race with death. 
 At tlie close of my investigation he looked anxiously and 
 wistfully in my face, and asked me what I conceived to be 
 the nature of his complaint. I told him at once, and with 
 greater openness and readiness than I usually practise, 
 that I was very much afraid he was committed for a severe 
 course of virulent typhus. He felt the full force of an 
 announcement which, to those who have had any experi- 
 ence of this king of fevers, cannot fail to carry terror in 
 every syllable ; and falling back on his pillow, turned up 
 his eye to heaven. At this moment, a succession of 
 screams, or rather yells, sounded through the house ; but
 
 THE CURED IKGRATE. 207 
 
 as I now saw tliat I had a chance of saving the innocent 
 sufferer, I pretended not to regard the dreadful sounds, 
 and purposely averted my eyes to escape the inquiring, 
 nervous look of the sick man. I gave him some direc- 
 tions, promised to send some medicines, and took my 
 leave. 
 
 As I shut the door, the waiting-maid, whom I had seen 
 before, was standing in the door of her mistress's apart- 
 ment, and beckoned me in, Avith a look of terror and 
 secrecy. I was as anxious to visit her gentle mistress as 
 she was to call me. On entering, which I did slowly and 
 silently, to escape the ear of her husband, I found the 
 unfortunate creature in the most mtense state of agony. 
 The ground glass she had swallowed, and a gi'eat part of 
 which, doubtless, adhered to the stomach, was too clearly 
 the cause of her screams ; but, to my sui-prise, I dis- 
 covered, from her broken ejaculations, that the grief of her 
 husband's illness had been able, in its strength, to fight its 
 way to her heart, throiigh aU her bodily agonies produced 
 by his poison. INIy questions regarding her own condition 
 were answered by hysterical sobs, mixed Avith ejaculations 
 of pity, and requests to know how he was, and what was 
 the nature of the complaint by which he had been attacked 
 — hinting, in dubious terms, that she had been the cause 
 of his iUness, by entailing upon him the necessity of 
 attending her, and wounding his sensitive heart by her 
 distress. My former communications to her conceiTiing 
 the poison, and my caution against her acceptance of it 
 from the hands of her intended murderer, had produced 
 no effect iipon a mind predetermined to believe nothing 
 against the man she loved and trusted beyond all mortals. 
 She had received it again from him after my communica- 
 tion ; the effects of it were now exliibited in her tortured, 
 burning viscera ; and yet, in the very midst of her agonies, 
 her faith, confidence, and love stood unshaken ; a noble yet
 
 208 TALES OF TUE BORDERS. 
 
 melancholy emblem of the most elevated, yet often least 
 valued and most abused virtues of her sex. I endeav- 
 oured to answer her fevered inquiries about her husband, 
 by telling her that he stood in great need of her attendance; 
 and that, if she would agree to follow my precepts, and 
 put hei'self entirely under my advice and direction, she 
 might, in a very short time, be enabled to perform her 
 duty of a faithful wife and a kind nurse to her distressed 
 partner. The first perception she caught of the meaning 
 of my communication, lighted up her eye, even in the 
 midst of her wringing pains ; and, starting up, she cried, 
 that she would be the most abject slave to my Avill, and 
 obey me in all things, if I could assure her of the blessing 
 of being able to act as nurse and comforter to her husband. 
 Now I saw my opportunity. On the instant I called up 
 and despatched the waiting-maid to my home, with direc- 
 tions to my assistant, to send me instantly an oleaginous 
 mixture, and some powerful emetics, which I described in 
 a recipe. I waited the return of the messenger, adminis- 
 tered the medicines, and watched for a time their opera- 
 tion and effects. Notwithstanding the continued attacks 
 that had been made on her system by the doses of an active 
 poison, I was satisfied that, if my energies Avere not, in 
 some unforeseen way, thwarted and opposed, I would be 
 able to bring this deserving wife and pattern of her sex 
 from the brink of the grave that had been dug for 
 her by the hand of her husband. After leaving with the 
 waiting-maid some directions, I proceeded home, for the 
 purpose of preparing the necessary medicines for my other 
 j)atient. 
 
 I now commenced a series of regular visits to my two 
 patients — the illness of the husband affording me the most 
 ample scope for saving his wife. As he gradually de- 
 scended into the xuiavoidable depths of his inexorable 
 disease, she, by the elastic force of youth and a good con-
 
 THE CURED INGRATE. 209 
 
 stltution, operating in unison with my medicines, -which 
 were administered witli the greatest regularity, gradually 
 threw off the lurking poison, and advanced to a state of 
 comparative safety and strength. I was much pleased to 
 observe the salutary effects of my professional interference 
 in behalf of my interesting patient; but could scarcely 
 credit my ovra perceptions, as I had exhibited to me the most 
 undoubted proofs, that the desire to minister to the wants 
 and comforts of her sick husband, engrossed so completely 
 every other feeUng that might have been supposed conse- 
 quent upon a restoration to health, that she seemed to 
 disregard all other considerations. Her questions about 
 the period when she might be able to attend him were 
 unremitting ; and every hour she was essaying to walk, 
 though her efforts often ended in weak falls, or sinkings 
 on the ground, when some one w'as required to assist her 
 in getting up and returning to bed. She entreated me to 
 allow her to be carried to his bedside ; where, she said, 
 they might mix their tears and console each other ; and 
 all my arguments against the impropriety of such an 
 obvious mode of increasing her husband's illness, and 
 augmenting those sufferings she was so sohcitous to 
 ameliorate, were scarcely sufficient to prevent her from 
 putting her design into execution. 
 
 The husband's disease, which often runs a course of two 
 months, though the crisis occurs generally between the 
 third and fourth Aveek, progressed steadily and relentlessly, 
 mocking, as the fevers of that type generally do, all the 
 boasted art of our profession. His pulse rose to the 
 alarming height of 120 ; he exhibited the oppression at 
 the cliest, increased thirst, blackfurred tongue, and inar- 
 ticulate, muttering speech, which are considered to be 
 imfavourable indications ; and there was, besides, a clear 
 tendency to dehrium — a common, yet critical symptom — 
 leaving, even after the patient has recovered, and often for
 
 210 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 years, its marks in the Aveakened intellect. One evening 
 I was standing by liis bedside, studying liis symptoms ; 
 witnessing the excess of his suiferings, and listening to the 
 bursts of incoherent speech which, from time to time, came 
 from him, as if expelled from his sick spirit by some in- 
 ternal power. He spoke often of his wife, whom he called 
 by the name of Espras ; and, in the midst of his broken 
 ejaculations, gushes of intense feeling came on him, filling 
 his yellow sunken eyes with rheumy tears, and producing 
 heavy sobs, which, repressed by his loaded chest, assumed 
 sounds unlike anything I ever heard, and beyond my 
 power of description. I could not well understand these 
 indications of the working of his spirit; but I fancied 
 that, when he felt his own agonies, became conscious of 
 what it is to suffer a certain extremity of pain, and learned, 
 for the first time in his life, the sad experience of an 
 inexorable disease, which presented to him the prospect of 
 a lingering death, his mind recurred to the situation of his 
 wife, who, as he thought, was, or might be, enduring 
 tortures produced by his hand, transcending even his 
 sufferings. There seemed to be less of conscience in his 
 mental operations, than a new-born sorrow or sympathy, 
 wrung out of a heart naturally obdurate, by the anguish 
 of a personal experience of the pain he himself had pro- 
 duced in another, who had the strongest claims on liis 
 protection and love. His mind, though volatile and 
 wandering, and not far from verging on delirium, was not 
 yet deranged ; and I was about to put a question to him 
 concerning his wife, whom he had not directly mentioned 
 to me, when the door opened, and tlic still pale and 
 
 emaciated figure of !Mrs. P , dressed in a white. 
 
 morning goAvn, entered the apartment, struggling with 
 her weakness to get forward, and clutching, in her breath- 
 less efforts, at whatever presented itself to her nerveles.9 
 arms, to support her, and aid her in her progress to the
 
 THE CUllED INGRATE. 211 
 
 sick-bed of her husband. The bed being in the middle of 
 a large room, she Avas necessitated to trust partly to the 
 weak powers of her limbs, which having failed her, she, 
 in an attempt to spring forward and reach it before 
 sinking, came short of her aim, and fell with a crash on 
 the floor, littering, as she stumbled, a scream of sorrow, 
 wrung from her by the sight of her husband lying ex- 
 tended on a bed of sickness. The noise started the 
 invalid, who turned his eyes wildly in the direction of the 
 disturbance ; and I rushed forwards to raise in my arms 
 the exhausted victim. I had scarcely got her placed on 
 her feet, when she again struggled to reach the bed ; and 
 having, by my assistance, got far enough forward, she 
 threw herself on the body of the fever-ridden patient, 
 ejaculating, as she seized him in her arms, and bedewed 
 his pale face with tears — 
 
 " Frederick ! my honoured husband, whom I am boimd 
 to cherish and nurse as becomes the fondest of wives, why 
 is it that I have been deprived of this luxury of the grief- 
 stricken heart — to watch your looks, and anticipate your 
 wants ? Thanks to the blessed powers of your faith and 
 of mine, I have you now in my arms, and no mortal shall 
 come between me and my love! Night and day I will 
 watch and tend you, till the assiduities of my affection 
 weary out the effects of your cruel disease brouglit on you 
 — God! — by your grief for me, your worthless Espras." 
 
 And she buried her head in the bosom of the sick man, 
 and sobbed intensely. This scene, from the antithesis of 
 its circumstances, appeared to me the most striking I had 
 ever beheld ; and, though it was my duty to prevent so 
 exciting a cause of disturbance to the patient, 1 felt I had 
 no power to stop this biu'st of true aflection. I watched 
 narrowly the eye of the patient; but it was too much 
 clouded by the effects of the fever, and too nervous and 
 fugacious, to enable me to distinguish between the effects
 
 212 TAXES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 of disease and tlie working of the natural affections. But 
 that his mind and feelings were working, and "were 
 responding to this powerful moral impulse, was proved 
 fearfaUy by his rapid indistinct muttering and jabbering, 
 mixed with deep sighs, and the peculiar sound of the 
 repressed sobs which I have already mentioned, but cannot 
 assimilate to any sound I ever heard. AU my efforts to 
 remove the devoted wife by entreaty were vain •, she still 
 clung to him, as if he had been on the eve of being taken 
 from her by death. Her sobbing continued unabated, and 
 her tears fell on his cheek. These intense expressions of 
 love and sorrow awoke the sympathy which I thought had 
 previously been partially excited, for I now observed that 
 he turned away his head, whUe a stream of tears flowed 
 down his face. It was now, I found, necessary, for the sake 
 of the patient, to remove the excited lady; and I was 
 obliged to apply a gentle force before I could accomplish 
 my purpose. She insisted, however, upon remaining in 
 the room, and beseeched me so piteously for this privilege, 
 that I consented to a couch being made up for her at a 
 little distance from the bed of her husband, whom it was 
 her determination to tend and nurse, to the exclusion of 
 all others. I was not, indeed, ill pleased at this resolution, 
 for I anticipated, from her unexampled love and devoted- 
 ness, an effect on the heart of her husband which might 
 cure its vices and regenerate its affections. 
 
 On the next occasion of my stated visit, I found my 
 patient had at last fallen into a state of absolute delirium. 
 On a soft arm-chair, situated by his bedside, sat his wife, 
 the picture of despair, wringing her hands, and indulging 
 in the most extravagant demonstrations of grief and affec- 
 tion. The wretched man exhibited the ordinary symptoms 
 of that unnatural excitement of the brain under which he 
 laboured — relapsing at times into silence, then uttering a 
 multiplicity of confused words — jabbering wildly — looking
 
 THE CURED INGRATE. 213 
 
 about hliQ with that extraordinary expression of the eye, 
 as if every individual present was viewed as a murderer — 
 then starting up, and, with an overstrained and choking 
 voice, vociferating his frenzied thoughts, and then again 
 relapsing into silence. It is but little we can do for 
 patients in this extreme condition ; but the faith his wife 
 reposed in professional powers that had already saved her, 
 suggested supplications and entreaties which I told her she 
 had better direct to a higher Dispensator of hope and 
 relief. The tumultuous thoughts of the raving victim 
 were stiU at intervals rolling forth ; and, aU of a sudden, I 
 was startled by a great increase of the intensity and con- 
 nectedness of his speech. He had struck the chord that 
 sounded most fearfully in his own ears. His attempt to 
 murder the creature who now sat and heard his wild con- 
 fession, was described by himself in intelligible, though 
 broken sentences : — 
 
 " The fortune brought me by Espras," he vociferated, 
 " is loaded by the burden of herself — that glass is not well 
 ground — you are not so iU, my dear Espras, as to require 
 a doctor — I cannot bear the thought of you labouring 
 under that necessity — who can cure you so well as your 
 devoted husband ? Take this — fear not — why should love 
 have suspicions ? When she is gone, I shall have a wife 
 of whom I may not be ashamed — yet, is she not a stranger 
 in a foreign land ? Has she not left her country, her rela- 
 tions, her friends, her gods, for me, whom she has raised 
 to opulence? Cease, cease — I cannot stand these thodghts 
 — tliere is a strife in this heart between the powers of hell 
 and heaven — when will it terminate, and who shall rule 
 my destiny ? " 
 
 These words, which he accompanied with wild gestures, 
 were followed by his usual indistinct muttering and jab- 
 bering. I directed my gaze upon his wife. She sat in the 
 chair, motionless, ■with her eyes fixed on the ground as if
 
 214 TALES OF THE BOBDERS. 
 
 she had been struclv with death in that position, and been 
 stifiened into a rigidity which retained her in her place. 
 The issues of her tenderness and affection seeqaed to have 
 been sent back upon the heart, whose pulses they stopped. 
 The killing pain of an ingratitude, ingeniously heightened 
 to the highest grade of that hell-king of all human crimes, 
 operating upon a mind rendered so sensitively susceptible 
 of its influences, paralyzed the whole moral constitution of 
 the devoted creature, and realized the poetical creation of 
 despair. I felt inclined to soften the sternness of her grief, 
 by quickening her disbelief of the raving thoughts of a 
 fever-maniac ; but I paused as I thought of the probable 
 necessity of her suspicion for her future safety from the 
 schemes of a murderer, whose evU desires might be resus- 
 citated by the return of health. I covJd do nothing more 
 at that time for the dreadful condition of the wretched 
 husband, and less for the more dreadful state of the miser- 
 able wife ; and the personal pain I experienced in witness- 
 ing this high-wrought scene of terror, forced me to depart, 
 leaving the one still raving in his madness, and the other 
 bound in the stern grasp of the most awful of aU moral 
 visitations. 
 
 I expected that on my next visit I would find such a 
 change on my patient as woidd enable me to decide 
 whether he would live or die ; but he was still dehrious, 
 with the crowded thoughts of the events of his past life 
 careering through his fevered brain, as if their restlessness 
 and agitation were produced by the burning fixes that 
 chased them from their legitimate territory of the mind. 
 There was, however, a change in one quarter. Ilis wife's 
 confidence and aftcction had withstood and triumphed 
 over the attack of the previous day, and she was again 
 occupied In hanging over her raving husband, shedding 
 on his unconscious face the tear of pity, and supplying, by 
 anticipation, every want that could be supposed incident
 
 THE CLUED INGRATE. 215 
 
 to his miserable condition. This new and additional proof 
 of the strength of this Avoman's steadfastness, in her unpa- 
 ralleled fidelity and love, struck me even more forcibly 
 than the previous indications she had given of this extra- 
 ordinary feature in her character. But I was uncertain 
 yet whether to construe her conduct as salutary or dan- 
 gerous to her own personal interests— a circumstance de- 
 pending on the further development of the sentiments of 
 her husband. On that same evening the change suspected 
 took place : the delii'ivmi abated, and consciousness, that 
 had been driven forcibly from her throne, hastened to 
 assume the sceptre of her authority. The crisis was j>ast, 
 and the patient began to be sensible of those attentions on 
 the part of his devoted wife, which had not only the merit 
 of being unremitting, but that of being sweetened by the 
 tears of solicitude and the blandness of love. I marked 
 attentively the first impressions made by her devotedness 
 on the returning sense. I saw his look following her eye, 
 which was continually inflamed and bedewed by the effects 
 of her grief; and, after he had for a period of time fixed 
 his half-conscious, half-wondering gaze on her, he turned 
 it suddenly away, but not before he gave sufficient indi- 
 cations of sympatliy and sorrow in a gush of tears. These 
 manifestations were afterwards often repeated; but I 
 thought I sometimes could perceive an abruptness in liis 
 manner, and a painful impatience of the minute, refined, 
 and ingenious attentions of a highly-impassioned affection, 
 which left me in doubt whether, after his disease was re- 
 moved, sufficient rchance could be placed on the stability 
 of his regeneration. 
 
 In my subsequent visits I kept up my study of tho 
 operations of his mind as well as the changes of his disease. 
 Plis wife's attentions seemed rather to increase vrith the 
 improvement of his lieaHh and her increased abihty to 
 discharge the duties of affection. He had improved so fi\r
 
 216 TALES OF THE BORDEKS. 
 
 as to be in a condition to receive medicines for tlie recovery 
 of the tone of his stomach. I seized the opportunity of his 
 "\vife leaving for a short time his sick room, and, as I seated 
 myself on her chair by the bedside, I took from my pocket 
 the powder of iron-filings and triturated glass he had pre- 
 jiared for the poisoning of her "who had latterly been con- 
 tributing all the energies of love to the saving of his 
 life. 
 
 " A chalybeate mixture," said I, while I fixed my eyes 
 on his countenance, " has been recommended for patients 
 in your condition, for improving the power of the stomach 
 W(?akened by the continued nausea of a protracted fever. 
 Here is a powder composed of iron-filings, a good chaly- 
 beate, which I found lying in your wife's apartment. 1 
 have none better in my laboratory, and would recommend 
 to you a full dose of it before I depart." 
 
 The electric effect of this statement Avas instantaneous 
 and remarkable. He seemed like one who had felt the 
 sliarp sting of a musket bullet sent into his body by a 
 hand unseen — uncertain of the nature of the wound, or of 
 tlie aim by which it is produced. A sudden suspicion 
 relieved his stUl fevered eye, which threw upon me the 
 full blaze of staring wonder and terror, while an accom- 
 panying uncertainty of my intention sealed his mouth and 
 added curiosity to his look. . But I followed up my inten- 
 tion resolutely and determinedly. 
 
 " Here is on the table," continued I, " a nmcilaginous 
 vehicle for its conveyance into the stomach. I shall pre- 
 pare it instantly. To seize quickly the handle of an auspi- 
 cious occasion is the soul of our art." — (Approaching tin' 
 bed with tlie medicine in my hand.) 
 
 " I cannot, I cannot take that medicine," he cried, wlldlj'. 
 " What means this ? Help me. Heaven, in this emergency 1 
 I cannot, I dare not take that medicine." 
 
 "Why?" said I, still eyeing him intently. "Is it be-
 
 TUJE CUKKD INGUATE. 217 
 
 cause there is ground glass in it? That cannot be; 
 because I understand it was intended for Espras, your 
 loving, faithfid. wife ; and who would administer so dread- 
 ful a poison to a creature so gentle and interesting ? She 
 is, besides, a foreigner in our land ; and who would treat 
 the poor unprotected stranger with the dainty that has 
 concealed in it a lurking death ? Is this the hospitality of 
 Britain?" 
 
 Every word was a thunderstroke to his heart. All 
 uncertainty fled before these flaming sarcasms, which car- 
 ried, on the bolt of truth, the keenness of his own poison. 
 His pain became intense, and exliibited the peculiarity of 
 a mixture of extreme terror, directed towards me as one 
 that had the power of hanging him, and of intense sorrow 
 for the injury he had produced to the wife of his bosom, 
 whose emaciated figure, hanging over him in his distress, 
 must have been deeply imprinted on his soul. Yet it was 
 plain that his sorrow overcame his fear; for I saw his 
 bosom heaving with an accumulation of hj'sterical emo- 
 tions, which convulsed his frame in the intense manner of 
 the aerial ball that chokes the female victim of excited 
 nerves. The struggle lasted for several minutes, and at 
 last a burst of dissolving tenderness, removing all the ob- 
 structions of prudence or terror, and stunning my ear with 
 its loud sound, aflbrded him a temporary relief. Tears 
 gushed down his cheeks, and groans of sorrow filled the 
 room, and might have been heard in the apartment of his 
 wife, whose entry, I feared, might have interrupted the 
 extraordinary scene. Looking at me wistfully, he held 
 out his hands, and sobbed out, in a tone of despair — 
 "^Viv. you my friend, or are you my enemy ? " 
 I answered him that I was the friend of liis wife — one of 
 the brightest patterns of female fidelity I had ever seen; 
 and if by declaring myself his friend I would save her from 
 the designs of the poisoner, and him from the pains of the
 
 218 TALES 01' THE BOUDEKS. 
 
 law and the fire of hell, I would mstantly siga the bond of 
 amity. 
 
 "You have knocked from my soul the bonds of terror," 
 he cried out, still sobbing ; " and if 1 kneAV and were satis- 
 fied of one thing more, I would resign myself to God and 
 my own breaking heart. Did Espras — yet Avhy should I 
 suspect one who rejects suspicion as others do the poison 
 she would swallow from my hand, though labelled by the 
 apothecary ? — did Espras tell you what you have so darkly 
 and fearfully hinted to me ? " 
 
 I replied to him that, in place of telling me, the faithful 
 unsuspecting creature had to that hour rejected and 
 spurned the suspicion, as unworthy of her pure, confiding 
 spirit. 
 
 " It is over! — it is over!" cried the changed man. " 
 God ! How powerful is virtue 1 IIow strong is the force 
 of those qualities of the heart which we men often treat as 
 weak baubles to toy Avith, and throw away in our fits of 
 proud spleen — the softness, the gentleness, the fidelity and 
 devotedness of woman ! How strangely, how wonderfully 
 formed is the heart of man, which, disdaining the terrors 
 of the rope of the executioner, breaks and succumbs at 
 tlie touch of the thistle-down of a woman's love ! This 
 creature, sir, gave me my fortune, made me what I am, 
 left for me her country and her friends, adhered to me 
 through good and evil report— and I prepared for her a 
 cruel death ! Dreadful contrast ! Who shall describe the 
 shame, the sorrow, the humiliation of the ingrate whose 
 crime has risen to the fearful altitude of this enormity; 
 and who, by the tenderness and love of his devoted victim, 
 is forced to turn his eye on the grim reward of death for 
 love, riches, and life ? Gentle, beloved, injured Espras 1 
 that emaciated form, these trembling limbs, these sunken 
 eyes, and these weak and whispering sounds of pity and 
 afTection have touched my heart with a power that never
 
 THE CURED INGEATE. 219 
 
 was vouclisafed to the tongue of eloquence. Transcending 
 the rod of Moses, they have brought from the rock streams 
 of blood ; and every pulse is filled with tenderness and 
 pity. "Wretched fool ! I was ashamed of your nativity, 
 and of the colour you inherited from nature, and never 
 estimated the qualities of your heart ; but when shall the 
 red-and-white beauty of England transcend my Espras in 
 her fidelity and love, as she does in the skin-deep tints of 
 a beguihng, treacherous face ? God ! what a change has 
 come over this heart ! Thanks, and prayers, and tears of 
 blood, never can express the gratitude it owes to the 
 great Author of our being for this miraculous return to 
 virtue, effected by the simple means of a Avoman's confi- 
 dence and love." 
 
 As he finished this impassioned speech, which I have 
 repeated as correctly as my memory enabled me to com- 
 mit to my note-book, he turned his eyes upwards, and 
 remained for at least five minutes in silent prayer. As he 
 was about finishing his wife entered. Her appearance 
 called forth from his excited mind a burst of affection, and 
 seizing her in his arms, he wept over her like a child. 
 He was met as fervently by the gentle and aftectionate 
 creature, who, grateful to God for this renewed expres- 
 sion of her husband's love, turned up her eyes to heaven, 
 and wept aloud. I never witnessed a scene like this. I 
 left them to their enjoyment, and returned home. 
 
 I was subsequently a constant visitor at the house of 
 Colonel P ; and, about eighteen months after his re- 
 covery, I officiated as accouchevir to his wife on the occa- 
 sion of the birth of a son. Other children followed after- 
 wards, and bound closer the bonds of that conjugal love 
 which I had some hand in producing, and which I saw 
 increase daily through a long'course of years.
 
 220 TALES OF THE B0RDEB8. 
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 
 A TALE OF THE TIMES OF THE COVENANTERS. 
 
 " On, for the sword of Gideon, to rid the land of tyrants, 
 to bring down the pride of apostates, and to smite the un- 
 godly with confusion ! " muttered John Brydone to himself, 
 as he went into the fields on the September of 1645, and 
 beheld that the greater part of a crop of oats, which had 
 been cut down a few days before, was carried off. John 
 was the proprietor of about sixty acres on the south bank of 
 the Ettrick, a little above its junction with the Tweed. At 
 the period we speak of, the talented and ambitious Marquis 
 of Montrose, who had long been an apostate to the cause of 
 the Covenant — and not only an apostate, but its most power- 
 ful enemy — having, as he thought, completely crushed its 
 adherents in Scotland, in the pride of his heart led his 
 followers towards England, to support the tottering cause of 
 Charles in the south, and was now Avith his cavalry quartered 
 at Selkirk, while his infantry were encamped at Philiphaugh, 
 on the opposite side of the river. 
 
 Every reader has heard of Melrose Abbey — which is still 
 venerated in its decay, majestic in its ruins — and they have 
 read, too, of the abode of the northern wizard, who shed 
 the halo of his genius over the surrounding scenery. But 
 many have heard of Melrose, of Scott, and of Abbotsford, 
 to whom the existence of Philiphaugh is unknown. It, 
 however, is one of those places where our forefathers laid 
 the foundation of oi;r freedom with the bones of its enemies, 
 and cemented it with their own blood. If the stranger
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 221 
 
 vfho visits Melrose and Abbotsford pursue his journey a few 
 miles farther, he may imagine that he is stiU following the 
 source of the Tweed, tmtil he arrive at Selkirk, when he 
 finds that for some miles he has been upon the banks of the 
 Ettrick, and that the Tweed is lost among the wooded hills 
 to the north. Immediately below Selkirk, and where the 
 forked river forms a sort of island, on the opposite side of 
 the stream, he will see a spacious haugh, surrounded by 
 wooded hiUs, and forming, if -we may so speak, an amphi- 
 theatre bounded by the Ettrick, between the Yarrow and 
 the Tweed. Such is Philiphaugh ; where the arms of the 
 Covenant triumphed, and where tlie sword of Montrose was 
 blunted for ever. 
 
 Now, the sim had not yet risen, and a thick, dark mist 
 covered the face of the earth, when, as we have said, John 
 Brydone went out into his fields, and found that a quantity 
 of his oats had been carried away. He doubted not but 
 they had been taken for the use of Montrose's cavalry; and 
 it was not for the loss of his substance that he grieved, 
 and that his spirit was wroth, but because it was taken to 
 assist the enemies of his country, and the persecutors of the 
 truth; for than John Brydone, humble as he was, there was 
 not a more daxmtless or a more determined supporter of the 
 Covenant in all Scotland. "Wliile he yet stood by the side 
 of his field, and, from the thickness of the morning, was 
 vmable to discern objects at a few yards' distance, a party of 
 horsemen rode up to where he stood. " Countryman," said 
 one who appeared to be their leader, "can you inform us 
 where the army of Montrose is encamped?" 
 
 John, talcing them to be a party of the Royalists, sullenly 
 replied — " There's mony ane asks the road they ken," and 
 was proceeding into the field. 
 
 " Answer me ! " demanded the horseman angrily, and 
 raising a pistol in his hand — " Sir David Lesly commands 
 you."
 
 222 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Sir David Lesly !" cried John — "the champion of the 
 truth ! — the defender of the good cause ! If ye be Sir 
 David Lesly, as I trow ye be, get yer troops in readiness, 
 and, before the mist vanish on the river, I -will deliver the 
 host o' the Philistines into your hand." 
 
 "See that ye play not the traitor," said Lesly, "or the 
 nearest tree shall be unto thee as the gallows Avas to Haman 
 which he prepared for Mordecai." 
 
 " Do even so to me, and more also," replied John, " if ye 
 find me false. But think ye that I look as though I bore 
 the mark of the beast upon my forehead?" he continued, 
 taking off his Lowland bonnet, and gazing General Lesly 
 full in the face. 
 
 " I Avill trust you," said the General ; and, as he spoke, 
 the van of his army appeared in sight. 
 
 John having described the situation of the enemy to Sir 
 David, acted as their guide imtil they came to the Shaw 
 Burn, when the General called a halt. Each man having 
 partaken of a hurried repast, by order of Sir David, the word 
 was given along the line tliat they should return thanks for 
 being conducted to the place where the enemy of the Kirk 
 and his army slept in imaginary security. The preachers at 
 the head of the different divisions of the army gave out a 
 psalm, and the entire host of the Covenanters, uncovering 
 their heads, joined at the same moment in thanksgiving and 
 praise. John Brydone was not a man of tears, but, as he 
 joined in the psalm, they roUed down his checks, for his 
 heart felt, while his tongue uttered praise, that a day of 
 deliverance for the people of Scotland was at hand. The 
 psalm being concluded, each preacher offered up a short but 
 earnest prayer ; and each man, grasping his weapon, was 
 ready to lay down his life for his religion and his liberty, 
 
 John Brydone, with his bonnet in hand, approaching Sir 
 David, said — " Now, sir, I that ken the ground, and the 
 situation o' the enemy, would ad^dse ye, as a man who has
 
 TUE ADOrXtD SOX. 223 
 
 seen some seiTice mysel', to halve your men ; let tlie one 
 party proceed by the river to attack them on tlie one 
 side, and tlie other go round the hills to cut off their 
 retreat."* 
 
 " Ye speak skilfully," said Sir David, and he gave orders 
 as John Brydone had advised. 
 
 The IMarquis of Montrose had been disappointed in rein- 
 forcements from his sovereign. Of two parties which had 
 been sent to assist him in his raid into England, one had 
 been roiited in Yorkshire, and the other defeated on Carlisle 
 sands, and only a few individuals from both parties joined 
 him at Selku'k. A great part of his Highlanders had re- 
 turned home to enjoy their plunder; but his army was still 
 formidable, and he imagined that he had Scotland at his 
 feet, and that he had nothing to fear from anjihing the 
 Covenanters could bring against him. He had been -writ- 
 ing despatches throughout the night; and he was sitting in 
 the best house in Selkirk, penning a letter to his sovereign, 
 when he was startled by the sounds of cannon and of mus- 
 ketry, lie rushed to the street. The inhabitants were 
 hurrpng from their houses — many of his cavalry were 
 mingling, half-drcsscd, with the crowd. "To horse! — to 
 horse!" shouted Llontrose. His command was promptly 
 obeyed ; and, in a few minutes, at the head of his cavalry, 
 he rushed down the street leading to the river towards 
 Phihphaugh. Tlie mist was breaking away, and he beheld 
 his army fleeing in every direction. The Covenanters had 
 burst upon them as a thunderbolt. A thousand of his best 
 troops lay dead iipon the field. f He endeavoured to rally 
 
 * " But halve your men in equal parts, 
 Vour purpose to fuUil ; 
 Let r.c hfilf kctp the vrRtcr-side, 
 The rest gac round the hill." 
 
 BaUle of Philiphaugh—Sordcr BaUad. 
 t Sir Walter Scott pays that " the nujuber of slain in the field did not exceed 
 three or four hundred." All the authorities 1 have seen state the nuniterat a 
 ibuusand. lie also accuses Lcsly of abusing his victoo' hy slaughtering tuauy
 
 224 TALES OP THE B0KDKR3. 
 
 them, but in vain; and, cutting liis way through the Cove- 
 nanters, he fled at his utmost speed, and halted not until 
 he had arrived Avithin a short distance of where the delightful 
 watering town of Innerleithen now stands, when he sought 
 a temporary resting-place in the house of Lord Traqualr. 
 
 John Brydone, having been furnished with a sword, had 
 not been idle during the engagement; but, as he had fought 
 upon foot, and the greater part of Lesly's army were cavalry, 
 he had not joined in the pursuit; and, when the battle was 
 over, he conceived it to be as much his duty to act the part 
 of the Samaritan, as it had been to perform that of a soldier. 
 He was busied, therefore, on the field in administering, as 
 he could, to the wounded; and whether they were Cavalier 
 or Covenanter, it was all one to John ; for he was not one 
 who could trample on a fell en foe, and in their hour of need 
 he considered all men as brolJiers. He Avas passing Avithin 
 about tAventy yards of a tent upon the Haugh, Avhich had 
 a superior appearance to the others — it Avas larger, and the 
 cloth which covered it Avas of a finer quality; when his at- 
 tention Avas arrested by a sound unlike all that belonged to 
 a battle-field — the Availing and the cries of an infant ! He 
 looked around, and ne:ir him lay the dead body of a lady, 
 and on her breast, locked in her cold arms, a child of a fcAV 
 months old was struggling. He ran toAA'ards them — he 
 perceived that the lady was dead — he took the child in his 
 arms— he held it to his bosom— he kissed its cheek — " Puir 
 thing! — puir thing!" said John; "the innocent hae been 
 left to perish amang the unrighteous." He Avas bearing 
 away the child, patting its check, and caressing it as he 
 went, and forgetting the soldier in the nurse, Avhcn he said 
 unto himself— "Puir innocent! — an' belike yer Avrang- 
 headed faither is fleeing for his life, an' Ihinking aboot ye 
 
 of his priBoncra In cold Wood. Now, it Is true that a hundred of the Irish adven- 
 turers were shot ; b\it this was in pursuance of an act of both Parliaments, and 
 not from any private rcvon'-o on tlio part of General Lesly.
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 225 
 
 an' yer mother as he flees! "Weel, ye may be claimed some 
 day, an' I maun do a' in my power to gie an account o' ye." 
 So John turned back towards the lifeless body of the child's 
 mother; and he perceived that she wore a costly ring upon 
 her finger, and bracelets on her arms; she also held a small 
 parcel, resembling a book, in her hands, as though she had 
 fled with it, ^\dthout being able to conceal it, and almost at 
 the door of her tent she bad fallen with her child in her 
 arms, and her treasure in her hand. John stooped upon the 
 ground, and took the ring from her finger, and the brace- 
 lets from her arms; he took also the packet from her hands, 
 and in it he found other jewels, and a purse of gold pieces. 
 " These may find thee a faither, puir thing," said he ; " or 
 if they do not, they may befriend thee when John Brydone 
 cannot." 
 
 He carried home the chUd to his own house, and his wife 
 having at that time an infant daughter at her breast, she 
 took the foundling from her husband's arms, and became 
 unto it as a mother, nursing it with her o-wti chUd. But 
 John told not his wife of the purse, nor the ring, nor the 
 rich jewels. 
 
 The child had been In their keeping for several weeks, 
 
 but no one appeared to claim him. "The bairn may hae 
 
 been baptized," said John ; " but it 'wud be after the 
 
 fashion o' the sons o' Belial ; but he is a brand plucked from 
 
 the burning — he is my baii-n noo, and I shall be unto hini 
 
 as a faither — I'll tak upon me the vows — ajid, as though 
 
 he were flesh o' my ain flesh, I will fulfil them." So the 
 
 child was baptized. In consequence of his having been 
 
 found on Philiphaugh, and of the victory there gained, he 
 
 was called Philip; and as John had adopted him as his 
 
 son, he bore also the name of Brydone. It is unnecessary 
 
 for us to foUow the foundling through his years of boyhood. 
 
 John had two children — a son named Daniel, and Mary, 
 
 who was nursed at his mother's breast with the orphan 
 Vol. II. u
 
 226 TALES OF THE BOKDEKS. 
 
 Philip. As the boy grew up, he called liis protectors by 
 the name of father and mother; but lie knew they Avere not 
 such, for John had shown him the spot upon the Haugh 
 where he had found him wailing on the bosom of his dead 
 mother. Frequently, too, when he quarrelled -with his play- 
 fellows, they would call him the " Philiphaugh foundling,'* 
 and "the Cavalier's brat;" and on such occasions Mary was 
 wont to take his part, and, weeping, say " he was her bro- 
 ther." As he grew up, however, it grieved his protector 
 to observe that he manifested but little of the piety, and 
 less of the sedateness of his own children. " W^iat is born 
 i' the bane, isna easily rooted oot o' the flesh," said John ; 
 and in secret he prayed and wept that his adopted son 
 might be brought to a knowledge of the truth. The days of 
 the Commonwealth had come, and John and his son Daniel 
 rejoiced in the triumphs of the Parliamentary armies, and 
 the success of its fleets; but, while they spoke, Philip wouJd 
 mutter between his teeth — " It is the triumph of murderers!" 
 He believed that but for the ascendancy of the Common- 
 wealth, he might have obtained some tidings of his family; 
 and this led him to hate a cause which the activity of his 
 spirit might have tempted him to embrace. 
 
 Mary Brydone had always been dear to him ; and, as he 
 grew towards manhood, he gazed on her beautiful features 
 with delight ; but it was not the calm delight of a brother 
 contemplating the fair face of a sister ; for Philip's heart 
 glowed as he gazed, and the blush gathered on his cheek. 
 One summer evening they were returning from the fields 
 together, the sun was sinking in the west, the Ettrick mur- 
 miu-ed along by their side, and the voice of the wood-dove 
 was heard from the copse-wood which covered the hills. 
 
 "Wliy are you so sad, brother Philip?" said Mary; 
 "would you hide anything from your OAvn sister?" 
 
 " Do not call me brother, Mary," said he earnestly — " do 
 not call me brother!''''
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 227 
 
 "Who would call you brother, Philip, if I did not?" re- 
 tiirued she affectionately. 
 
 " Let Daniel call me brother," said he, eagerly; " but not 
 you — not you ! " 
 
 She bui'st into tears. " When did I offend you, Philip," 
 she added, "that I may not caU you brother?" 
 
 "Never, Mary!— never !" he exclaimed; "call me Phihp 
 ^your Phihp !— anythmg but brother ! " He took her hand 
 within his — he pressed it to his bosonj. " Mary," he added, 
 " I have neither father, mother, brother, nor kindred— I am 
 alone in the world — let there be something that I can call 
 mine — something that will love me in return ! Do you un- 
 derstand me, Mary?" 
 
 " You are cruel, Philip," said she, sobbmg as she spoke ; 
 " you know I love you — I have always loved you I " 
 
 "Yes I as you love Daniel — as you love your father; but 
 not as" 
 
 " You love Mr. Duncan," he would have said ; but his 
 heart upbraided him for the suspicion, and he was silent. It 
 is here necessary to inform the reader that Mr. Duncan was 
 a preacher of the Covenant, and John Brydone revered him 
 much. He was much older than Mary, but his heart cleaved 
 to her, and he had asked her father's consent to become his 
 son-in-law. John, though a stern man, was not one who 
 would force the inclination of his daughter; but Mr. Duncan 
 was, as he expressed it, " one of the faithful in Israel," and 
 his proposal was pleasing to him. Mary, however, regarded 
 the preacher Avith aAve, but not with affection. 
 
 Mary felt that she understood Philip— that she loved 
 him, and not as a brother. She hid her face upon his 
 shoulder, and her hand returned the pressure of his. They 
 entered the house together, and her father perceived tliat 
 his daughter's face was troubled. The manner of both was 
 changed. He was a shrewd man as well as a stern man, 
 and he also suspected the cause.
 
 228 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 " Philij)," said he calmly, " for twenty years hae 1 pro- 
 tected ye, an' watclied ower ye wi' a faither's care, an' I 
 fear that, in return for my care, ye hae brought sorrow into 
 the bosom o' mj family, an' instilled disobedience into the 
 flesh o' my ain flesh. But though ye hae cleaved — as it 
 maun hae been inherent in your bluid — into the principles 
 o' the sons o' this warld, yet, as I ne'er found ye guilty o' a 
 falsehood, an' as I believe ye incapable o' ane, tell me truly, 
 why is your countenance an' that o' Mary changed — and 
 why are ye baith troubled to look me straight in the face ? 
 Answer me — hae ye taught her to forget that she is your 
 sister?" 
 
 "Yes!" answered Phihp; "and can it offend the man 
 who saved me, who has watched over me, and sheltered me 
 from infancy till now, that I should wish to be his son in 
 more than in name ? " 
 
 " It does oflend me, Philip," said the Covenanter ; " even 
 unto death it offends me ! I hae consented that my dochter 
 shaU gie her hand to a guid an' a godly man, who will look 
 after her weelfare baith here and hereafter. And ye kenned 
 this — she kenned it, and she didna refuse; but ye hae come 
 like the son o' darkness, an' sawn tares amang the wheat." 
 " Father," said Phihp, " if you will still allow me to caU 
 you by that name — foundUng though I am — unknown as I 
 am — in what am I worse than him to Avhom you would 
 sacrifice yoiu: daughter's happiness?" 
 
 " Sacrifice her happiness I " interrupted the old man ; 
 " hoo daur ye speak o' happiness, Avha kens nae meanin' for 
 the word but the vain pleasures o' this sinfu' warld ! Think 
 ye that, as a faither, an' as ane that has my offspring to 
 answer for, that I daur sacrifice the eternal happiness o' my 
 bairn, for the gratification o' a temporary feelin' which ye 
 encouiage the day and may extinguish the morn ? Na, 
 sir; they wha wad ken what true happiness is, maun first 
 learn to crucify liuman passions. "Mary," added he,
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 229 
 
 sternly, turning to his daughter, " repeat the fifth com- 
 mandment." 
 
 She had been weeping before, and she now wept aloud. 
 
 " Eepeat it ! " repUed her father yet more sternly. 
 
 " Honour thy father and thy mother," added she, sobbing 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " See, then, bairn," replied her fether, " that ye remem- 
 ber that commandment in yer imrt, as weel as on yer 
 tongue. Eemember, too, that o' a' the commands, it's the 
 only ane to which a promise is attached; and, noo, mark 
 what I say, an', as ye wadna disobey me, see, at yer peril, 
 that ye ne'er permit this young man to speak to ye again, 
 save only as a brither." 
 
 "Sir," said Philip, "we have grown up together like 
 tvnn tendrils on the same vine, and can ye wonder that our 
 hearts have become ent-\vined round each other, or that they 
 can tear asunder because ye command it ! Or, could I look 
 on the face of an angel" 
 
 " Out on ye, blasphemer ! " interrupted the Covenanter 
 — " wad ye apply siccan epithets to a bairn o' mine ? Once 
 for all, hear me, PhiHp ; there are but twa ways o't, and ye 
 can tak yer choice. It's the first time I hae spoken to ye 
 rouglily, but it isna the first time my spirit has mourned 
 ower ye. I hae tried to lead ye in the right path ; ye hae 
 had baith precept and example afore yc ; but the leaven o' 
 this warld — the leaven o' the persecutors o' the Kirk and 
 the Covenant — was in yer very bluid; an' I believe, if 
 opportunity had offered, ye wad hae drawn yer sword in the 
 unholy cause. A' that I could say, an' a' that I could do, 
 religion has ne'er had ony place in yer heart ; but ye hae 
 yearned aboot yer faither, and ye hae mourned aboot yer 
 mother — an' that was natural aneugh — but oh I ye hae also 
 desired to cling to the cauld formality o' Episcopacy, as they 
 nae doot did : an' shoixld ye e'er discover that yer parents 
 hae been Papists, I believe that ye wad become ane too!
 
 230 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 An' aften, when the conversation turned upon the apostate 
 Montrose, or the gallant Lesly, I hae seen ye manifest the 
 spirit an' the very look o' a persecutor. Were I to gie up 
 my dochter to such a man, I shovJd be worse than the 
 heathen wha sacrifice their offspring to the abomination o' 
 idols. Noo, Philip, as I hae tauld ye, there are but twa ways 
 o't. Either this very hour gie me your solemn promise that 
 ye will think o' ^lary as to be yer wife nae mair, or, wi' the 
 risin' o' to-morrow's sun, leave this house for ever!" 
 
 " Sir," said Philip bitterly, " your last command I can 
 obey, thoiigh it would be with a sad heart — though it 
 woiild be in despair — your first I cannot — I will not!" 
 
 *' You must — you slialW^ replied the Covenanter. 
 
 " Never," answered Philip. 
 
 ** Then," rephed the old man, " leave the roof that has 
 sheltered ye frae yer cradle ! " 
 
 " I will!" said Philip, and the tears ran down his cheeks. 
 He walked towards IMary, and, with a faltering voice, said 
 — "Farewell, Mary! — Farewell! I did not expect this; 
 but do not forget me — do not give your hand to another— 
 and we shall meet again!" 
 
 "You shall not!" interrupted the inexorable old man. 
 
 Mary implored her father, for her sake, and for the sake 
 of her departed mother, who had loved Philip as her own 
 son, that he would not drive him from the house, and 
 Daniel, too, entreated ; but their supplications were vain. 
 
 " Farewell, then ! " said Philip ; " and, though I depart 
 in misery, let it not be with thy curse, but let the blessing 
 of him who has been to me a father imtil now, go with 
 me." 
 
 ♦'The blessin' o' Heaven be wi' ye and around ye, 
 Philip I " groaned the Covenanter, struggling to conceal a 
 tear: "but, if ye -will follow the dictates o' yer rebellious 
 heart and leave us, tak wi' ye yer property." 
 
 "My property!" replied Philip.
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 231 
 
 " Yer property," returned tlie old man. " Twenty years 
 has it lain in tliat drawer, an' during lliat time eyes hae 
 not seen it, nor fingers touched it. It will assist ye noo ; 
 an' when ye enter the warld, may throw some light upon 
 yer parentage." 
 
 He went to a small drawer, and, unlocking it, took out 
 the jewels, the bracelet, the ring, knd the purse of gold, 
 and, placing them in Philip's hands, exclaimed — "Fare- 
 weel! — fareweel! — but it maun be I" and he turned away 
 his head. 
 
 "0 Mary!" cried Philip, "keep— keep this in remem- 
 brance of me," as he attempted to place the ring in her 
 hand. 
 
 "Awa, sir!" exclaimed the old man, vehemently, "wad 
 ye bribe my bairn into disobedience, by the ornaments o' 
 folly an' iniquity! Awa, ye son o' Belial, an' provoke me 
 not to -vvrath 1" 
 
 Philip groaned, he dashed his hand upon his brow, and 
 rushed from the house. Mary wept long and bitterly, anl 
 Daniel wallced to and fro across the room, mourning fcj 
 one whom he loved as a brother. The old man went on!; 
 into the fields to conceal the agony of his spirit ; and, when 
 he had wandered for a while, he communed with himseli^ 
 saying, " I hae dune foolishly, an' an ungodly action hae i. 
 performed this nicht j I hae driven oot a young man upon 
 a wicked warld, wi' a' his sins an' liis follies on liis head ; 
 an', if evil come upon him, or he plunge into the paths o' 
 wickedness, his bluid an' his guilt will be laid at my hands! 
 Puir Phihp!" he added; "after a', he had a kind heart!" 
 And the stem old man drew the sleeve of his coat across his 
 eyes. In this frame of mind he returned to the house. 
 "Has Philip not come back?" said he, as he entered. 
 His son shook his head sorro^vfully, and Mary sobbed more 
 bitterly. 
 
 ^ Rin ye awa doun to Melrose, Daniel," said he, " an'
 
 232 TALES OF THE BORDEKS. 
 
 I'll awa up to Selkirk, an' inquire for him, an' bring him 
 back. Yer faither has allowed passion to get the better o' 
 him, an' to owercome baith the man an' the Christian." 
 
 " Eun, Daniel, run 1 " cried Mary eagerly. And the old 
 man and his son went out in search of him. 
 
 Tlieir inquiries were fruitless. Days, weeks, and months 
 roUed on, but nothing more Avas heard of poor Philip. 
 Mary refused to be comforted ; and the exhortations, the 
 kindness, and the tenderness shown towards her by the 
 Rev. Mr. Duncan, if not hateful, were disagreeable. Dark 
 thoughts, too, had taken possession of her father's mind, 
 and he frequently sank into melancholy ; for the thought 
 haunted him that his adopted son, on being driven from 
 his house, had laid violent hands upon his own life ; and 
 this idea embittered every day of his existence. 
 
 More than ten years had passed since Philip had left the 
 house of John Brydone. The Commonwealth was at an 
 end, and the second Charles had been recalled ; but exile 
 had not taught him wisdom, nor the fate of his father dis- 
 cretion. He madly attempted to be the lord and ruler of 
 tlie people's conscience, as well as King of Britain. lie was 
 a libertine with some virtues— a bigot without rehgion. In 
 the pride, or rather folly of his heart, he attempted to force 
 Prelacy upon the people of Scotland ; and he let his blood- 
 hounds loose, to hunt the followers of the Covenant from 
 hill to hill, to murder them on their own hearths, and, with 
 the blood of his victims, to blot out the word conscience 
 from the vocabulary of Scotchmen. The Covenanters 
 sought their God in the desert and on the mountains which 
 He had reared ; they worshipped him in the temples Avhich 
 His own hands had framed ; and there the persecutor sought 
 them, the destroyer found them, and the sword of the tyrant 
 was bathed in the blood of the worshipper 1 Even the 
 family altar was profaned; and to raise the voice of prayer 
 and praise in the cottage to the King of kings, was held to
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 233 
 
 be as treason against him who professed to represent Him 
 on earth. At this period, too, Graham of Claverhouse — 
 ■whom some have painted as an angel, but whose actions 
 were wortliy of a fiend — at the head of his troopers, who 
 Avere called by the profane, the ruling elders of the kirk, was 
 carrying death and cold-blooded cruelty throughout the 
 land. 
 
 Now, it was on a winter night in the year 1677, a party 
 of troopers were passing near the house of old John Brydone, 
 and he was known to them not only as being one who was 
 a defender of the Covenant, but also as one who har- 
 boured the preachers, and whose house was regarded as a 
 conventicle. 
 
 " Let us rouse the old psalm-singing heretic who lives 
 here from his knees," said one of the troopers. 
 
 "Ay, let us stir him up," said the sergeant who had the 
 command of the party ; " he is an old offender, and I don't 
 see we can make a better night's work than drag him along, 
 bag and baggage, to the captain. I have heard as how it 
 was he that betrayed our commander's kinsman, the gallant 
 ^lontrose." 
 
 "Hark! hark!— softly! softly!" said another, "let us 
 dismount— hear how the nasal drawl of the conventicle 
 moans through the air ! My horse pricks his cars at the 
 sound already. We shall catch them in the act." 
 
 Eight of the party dismounted, and, having given their 
 horses in charge to four of their comrades, who remained 
 behind, walked on tiptoe to the door of the cottage. They 
 heard the words given and sung — 
 
 " When cruel men aj^ainst us rose 
 To make of us their prey ! " 
 
 " Wliy, they are singing treason," said one of the troopers. 
 "What more do we need?" 
 
 The sergeant placed his forefinger on his lips, and for 
 about ten minutes they continued to listen. The song
 
 234 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 of praise ceased, and a person commenced to read a 
 chapter. They heard him also expound to his hearers as 
 he read. 
 
 "It is enough," said the sergeant; and, placing their 
 shoulders against the door, it was burst open. " You are 
 our prisoners ! " exclaimed the troopers, each man grasping 
 a sword in his right hand, and a pistol in the left. 
 
 " It is the wiU of Heaven !" said the Eev. Mr. Duncan ; 
 for it was he who had been reading and expounding the 
 Scriptures; "but, if ye stretch forth your hands against a 
 hair o' our heads. He, without whom a sparrow cannot fall 
 to the ground, shall remember it against ye at the great 
 day o' reckoning, when the trooper will be stripped of 
 his armour, and his right hand shall be a witness against 
 him!" 
 
 The soldiers burst into a laugh of derision. " No more 
 of your homily, reverend oracle," said the sergeant; " I 
 have an excellent recipe for short sermons here ; utter 
 another word and you shall have it ! " The troopers laughed 
 again, and the sergeant, as he spoke, held his pistol in the 
 face of the preacher. 
 
 Besides the clcrgj-man, there were in the room old John 
 Brydone, his son Daniel, and Mary. 
 
 " AVeU, old greybeard," said the sergeant, addressing 
 John, "you have been reported as a dangerous and dis- 
 aflected Presbyterian knave, as we find you to be ; you 
 are also accused of being a harbourer and an accomplice of 
 the preachers of sedition; and, lo! we have found also that 
 your house is used as a conventicle. We have caught you 
 in the act, and we shall take every soul of you as evidence 
 against yourselves. So come along, old boy— I should only 
 be doing my duty by blowing your brains against the wall; 
 but that is a ceremony which our commander may wish to 
 see performed in his o^vn presence 1" 
 
 "Sir," said John, "I ncitlier fear ye nor your armed
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 235 
 
 men. Tak me to the bloody Claverhouse, if you will, and 
 at the day o' judgment it shall be said — ' Let the murderers 
 o' John Brydone stand forth!'''' 
 
 " Let us despatch them at once," said one of the troopers. 
 
 "Nay," said the sergeant; "bind them together, and 
 drive them before us to the captain: I don't know but he 
 may wish to do justice to them mth his own hand." 
 
 " The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel," groaned 
 Mr. Duncaia. 
 
 Mary wrung her hands — "Oh, spare my father!" she cried. 
 
 "Wheesht, Mary!" said the old man; "as soon wad a 
 camel pass through the eye o' a needle, as ye wad find com- 
 passion in the hands o' these men!" 
 
 "Bind the girl and the preacher together," said the 
 sergeant. 
 
 " Nay, by your leave, sergeant," interrupted one of the 
 troopers, "I wouldn't be the man to lift a hand against 
 a pretty girl like that, if you would give me a regiment 
 for it." 
 
 "Ay, ay, Macdonald," replied the sergeant — "thisoomes 
 of your serving rmder that canting feUow, Lieutenant Mow- 
 bray — ^he has no love for the service; and confound me if 
 I don't believe he is half a Roundhead in his heart. Tie 
 the hands of the girl, I command you." 
 
 "I-nill not!" returned Macdonald; "and hang me if 
 any one else shall ! " And, with his sword in his hand, he 
 placed himself between !Mary and his comrades. 
 
 " If you do not bind her hands, I shall cause others to 
 bind yours," said the sergeant. 
 
 " They may try that Avho dare!" returned the soldier, 
 who was the most powerful man of the party ; " but what 
 I've said I'll stand to." 
 
 "You shall answer for this to-morrow," said the sergeant, 
 sullenly, Avho feared to provoke a quarrel with the trooper. 
 
 " I will answer it," replied the other.
 
 23 G TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 John Brydone, his son Daniel, and the Eev. Mr. Duncan, 
 were bound together with strong cords, and driven from 
 the house. They were fastened, also, to the horses of the 
 troopers. As they were dragged along, the cries and the 
 lamentations of Mary followed them; and the troopers 
 laughed at her wailing, or answered her cries "with mockery, 
 tni the sound of her grief became inaudible in the distance, 
 when again they imitated her cries, to harrow up the feel- 
 ings of her father. 
 
 Claverhouse, and a party of his troops, were then iu the 
 neighbourhood of Traquair ; and before that man, who 
 knew not what mercy was, John Brydone, and his son, 
 and the preacher were brought. It was on the afternoon 
 of the day foUomng that on which they had been made 
 prisoners, that Claverhouse ordered them to be brought 
 forth. He was sitting, with wine before him, in the midst 
 of his officers ; and amongst them was Lieutenant !Mow- 
 bray, whose name was alluded to by the sergeant. 
 
 " Well, knaves I " began Claverhouse, " ye have been 
 singing, praying, preaching, and holding conventicles. — 
 Do ye know how Grahame of Claverhouse rewards such 
 rebels?" 
 
 As the prisoners entered. Lieutenant Mowbray turned 
 away his head, and placed his hand upon his brow. 
 
 " Sir,'' said John, addressing Claverhouse, " I'm neither 
 knave nor rebel — I hae lifted up my voice to the God o' 
 my faithers, according to my conscience ; and, unworthy 
 as I am o' the least o' His benefits, for thi'eescore years 
 and ten he has been my shepherd and deliverer, and, if it 
 be good iu His sight. He will deliver me now. My trust 
 is in Him, and I fear neither the frown nor the sword o' 
 the persecutor." 
 
 "Have done, grey-headed babbler I" cried Claverhouse. 
 
 Lieutenant Mowbray, who still sat with his face from 
 the prisoners, raised his handkerchief to his eyes.
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 237 
 
 " Captain," said ]Mr. Duncan, " there's a day coming 
 "when ye shall stand before the great Judge, as we nov.' 
 stand before you ; and when the remembrance o' this day, 
 and the blood o' the righteous which ye hae shed, shall be 
 written mth letters o' fire on yer ain conscience, and re- 
 corded against ye ; and ye shall call upon the rocks and 
 mountains to cover ye " 
 
 "Silence ! " exclaimed Claverhouse. "Away with them !" 
 he added, waving his hand to his troopers — "shoot them 
 before sunrise ! " 
 
 Shortly after the prisoners had been conveyed from the 
 presence of Claverhouse, Lieutenant Mowbray withdrew ; 
 and having sent for the soldier who had interfered on be- 
 half of Mary — "Macdonald," he began, "you were present 
 yesterday when the prisoners, who are to die to-morrow, 
 were taken. Where did you find them ? " 
 
 " In the old man's house," replied the soldier ; and he 
 related aU that he had seen, and how he had interfered to 
 save the daughter. The heart of' the ofiicer was touched, 
 and he walked across his room, as one whose spirit was 
 troubled. "You did well, Macdonald!" said he, at length 
 — " you did well ! " He was again silent, and again he 
 added — " And you found the preacher in the old man's 
 house — you found him there!" There was an anxious 
 wildness in the tone of the lieutenant. 
 
 " We found him there," rephed the soldier. 
 
 The officer was again silent — again he thoughtfully paced 
 across the floor of his apartment. At length, turning to 
 the soldier, he added — "I can trust you, Macdonald. 
 When night has set in, take your horse and ride to the 
 house of the elder prisoner, and tell his daughter — the 
 maiden whom you saved — to have horses in readiness for 
 her father, her brother, and — and her — har husband!" said 
 the lieutenant, faltering as he spoke ; and when he had 
 pronounced the word husband, he again paused, as though
 
 238 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 his heart were full. Tlie soldier was retiring — " Stay," 
 added the officer, " tell her, her father, her brother, and 
 — the preacher, shall not die ; before daybreak she shall 
 see them again ; and give her this ring as a token that ye 
 speak truly." 
 
 He took a ring fi,-om his finger, and gave it into the hands 
 of the soldier. 
 
 It was drawing towards midnight. The troops cf Claver- 
 house were quartered aroimd the country, and his three 
 prisoners, still bound to each other, were confined in a 
 small farm-house, from which the inhabitants had been 
 expelled. They could hear the heavy and measured tread 
 of the sentinel pacing backward and forward in front of 
 the house ; the sound of his footsteps seemed to measure 
 out the moments between them and eternity. After they 
 had sung a psahn and prayed together — " I am auld," said 
 John Brydone, " and I fear not to die, but rather glory to 
 ]ay down my life for the great cause ; but, oh, Daniel ! my 
 heart yearns that yer bluid also should be shed — had they 
 only spared ye, to hae been a protector to our puir Mary 1 
 — or had I no driven Philip frae the house " 
 
 *' Mention not the name of the cast-away," said the 
 minister. 
 
 "Dinna mourn, faither," answered Daniel, "an arm mair 
 powerful than that of man will be her supporter and protector." 
 
 " Amen !" responded Mr. Duncan. " She has aye been 
 cauld to me, and has turned the ear o' the deaf adder to 
 the voice o' my affection ; but even noo, when my thochts 
 should be elsewhere, the thocht o' her burns in my heart 
 like a coal." 
 
 While they yet spoke, a soldier, wrapt up in a cloak, 
 approached the sentinel, and said— 
 
 " It is a cold night, brother." 
 
 " Piercing," replied the other, striking hia feet upon tlie 
 ground.
 
 TnE ADOPTED SON. 2.09 
 
 " You are welcome to a moutliful of my spirit-warmer," 
 added the first, taking a bottle from beneath his cloak. 
 
 "Thank ye!" rejoined the sentinel; "but I don't know 
 your voice. You don't belong to our corps, I think." 
 
 " No," answered the other ; " but it matters not for that 
 — ^brother soldiers should give and take." 
 
 The sentinel took the bottle and raised it to his lips ; he 
 drank, and swore the liquor was excellent. 
 
 " Drink again," said the other ; " you are welcome ; it 
 is as good as a double cloak aroimd you." And the 
 sentinel drank again. 
 
 " Good night, comrade," said the trooper. " Good 
 night," replied the sentinel ; and the stranger passed on. 
 
 Within half an hour, the same soldier, still muffled up 
 in his cloak, returned. The sentinel had fallen against the 
 door of the house, and was fast asleep. The stranger pro- 
 ceeded to the window — he raised it — he entered. "Fear 
 nothing," he whispered to the prisoners, who were bound 
 to staples that had been driven into the opposite wall of 
 the room He cut the cords witii which their hands and 
 theii' feet were fastened. 
 
 " Heaven reward ye for the mercy o' yer heart, and the 
 courage o' this deed," said John. 
 
 " Say nothing," whispered their deliverer, " but follow 
 me." 
 
 Each man crept from the window, and the stranger 
 again closed it behind them. " Follow me, and speak 
 not," Avhispered he again ; and, walking at his utmost 
 speed, he conducted them for several miles across the hiUs; 
 but still he spoke not. Old John marvelled at the manner 
 of their deliverer; and he marvelled yet more when he 
 led them to Philiphaugh, and to the very spot where, more 
 than tliirty years before, he had found the child on the 
 bosom of its dead mother ; and there the stranger stood 
 Btill, and, turning round to those he had delivered — "Here
 
 240 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 we part," said he ; " hasten to your own house, but tarry 
 not. You will find horses in readiness, and flee into 
 Westmoreland ; inquire there for the person to whom this 
 letter is addressed ; he Avill protect you." And he put a 
 sealed letter into the hands of the old man, and, at the 
 same time, placed a purse in the hands of Daniel, saying, 
 "This will bear your expenses by the way — Farewell! 
 — farewell!" They would have detained him, but he 
 burst away, again exclaiming, as he ran — "Farewell! " 
 
 "This is a marvellous deliverance," said John; "it is a 
 mystery, an' for him to leave us on this spot — on this very 
 
 spot — where puir Philip" And here the heart of the 
 
 old man failed him. 
 
 We need not describe the rage of Claverhouse, when he 
 found, on the following day, that the prisoners had escaped; 
 and how he examined and threatened the sentinels Adth 
 death, and cast suspicious glances upon Lieutenant Mow- 
 bray ; but he feared to accuse him, or quarrel ^vith him 
 openly. 
 
 As John, with the preacher and his son, approached the 
 house, Mary heard their footsteps, rushed out to meet 
 them, and fell weeping upon her father's neck. " My 
 bairn ! " cried the old man ; " we are restored to ye as 
 from the dead ! Providence has dealt wi' us in mercy an' 
 in mystery." 
 
 His four farm-horses were in readiness for their flight; 
 and Mary told him how the same soldier who had saved 
 her from sharing their fate, had come to their house at 
 midnight, and assured her that they should not die, and to 
 prepare for their flight; "and," added she, "in token 
 that he who had sent him would keep his promise towards 
 you, he gave me this ring, requesting me to wear it for 
 your deliverer's sake." 
 
 "It is Philip's ring!" cried the old man, striliing liis 
 hand before his eyes — " it is Philip's ring! "
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 241 
 
 '* My Philip's 1 " exclaimed Mary ; " oh, then, he lives I 
 —he lives ! " 
 
 The preacher leaned his brow against the walls of the 
 cottage and groaned. 
 
 " It is still a mystery," said the old man, yet pressing 
 his hands before his eyes in agony ; " but it is — it maun 
 be him. It was Philip that saved us — that conducted us 
 to the very spot where I found him ! But, oh," he added, 
 " I wad rather I had died, than lived to ken that he has 
 drawn his sword in the ranks o' the oppressor, and to mur- 
 der the followers after the truth." 
 
 " Oh, dinna think that o' him, father ! " exclaimed 
 Mary; "Philip wadna — ^lie coxildna draw his sword but 
 to defend the helpless ! " 
 
 Knowing that they had been pursued and sought after, 
 they hastened their flight to England, to seek the refugo 
 to which their deliverer had directed them. But as tht-y 
 drew near to the Borders, the Eev. Mr. Dimcan suddenly 
 exclaimed — " Now, here we must part — part for ever 1 
 It is not meet that I should follow ye farther. When the 
 sheep are pursued by the wolves, the shepherd should not 
 flee from them. Farewell, dear friends — and, oh ! farewell 
 to you, Mary I Had it been sinful to hae loved you, I 
 would hae been a guilty man this day — for, oh ! beyond a' 
 that is under the sun, ye hae been dear to my heart, and 
 your remembrance has mingled wi' my very devotions. 
 But I maun root it up, though, in so doing, I tear my very 
 heart-strings. Fareweel I — fareweel ! Peace be wi' you 
 — and may ye be a' happier than -will ever be the earthly 
 lot o' Andrew Duncan ! " 
 
 The tears fell upon Mary's cheeks ; for, though she 
 
 could not love, she respected the preacher, and she 
 
 esteemed him for his worth. Her father and brother 
 
 entreated him to accompany them. " No ! no ! " he 
 
 answered; "I see how this flight will end. Go — there is 
 
 u2
 
 242 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 happiness in store for you; but my portion is with the 
 dispersed and the persecuted." And he turned and left 
 them. 
 
 Lieutenant Mowbray was disgusted with the cold-blooded 
 butchery of the service in which he was engaged ; and, a 
 few days after the escape of John Brydone and his son, he 
 threw vip his commission, and proceeded to Dumfriesshire. 
 It was a Sabbath evening, and near nightfall ; he had 
 wandered into the fields alone, for his spirit was heavy. 
 Sounds of rude laughter broke upon his ear ; and, mingled 
 ■with the sound of mirth, was a voice as if in earnest 
 prayer. He hurried to a small wood from whence the 
 sounds proceeded, and there he beheld four troopers, with 
 their pistols in their hands, and before them was a man, 
 who appeared to be a preacher, bound to a tree. 
 
 " Come, old Psalmody!" cried one of the troopers, rais- 
 ing his pistol, and addressing their intended victim, who 
 was engaged in prayer ; "make ready — we have other jobs 
 on hand — and we gave you time to speak a prayer, but 
 not to preach." 
 
 Mowbray rushed forward. He sprang between the 
 troopers and their victim. " Hold 1 ye murderers, hold ! " 
 he exclaimed. "Is it thus that ye disgrace the name of 
 soldiers by washing your hands in the blood of the 
 innocent?" 
 
 They knew Mowbray, and they muttered, " You are no 
 officer of ours now ; he is our prisoner, and our orders 
 are to shoot every conventicle knave who falls into our 
 hands." 
 
 " Shame on him who would give such orders ! " said 
 Mowbray ; " and shame on those who would execute 
 theml There," added he, "there is money ! I will ransom 
 him." 
 
 With an imprecation, they took the money that was 
 ofTtTed them, and left their prisoner to Mowbray. He
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 243 
 
 approached the tree where they had bound him — he started 
 back — it was the Eev. Andrew Duncan ! 
 
 " Rash man ! " exclaimed Mowbray, as he again stepped 
 forward to unloose the cords that boxmd him, " Why have 
 ye again cast yourself into the hands of the men Avho seek 
 your blood ? Do you hold your Hfe so cheap, that, in one 
 week, ye would risk to sell it tmce ? ^Vhy did not ye, 
 with your father, your brother, and your wife, flee into 
 England, where protection was promised!" 
 
 •' My father ! — my brother ! — my wife ! — mine I— mine 1" 
 repeated the preacher wildly, " There are no such names 
 for my tongue to utter! — none! — none to drop their 
 love as morning dew upon the solitary soul o' Andrew 
 Duncan!" 
 
 " Are they murdered ? " exclaimed ]\Iowbray, suddenly, 
 in a voice of agony. 
 
 "Murdered!" said the preacher, with increased be- 
 wilderment, "What do you mean? — or wha do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Tell me," cried ^Mowbray, eagerly ; " are not you the 
 husband of Mary Brydone ? " 
 
 " Me ! — me 1 " cried the preacher. " No 1 — no !— I loved 
 her as the laverock loves the blue hft in spring, and her 
 shadow cam between me and my ain soul — but she wadna 
 hearken unto my voice — she is nae wife o' mine ! " 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed Mowbray ; and he clasped 
 his hands together. 
 
 It is necessary, however, that we now accompany John 
 Brydone and his family in their flight into Westmoreland. 
 The letter which their deliverer had put into their hands 
 was addressed to a Sir Frederic Mewbray ; and, when they 
 arrived at the house of the old knight, the heart of the 
 aged Covenanter almost failed him for a moment ; for it 
 was a proud-looking mansion, and those whom he saw 
 around wore the dress of the Cavaliers.
 
 244 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Who are ye?" inquired the servant -who admitted 
 them to the house. 
 
 " Deliver this letter into the hands of your master," said 
 the Covenanter ; " our business is with him." 
 
 " It is the handwriting of ^Master Edward," said the 
 servant, as he took the letter into his hand ; and, having 
 conducted them to a room, he delivered it to Sir Frederic. 
 
 In a few minutes the old knight hurxied into the room, 
 where the Covenanter, and his son and his daughter, stood. 
 "Welcome, thrice welcome!" he cried, grasping the hand 
 of the old man ; " here you shaU find a resting-place and 
 a home, with no one to make you afraid." 
 
 He ordered wine and food to be placed before them, and 
 he sat down with them. 
 
 Now John marvelled at the kindness of his host, and his 
 heart burned within him ; and, in the midst of all, he 
 thought of the long-lost Philip, and how he had driven 
 him from his house — and his cheek glowed and his heart 
 tlirobbed with anxiety. His son marvelled also, and Mary's 
 bosom swelled "svith strange thoughts — tears gathered in her 
 eyes, and she raised the ring that had been the token of 
 her father's deliverance to her lips. 
 
 " Oh, sir," said the Covenanter, " pardon the freedom o' 
 a plain blunt man, and o' ane whose bosom is burning wi' 
 anxiety; but there is a mystery, there is sometliing attend- 
 ing my deliverance, an' the letter, and your kindness, that 
 I canua see through — and I hope, and I fear — and I canna 
 — I daurna comprehend how it is ! — but, as it were, the 
 p:ist — the lang bygane past, and the present, appear to hae 
 met thegither I It is makin' my head dizzy wi' wonder, 
 for there seems in a' this a something that concerns you, 
 and that concerns mc, and one that I mayna name." 
 
 " Your perplexity," said Sir Frederic, *' may be best 
 relieved, by stating to you, in a few words, one or two 
 circumstances of my history. Having, from family afflic-
 
 THE ADOPTED SON. 245 
 
 tion, left tills country, until mtliin these four years, I held 
 a commission in the army of the Prince of Orange. I Avas 
 present at the battle of Seneff ; it was my last engagement ; 
 and in the regiment which I commanded, there was a young 
 Scottish volunteer, to whose bravery, during the battle, I 
 owed my life. In admiration and gratitude for his conduct, 
 I sent for him after the factory, to present him to the 
 prince. He came. I questioned him respecting his birth 
 and his family. He was silent — he burst into tears. I 
 urged him to speak. He said, of his real name he knew 
 nothing — of his fomily he knew nothing — all that he knew 
 Avas, that he had been the adopted son of a good and a 
 Christian man, who had foimd him on Phihphaugh, on the 
 lifeless bosom of his mother ! " 
 
 "Merciful Heaven! my puir, injured Philip!" exclaimed 
 the aged Covenanter, wringing his hands. 
 
 " My brother ! " cried Daniel eagerly. Mary wept. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" continued Sir Frederic, "words cannot paint 
 my feelings as he spoke! I had been at the battle of 
 Philiphaugh ! and, not dreaming that a conflict was at 
 hand, my beloved wife, with our infant boy, my littlo 
 Edward, had joined me but the day before. At the first 
 noise of Lesly's onset, I rushed from our tent — I left my 
 loved ones there ! Our army was stricken with confusion 
 — I never beheld them again ! I grasped the hand of the 
 youth — I gazed in his face as though my soul would have 
 leaped from my eyelids. ' Do not deceive me I ' I cried ; 
 and he drew from his bosom the ring and the bracelets of 
 my Elizabeth ! " 
 
 Here the old knight paused and wept, and tears ran 
 doAvn the checks of John Brydone, and the cheeks of his 
 children. 
 
 They had not been many days in "Westmoreland, and 
 they were seated around the hospitable hearth of the good 
 knight in peace, when two horsemen arrived at the door.
 
 246 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 *' It is otu' friend, Mr. Duncan, and a stranger ! " said 
 the Covenanter, as he beheld them from the window. 
 
 "They are welcome — for your sake, they are welcome," 
 said Sir Frederic ; and while he yet spoke, the strangers 
 entered. " My son, my son ! " he continued, and hurried 
 forward to meet him. 
 
 "Say also your daughter !^^ said Edward Mowbray, as he 
 approached towards Mary, and pressed her to his breast. 
 
 " Philip! — my own Philip! " exclaimed Mary, and speech 
 failed her. 
 
 " My brother ! " said Daniel. 
 
 " He was dead, and is alive again — he was lost, and is 
 foimd," exclaimed John. " O, Philip, man ! do ye forgi'e 
 me?" 
 
 The adopted son pressed the hand of his foster-father. 
 
 " It is enough," replied the Covenanter. 
 
 " Yes, he forgives you ! " exclaimed Mr. Duncan ; " and 
 he has forgiven me. When we were in prison and in bonds 
 waiting for death, he risked his life to deliver us, and he 
 did deliver us ; and a second time he has rescued me from 
 the sword of the destroyer, and from the power of the men 
 Avho thirsted for my blood. He is no enemy o' the Cove- 
 nant — he is the defender o' the persecuted ; and the bless- 
 ing o' Andrew Duncan is all he can bequeath, for a life 
 twice saved, upon his deliverer, and INIai-y Brydone." 
 
 Need we say that Mary bestowed her hand \ipon Edward 
 Mowbray? but, in the fondness of her heart, she still called 
 him "her Philip 1"
 
 THE FOIITUNKS OP AVILLIAM 'WIGHTON. 217 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGHTON. 
 
 My departure from Edinburgh was sudden and mysterious ; 
 and it was high time that I was away, for I was but a 
 reckless boy at the best. My uncle was both sore vexed 
 and weary of me, for I was never out of one mishap until 
 I was into another ; but one illumination night in the city 
 put them all into the rear — I had, by it, got far ahead of 
 all my former exploits. Very early next morning, I got 
 notice from a friend that the bailies were very desirous of 
 an interview with me ; and, to do me more honovir, I was 
 to be escorted into their presence. I had no inclination 
 for such honour, particularly at this time. I saw that our 
 discourse cotdd not be equally agreeable to both parties ; 
 besides they, I knew, Avould put questions to me I covUd 
 not well answer to their satisfaction — though, after all, 
 there was more of devilry tkan roguery in anything I had 
 been engaged in. 
 
 I was not long in making up iny mind; for I saw 
 Archibald Campbell and two of the town-guard at the 
 head of the close as I stepped out at the stair-foot. I had 
 no doubt that I was the person they wished to honour with 
 their accompaniment to the civic authorities. I was out 
 at the bottom of the close lilce thought. I believe they 
 never got sight of me. I kept in hiding all day— neither 
 my uncle nor any of my friends knew where I was to be 
 fiund. After it was dark, I ventured into to^\Tl ; but no 
 farther than the Low Calton, where dwelt an old servant 
 of my father's, who had been my nurse after the death of 
 my mother. She was a widow, and lived in one of the 
 ground flats, where she kept a small retail shop. Poor
 
 248 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 creature ! she loved me as if I had been her own cliild, 
 and wept when I told her the dilemma I was in. She 
 promised to conceal me until the storm blew over, and to 
 make my peace once more with my uncle, if I would 
 promise to be a good boy in future. She made ready for 
 me a comfortable supper, and a bed in her small back 
 room. Weary sitting alone, I went to rest, and soon fell 
 into a sound sleep. I had lain thus, I know not how long, 
 when I was roused by a loud noise, as if some person or 
 persons had fallen on the floor above ; and voices in angry 
 altercation struck my ear. 
 
 The weather being cold, my nurse had put on a fire in 
 the grate, which stUl burned bright, and gave the room a 
 clieerful appearance. I looked up — the angry voices con- 
 tinued, and there was a continued beating upon the floor 
 at intervals, and, apparently, a great struggling, as if two 
 people were engaged in ■wresthng. I attempted to fall 
 asleep again, but in vain. For half an hour there had 
 been little intermission of the noise. The ceiling of the 
 room was composed only of the flooring of the story above; 
 so that the thumping and scufliing were most annoying, 
 reminding one of the sound of a drum overhead. I rose 
 in anger from my bed, and, seizing the poker, beat up 
 upon the ceiling pretty smartly. The sound ceased for a 
 short space, and I crept into bed again. I was just on the 
 point of falling asleep when the beating and struggling 
 were renewed, and with them my anger. I rose from bed 
 in great fury, resolved at least to make those who annoyed 
 me rise from the floor. I looked round for something 
 sharp, to prick tliem through the joinings of the flooring- 
 deals. By bad luck, I found upon the mantel-piece an 
 old worn knife, with a thin and sharp point. I mounted 
 upon the table, and thus reached the ceiling with my 
 hand. The irritating noise seemed to increase. I placed 
 the point in one of the joints, and gave a push up — it
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGHTON. 249 
 
 would not enter. I exerted my strength, when — ^I shall 
 never forget that moment — it ran up to the hilt ! — a heavy 
 groan followed ; I drew it back covered with blood 1 I 
 stood upon the table stupified with horror, gazing upon 
 the ensanguined blade ; two or three heavy drops of blood 
 fell upon my face and went into my eyes. I leaped from 
 the table, and placed the knife where I had found it. The 
 noise ceased ; but heavy drops of blood continued to fall 
 and coagulate upon the floor at my feet. I felt stupified 
 with fear and anguish — my eyes were riveted upon the 
 blood which — drop, drop, drop — fell upon the floor. I 
 had stood thus for some time before the danger I was in 
 occurred to me. I started, hastily put on my clothes, and, 
 opening the window, leapt out, fled by the back of the 
 houses, past the Methodist chapel, up the back stairs into 
 Shakspeare square, and along Princes' street; nor did I 
 slacken my pace until I was a considerable way out of 
 town. 
 
 I was now miserable. Tlie night Avas dark as a dungeon ; 
 but not half so dark as my own thoughts. I had deprived 
 a fellow-creature of life ! In vain did I say to myself that 
 it was done with no evil intention on my part. I had 
 been too rash in using the knife ; and my conscience was 
 against me. I was at this very time, also, in liiding for 
 my rashness and folly in other respects. I trembled at 
 the first appearance of day, lest I should be apprehended 
 as a murderer. Dawn found me in the neighbourhood of 
 Bathgate. Cold and weary as I was, I dared not approacli 
 a house or the public road, but lay concealed in a wood 
 all day, under sensations of tlie utmost horror. Towards 
 evening, I cautiously emerged from my hiding-place. 
 Compelled by himger, I entered a lonely house at a 
 distance from the public road, and, for payment, obtained 
 some refreshment, and got my benumbed limbs warmed. 
 Duiing my stay, I avoided all unnecessary conversation.
 
 250 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 I trembled lest they would speak of the murder in Edin- 
 burgh ; for, had they done so, my agitation must have 
 betrayed me. After being refreshed, I left the hospitable 
 people, and pursued, under cover of the night, my route 
 to Glasgow, which I reached a short time after day- 
 break. Avoiding the public streets, I entered the first 
 change-house I found open at this early hour, where I 
 obtained a warm breakfast and a bed, of both which I 
 stood greatly in need. I soon fell asleep, in spite of the 
 agitation of my mind; but my dreams were far more 
 horrifying than my waking thoughts, dreadful as they 
 were. I awoke early in the afternoon, feverish and unre- 
 freshed. 
 
 After some time spent in summoning up resolution, I 
 requested my landlady to procure for me a sight of any of 
 the Edinburgh newspapers of the day before. She brought 
 one to me. My agitation Avas so great that I dared not 
 trust myself to take it out of her hand, lest she had per- 
 ceived the tremor I was in ; but requested her to lay it 
 doAvn, while I appeared to be busy adjusting my dress — 
 carefully, all the time, keeping my back to her. I had 
 two objects in view : I A\ished to see the shipping- list, as 
 it was my aim to leave the country for America by the 
 first opportunity ; and, secondly, to see what account the 
 public had got of my untoward adventure; I felt con- 
 scious that all the city was in commotion about it, and the 
 authorities despatched for my apprehension ; for I had no 
 doubt that my nurse would at once declare her innocence, 
 and tell who had done the deed. With an anxiety I want 
 words to express, I grasped the paper as soon as the land- 
 lady retired, and hurried over its columns until I reached 
 the last. During the interval, I believe I scarcely 
 breathed ; I looked it over once more with care ; I felt 
 as if a load had been lifted from my breast — there was not 
 in the whole paper a single word of a death by violence
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGHTON. 251 
 
 or accident. I thought it strange, but rejoiced. I felt 
 that I was not in such imminent danger of being appre- 
 hended; but my mind was still racked almost to dis- 
 traction, 
 
 I remained in my lodging for several days, very ill, 
 both from a severe cold I had caught and distress of mind. 
 I had seen every paper during the time. Still there was 
 nothing in them applicable to my case. I was bewildered, 
 and knew not what to think. Had the occurrences of that 
 fearfid night, I thought, been only a delusion — some 
 horrid dream or nightmare? Alas! the large drops of 
 blood that still stained my shirt, which, in my confusion, 
 I had not changed, drove from my mind the consoling 
 hope ; they were damning evidence of a terrible reality. 
 My mind reverted back to its former agony, which became 
 so aggravated by the silence of the public prints that I 
 was rendered desperate. The silence gave a mystery to 
 the whole occurrence, more unendurable than if I had 
 found it narrated in the most aggravated language, and 
 my person described, with a reward for my apprehension. 
 As soon as my sickness had a little abated, and I Avas 
 able to go out, I went in the evening, a little before ten 
 o'clock, to the neighbourhood of where the coach from 
 Edinburgh stopped. I walked about until its arrival, 
 shunning observation as much as possible. At length it 
 came. No one descended from it whom I recollected ever 
 to have seen. Rendered desperate, I followed two travel- 
 lers into a public-house which they entered, along ^vith 
 the guard. For some time, I sat an attentive listener to 
 their conversation. It was on indifferent subjects; and I 
 watched an opportunity to join in their talk. Speaking 
 Avith an air of indifference, I turned the conversation to 
 the subject I had so much at heart— the local news of the 
 Qity. They gave me what little they had ; but not one 
 >ord of it concerned my situation. I inquired at the
 
 252 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 guard if he would, next morning, be so kind as take a 
 letter to Edinburgh, for Widow Neil, in the Low Calton. 
 
 " With pleasure," he said — " I know her well, as I live 
 close by her shop ; but, poor woman, she has been very 
 unwell for these two or three dajs past. There has been 
 some strange talk of a young lad who vanished from her 
 house, no one can tell how; she is likely to get into 
 trouble from the circumstance, for it is surmised he has 
 been murdered in her house, and his body carried off, as 
 there was a quantity of blood upon the floor. No one 
 suspects her of it ; but still it is considered strange that 
 she should have heard no noise, and can give no account 
 of the affair." 
 
 This statement of the guard surprised me exceedingly. 
 Why was the affair mentioned in so partial and unsatis- 
 factory a manner ? Why Avas I, a murderer, suspected of 
 being myself murdered ? Why did not this lead to an in- 
 vestigation, which must have exposed the whole horrid 
 mystery of the death of the individual up stairs ? 1 could 
 not understand it. My mind became the more perplexed, 
 the more I thought of it. Yet, so far, I had no reason to 
 complain. Nothing had been said in any respect implicat- 
 ing me. Perhaps I had killed nobody ; perliaps I had 
 only Avounded some one who did not know whence the 
 stab came ; or perhaps the person killed or wounded was 
 an outlaw, and no discovery could be made of his situa- 
 tion. All these thoughts rushed through my mind as I 
 sat beside the men. I at last left them, being afraid to 
 put further questions. 
 
 I went to my lodgings and considered what I should do. 
 I conceived it safest to Avrite no letters to my friends, or 
 say anything further on the subject. I meditated upon 
 the propriety of going to America, and had nearly made 
 up my mind to that step. Every day, the mysterious 
 affair became more and more disagreeable and painful to
 
 THE FORTUNES OF AVIt.LIAM WIGHTON. 253 
 
 me. I gave up making further inquiries, and even care- 
 fully avoided, for a time, associating -with any person or 
 reading any newspaper. I gradually became easier, as 
 time, which brought no explanation to me, passed over; 
 but the thought stlU lay at the bottom of my heart, that 
 I was a murderer. 
 
 I went one day to a merchant's counting-house, to take 
 my passage for America. The man looked at me atten- 
 tively. I shook with fear, but he soon relieved me by 
 asking — " Why I intended to leave so good a country for 
 so bad a one ? " I replied, that I could get no employ- 
 ment here. My appearance had pleased him. He offered 
 me a situation in his office. I accepted it. I continued 
 in Glasgow, happy and respected, for several years, and, to 
 all likelihood, was to have settled there for life. I was 
 on the point of marriage with a young woman, as I 
 thought, every way worthy of the love I had for her. 
 Her parents were satisfied ; the day of our nuptials was 
 fixed — the house Avas taken and furnished wherein we 
 were to reside, and everything prepared. In the delirium 
 of love, I thought myself the happiest of men, and even 
 forgot the affair of the murder. 
 
 It was on the Monday preceding our union — which was 
 to take place in her father's house on the Friday evening 
 — that business of the utmost importance called me to the 
 town of Ayr. I took a hasty farewell of my bride, and 
 set off, resolved to be back upon the Thursday at farthest. 
 Early in the forenoon of Tuesday, I got everything 
 arranged to my satisfaction ; but was too late for tlie first 
 coach. To amuse myself in the best manner I could, 
 until the coach should set off again, I wandered down to 
 the harbour ; and, while there, it was my misfortune to 
 meet an old acquaintance, Alexander Cameron, the sou of 
 a barber in the Luckenbooths. Glad to see each other, 
 we shook hands most cordially; and, af\er cliatting about
 
 254 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 " auld langsyne" until we were weary wandering upon the 
 pier, I proposed to adjourn to my inn. To this proposal 
 he at once acceded, on condition tliat I should go on board 
 of his vessel afterwards, when he would return the visit in 
 the evening. To this I had no objection to make. The 
 time passed on until the dusk. We left the inn ; but, in- 
 stead of proceeding to the harbour, we struck off into the 
 country for some time, and then made the coast at a small 
 bay, where I could just discern, through the twilight, a 
 small lugger-rigged vessel at anchor. I felt rather uneasy, 
 and began to hesitate; when my Mend, turning round, 
 said — 
 
 " That is my vessel, and as fine a crew mans her as ever 
 walked a deck ; — v/e will be on board in a minute." 
 
 I wished, yet knew not how, to refuse. He made a loud 
 call ; a boat Avith two men pushed from under a point, and 
 wo were rowing towards the vessel ere I could summon 
 resolution to refuse. I remained on board not above an 
 hour. I was treated in the most kindly manner. Wlien 
 I was coming away, Cameron said — 
 
 " I liave requested this visit from the confidence I feel 
 in your honour. I ask you not, to promise not to deceive 
 me — I am sure you will not. My time is very uncertain 
 upon this coast, and I have papers of the utmost import- 
 ance, which I wish to leave in safe hands. We are too 
 late to arrange them to-night ; but be so kind as promise 
 to be at the same spot where we embarked to-morrow 
 morning, at what hour you please, and I will dehvcr them 
 to you. Should it ever be in my power to serve you, I 
 will not flinch from the duty of gratitude, cost what it 
 may." 
 
 There was a something so sincere and earnest in his 
 manner, that I could not refuse. I said, that as I left Ayr 
 on the morrow, I would make it an early hour— say, six 
 o'clock ; which pleased him. Wc shook hands and parted.
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGHTON. 255 
 
 wlien I Avas put on shore, and returned to my inn, where I 
 ruminated upon what the charge could be I was going to 
 receive from my old friend in so unexpected a manner, 
 
 I was up betimes, and at the spot by the appointed hour. 
 The boat was in waiting ; but Cameron was not \vith her. 
 I was disappointed, and told one of the men so ; he replied 
 that the captain expected me on board to breakfast. With 
 a reluctance much stronger than I had felt the preceding 
 night, I consented to go on board. I found him in the 
 cabin, and the breakfast ready for me. "We sat do-\\Ti, and 
 began to converse about the papers. Scarce was the second 
 cup filled out, when a voice called down the companion, 
 " Captain, the cutter ! " Cameron leaped from the fable, 
 and ran on deck. I heard a loud noise of cordage and 
 bustle; but could not conceive what it was, imtU the 
 motion of the vessel too plainly told that she was under 
 Avay. I rose in haste to get upon deck ; but the cover 
 was secm-ed. I knocked and called ; but no one paid any 
 attention to my efforts. I stood thus knocking, and call- 
 ing at the stretch of my voice, for half an hour, in vain. 
 I returned to my seat, and sat down, overcome with 
 anger and chagrin. Here was I again placed in a dis- 
 agreeable dUemma — evidently going far out to sea, when 
 I ought to be on my way to Glasgow to my Avedding. In 
 the middle of my ravings, I heard first one shot, then 
 another ; but stiU the ripple of the water and the noise 
 overhead continued. I was now convinced that I was on 
 board of a smucralinnj ln<ra;er, and that Cameron was cither 
 sole proprietor or captain. I v.ishcd with all my lieart 
 that the cutter might overtake and capture us, that I 
 might be set ashore; but all my wishes Avere A-ain — Ave 
 still held on our Avay at a furious rate. As I heard no 
 more shots, I kncAV that Ave liad left the ciitter at a greater 
 distance. Again, therefore, I strove to gain a hearing^ 
 but in vain : I then strove to force the hatch, but it
 
 25 G TALES OF THE BOrvDERS. 
 
 resisted all my efforts. I yielded myself at length to 
 my fate ; for the way of the vessel was not in the least 
 abated. 
 
 Towards night, I could find, by the pitching of the 
 vessel and the increased noise above, that the wind had 
 increased fearftilly, and that it blew a storm. It was with 
 difficulty that I coxild keep my seat, so much did she 
 pitch. During the whole night and following day, I was 
 so sick that I thought I would have died. I had no light ; 
 there was no human creature to give me a mouthful of 
 water ; and I could not help myself even to rise from the 
 floor of the cabin, on which I had sunk. The agony of 
 my inind was extreme : the day following was to have been 
 that of my marriage ; I was at sea, and knew not where 
 I was. I blamed myself for my easy, complying temper ; 
 my misery increased ; and, could I have stood on my feet, 
 I know not what I might have done in my desperate 
 situation. Tlius I spent a second nigh*; and the day 
 Avhich I had thought was to shine on my happiness, 
 dawned on my misery. 
 
 Towards the afternoon, the motion of the vessel ceased, 
 and I heard the anchor drop. Immediately the hatch was 
 opened, and Cameron came to me. I rose in anger, so 
 great that I could not give it utterance. Had I not been 
 so weak from sickness, I would have flown and strangled 
 him. He made a thousand apologies for what had hap- 
 pened. I saw that his concern was real ; my anger 
 subsided into melancholy, and my first utterance was 
 employed to inquire wliere we were. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," replied he, " that I cannot but feel 
 really grieved to inform you that we are at present a few 
 leagues off Flushing." 
 
 " Good God!" I exclaimed, as I buried my face in my 
 hands, while I actually wept for shame — "I am utterly 
 undone I What will my beloved Eliza say ? How shall
 
 THE FOUTUKES OF WILLIAM WIGIITOH. 2')7 
 
 I ever appear again before her and her friends ? Even 
 now, perhaps, she is dressing to be my wife, or weeping 
 in tlie arms of her bridesmaid. The thought will drive 
 me mad. For Godsake, Cameron, get under way, and 
 land me again either at Greenock or where you first took 
 me up, or I am utterly undone. Do this, and I will forget 
 all I haA'e suffered and am suiTering." 
 
 " I Avould, upon my soul," he said, " were it in my 
 power, though I should die in a jail; but, vhile this gale 
 lasts, it were folly to attempt it. Besides, I am not sole 
 proprietor of the lugger — I am only ca2:)tain. My crew 
 are sharers in the cargo. I would not get their consent. 
 The thought of the evil I Avas unintentionally doing you, 
 gave me more concern than the fear of capture. Had the 
 storm not come on, I woiild have risked all to have landed 
 you somewhere in Scotland ; but it was so severe, and 
 blowing from the land, that there was no use to attempt it. 
 I hope, however, the weather will now moderate, and the 
 wind shift, when I will run you back, or procure you a 
 passage in the first craft that leaves for Scotland." 
 
 I made no answer to him, I was so absorbed in my own 
 reflections. I walked the deck like one distracted, praying 
 for a change in the weather. For other three days it blew, 
 with less or more violence, from the same point — during 
 which time I scarcely ever ate or drank, and never went 
 to bed. On the forenoon of Monday, the wind shifted. 
 I went immediately ashore in the boat, and found a brig 
 getting under way for Leith. I stepped on board, and 
 took farewell of Captain Cameron, whom I never saw 
 again, and wish I had never seen him in my life. 
 
 After a tedious passage of nine days, during which we 
 had baffling winds and calms, we reached Leith IJoads 
 about seven in the evening. It was low water, and the 
 brig could not enter the harbour for several hours. I was 
 put ashore in the boat, and hastened up to the Black BuU 
 
 Vol. H i
 
 258 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 Inn, in order to scciire a seat in the mail for Glasgow, 
 •which was to start in a few minutes. As I came up Leith 
 "Walk, my feelings became of a mixed nature. I thought 
 of Widow Niel and the murder, as I looked over at the 
 Calton ; then my mind reverted to my bride. I got into 
 the coach, and was soon on the way to Glasgow. I laid 
 myself back in a corner, and kept a stubborn silence. I 
 could not endure to enter into conversation with my 
 fellow-travellers : I scarce heard them speak — my mind 
 was so distracted by what had befallen me, and what 
 might be the result. 
 
 Pale, weary, and exhausted, I reached my lodgings 
 between three and four o'clock of the morning of the 
 seventeenth day from that in which I had left it in joy 
 and liope. After I had knocked, and was answered, my 
 landlady almost fainted at the sight of me. She had 
 believed me dead ; and my appearance was not calculated 
 to do away the impression, I looked so ghastly from 
 anxiety and the want of sleep. Her joy was extreme 
 ■nhen she found her mistake. I undressed and threw 
 myself on my bed, Avhere I soon fell into a sound sleep, 
 the first I had enjoyed since my involuntary voyage. 
 
 I did not awake until about eight o'clock, when I arose 
 and dressed. I did not haste to Eliza, as my lieart urged 
 me, lest my sudden appearance should have been fatal to 
 her, I wrote her a note, informing lier I was in health, 
 and would call and explain all after breakfast. I sent off 
 my card, and immediately waited upon my employers. 
 They were more surprised than pleased at my return. 
 Another had been placed in my situation, and they did 
 not choose to pay him off when I might think proper to 
 return after my unaccountable absence. My soul fired at 
 tlie base insinuation ; my voice rose, as I demanded to 
 know if they doubted my veracity. With an expression 
 of coimtcnancc tliat spoke daggers, one of them said^
 
 THE FORTUNES OP "WILLIAM WIGETON. 259 
 
 "We doubt, at least, yoiu: prudence in going on board an 
 unknown vessel ; but let us proceed to business — we have 
 found all your books correct to a farthing, and here is an 
 order for your salary up to your leaving. Good morning ! " 
 
 I received it indignantly ; and, bowing stiffly, left tliem. 
 I was not mucli cast down at this turn my affairs bad taken 
 so unexpectedly. I had no doubt of finding a warm re- 
 ception from Eliza, hurried to her parent's house, and 
 rung the beU for admittance. Judge my astonishment 
 when her brother opened the door, with a look as if we 
 had never met, and inqiiired Avhat I wanted. The blood 
 mounted to my face — I essayed to speak ; but my tongue 
 refused its office ; I felt bewildered, and stood more like 
 a statue than a man. In the most insulting manner, he 
 said — " There is no one here who wishes any intercourse 
 with you." And he shut the door upon me. 
 
 Of everything that befell me for a length of time, from 
 this moment, I am utterly unconscious ; when I again 
 awoke to consciousness, I was in bed at my lodgings, with 
 my kind landlady seated at my bedside. I was so weak 
 and reduced I could scarce tui'n myself; the agitation I 
 had iindergone, and the cruel receptions I had met on my 
 return, had been too much for my mind to bear ; a brain 
 fever had been the consequence, and my life had been 
 despaired of for several days. I would have questioned my 
 landlady ; but she urged silence upon me, and refused to 
 answer my inquiries. I soon after learned all. I had 
 been utterly neglected liy those to whom I might have 
 looked for aid or consolation ; but the bitterest thought of 
 all was, that Eliza should cast me off without inquiry or 
 explanation. I could not bring my mind to believe she 
 did so of her ovm. accord. She must, I thought, be cither 
 cruelly deceived or imder restraint; for she and lier friends 
 could not but know the situation I Avas in. I vauily strove 
 to call my wounded pride to my aid, and drive her from
 
 SCO "TALES OF THE BOKDERg. 
 
 my thoughts ; but the more I strove, the firmer hold she 
 took of me. As soon as I could hold my pen, I ^VTote to 
 her in the most moving terms ; and, after stating the whole 
 truth and what I had suffered, begged an interview, were 
 it to be otir last — for my life or death, I said, appeared 
 to depend upon her answer. In the afternoon I received 
 one : it was my own letter, which had been opened, and 
 enclosed in an envelope. The writing was in her own 
 hand. Cruel woman ! all it contained was, that she had 
 read, and now returned my letter as of her own accord, 
 and by the approbation of her friends ; for she was firmly 
 resolved to have no communication Avith one who had 
 used her so cruelly, and exposed her to the ridicule of her 
 friends and acquaintances. This unjust answer had quite 
 an opposite effect from what I could have conceived a few 
 hours before ; pity and contempt for the fickle creature 
 took the place of love ; my mind became once more tran- 
 quil ; I recovered rapidly, and soon began to walk about 
 and enjoy the sweets of summer, I met my fickle fair by 
 accident more than once in my walks, and found I could 
 pass her as if we had never met. Her brother I had often 
 a mind to have horsewhipped ; but the thought that I would 
 only give greater publicity to my unfortunate adventure, 
 and be looked upon as the guilty aggressor, prevented me 
 from gratifying my wish. 
 
 Glasgow had now become hateful to me, otherwise I 
 would have commenced manufacturer upon my own 
 account, as was my intention had I married Eliza. In as 
 short a period as convenient, I sold off the furniture of the 
 liouse I had taken, at little or no loss, and found that I 
 Btill was master of a considerable sum. Having made a 
 present to my landlady for her care of me, I bade a long 
 adieu to Glasgow, and proceeded by the coach to Leeds, 
 where I procured a situation in a house with which our 
 Glasgow house had had many transaction*-
 
 THE FORTUNES OP WILLIAM WIGHTON. 2G1 
 
 As I fear I am getting prolix, I shall hurry over the next 
 few years I remained in Leeds. I became a partner of 
 the house ; our transactions were very extensive, more 
 particularly in the United States of America, -where we 
 were deeply engaged in the cotton trade. It was judged 
 necessary that one of the firm should be on the spot, to 
 extend the business as much as possible. The others 
 being married men, I at once volunteered to take this 
 department upon myself, and made arrangements accord- 
 ingly. I proceeded towards Liverpool by easy stages on 
 horseback, as the coaches at that period were not so 
 regular as they are at present. 
 
 On the second day after my leaving Leeds, the afternoon 
 became extremely wet towards evening ; so that I resolved 
 to remain all night in the first respectable inn I came to. 
 I dismounted, and found it completely filled Avith travellers, 
 who had arrived a short time before. It was with con- 
 siderable difficulty I prevailed upon the hostess to allow 
 me to remain. She had not a spare bed ; all had been 
 already engaged ; the weather continued still wet and bois- 
 terous, and I resolved to proceed no farther that night, 
 whether I could obtain a bed or not. I, at length, arranged 
 with her that I should pass the night by the fireside, seated 
 in an arm-chair. Matters were thus all set to rights, and 
 supper over, when a loud knocking was heard at the door. 
 An additional stranger entered the kitchen where I sat, 
 drenched with rain and benumbed with cold ; and, after 
 many difficulties upon the side of the hostess, the same 
 arrangements were made for him. 
 
 As our situations Avere so similar, we soon became very 
 intimate. I felt much interest in him IIo Avns of a frank 
 and Hvely turn in conversation, and exceedingly well 
 informed on every subject Ave started. A shreAvd eccen- 
 tricity in the style and matter of his remarks, forced the 
 conviction upon his hearers, that he Avas a nian of no mean
 
 262 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 capacity; there was also a restless inquietude in his manner, 
 which gave him the appearance of having a slight shade 
 of insanity. At one time his bright black eye was lighted 
 xip with joy and hilarity, as he chanted a few lines of some 
 convivial song. In a few minutes, a change came over 
 him, and furtive, timid glances stole from under his long 
 dark eyelashes. Then woidd follow a glance so fierce, that 
 it requii'ed a firm mind to endure it immoved. These 
 looks became more frequent as his libations continued; 
 for he had consumed a great quantity of liquor, and seemed 
 to me to be in that frame of mind when one strives in vain 
 to forget his identity. 
 
 The other inmates of the house had long retired, and all 
 was hushed save the voice of my companion. I felt no 
 incUnation to sleep ; the various scenes of my life were 
 floating over my mind, as I gazed into the bright fire that 
 glowed before me, while the storm raged without. My 
 companion had at length sunk into a troubled slumlier ; 
 his head resting upon his hand, which was supported by 
 the table, and his intelligent face half turned from me. 
 While I sat thus, my attention was roused by a low, indis- 
 tinct murmuring from the sleeper: he was evidently dream- 
 ing — for, although there were a few disjointed words here 
 and there pronounced, he still slept soundly. 
 
 Gradually his articulation became more distinct and his 
 countenance animated ; but his eyes were closed, I became 
 much interested ; for this was the first instance of a dreamer 
 talking in his sleep I had ever witnessed. I watched him. 
 A gleam of joy and pleasure played around his well-formed 
 moutli, while the few inarticulate sounds he uttered resem- 
 bled distant shouts of youthfid glee. Gi'adually the tones 
 became connected sentences; care and anxiety, at times, 
 came over his countenance ; in heart-toucliing language, he 
 bade farewell to liis parent and the beloved scenes of his 
 youtli ; large drops of moisture stole from under his closed
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGIITON. 2G3 
 
 eyelids. The transitions of his mind were so quick, that 
 it required my utmost attention to follow them ; but I never 
 heard such true eloquence as came from this dreamer. I 
 had seen most of the performers of our modern stage, and 
 appreciated their talents ; but what I at this time witnessed, 
 in the actings of genuine nature, surpassed all their efforts. 
 
 Gradually the shades of innocence departed from his 
 countenance ; his language became adulterated by slang 
 phrases, and his features assumed a fiendish cast that made 
 me shudder. lie showed that he was flimiliar with the 
 worst of company ; care and anxiety gradually crept over 
 his countenance ; he had, it seemed, commenced a system 
 of fraud upon his employers and been detected ; grief and 
 despair threw over him their frightful shadows ; pale and 
 dejected, he pleaded for mercy, for the sake of his father, 
 in the most abject terms. He noAV spoke with energy and 
 connection — it was to his companions in jail ; but hope 
 had fled, and a shameful death seemed to him inevitable. 
 
 His trial came on. He proceeded to court — his lips 
 appeared pale and parched — a convulsive quiver agitated 
 the lower muscles of his face and neck — he seemed to 
 breathe with difficulty — his head sank lower upon the 
 hand that supported it — he had been condemned — he was 
 now in his solitary cell — his murmurs breathed repentance 
 and devotion — his sufferings appeared to be so intense that 
 large drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead — he 
 was engaged with the clergyman, preparing for death. 
 Remembering what I had suffered in my own dreams, I 
 resolved to awake him, and, to do so, gave the arm that 
 lay upon the table a gentle shake. A shudder passed over 
 his frame, and he sank upon the floor. 
 
 All that I have narrated had occurred in a space of time 
 remarkably short. I rose to lift him to his seat, and make 
 an apology for the surprise I had given him ; but he was 
 quite unconscious. The noise of his fall had alarmed tlie
 
 264 TALES OF THE BORDERS, 
 
 landlady, who, witli several of the guests, entered as I was 
 stooping with him in my arms, attempting to raise him. I 
 was so much shocked when I found the state he was in, 
 tliat I let him drop, and recoiled back in horror, exclaim- 
 ing, " Good God ! have I killed him ! Send for a sur- 
 geon." The idea that I had endeavoured to awake him 
 in an improper time came with strong conviction upon me, 
 and forced the words out of my mouth. 
 
 They raised him up and placed him on his seat. I could 
 not offer the smallest assistance. Every effort was used to 
 restore him in vain, and a surgeon sent for, but life had 
 fled. During all this time I luid remained in a stupor of 
 mind ; suspicion fell upon me that I had murdered him; I 
 had been alone with him, and seen stooping over the body 
 when they entered ; and my exclamation at the time, and 
 my confusion, Avere all construed as sure tokens of my 
 guilt. I Avas strictly guarded until a coroner's inquest 
 could be held upon the body. 
 
 I tcld the whole circumstances as they had occurred ; 
 but my narrative made not the smallest impression. I was 
 not believed — an incredulous smile, or a dubious shake of 
 the head, was all that I obtained from my auditors. I 
 then kept silence, and refused to enter into any further 
 explanation, conscious that my innocence would be made 
 manifest at tlie inquest, which must meet as soon as the 
 necessary steps could be taken. I was already tried and 
 condemned by those around me — every circumstance was 
 turned against me, and the most prominent was that I was 
 Scotch. Many remarks were made, all to the prejudice of 
 my country, but aimed at me. My heart burned to retort 
 tlieir unjust abuse ; but I was too indignant to trust my- 
 self to utter the thoughts that swelled my heart almost to 
 bursting. 
 
 The surgeon had come, and was busy examining the 
 body of the unfortunate individual, when a new traveller
 
 IHE FOUTUKES OF WILLI A3I WIGHTON. 265 
 
 arrived. He appeared to be about sixty years of age, of 
 a pieasing countenance, wliicli was, however, shaded by 
 anxiety and grief. Sick and weary of those around me, I 
 had ceased to regard them , but I raised my eyes as the 
 new comer entered ; and was at once struck by a strong 
 resemblance, as I thought, between him and the deceased. 
 The stranger appeared to take no interest in Avhat was 
 going on, but urged the landlady to make haste and pro- 
 cure him some refreshment, while his horse was being fed. 
 He Avas in the utmost hurry to depart, as important busi- 
 ness required his immediate attendance in London. The 
 loquacious landlady forced him to listen to a most exag- 
 gerated account of the horrid murder Avhich the Scotchman 
 had committed in her house. The story was so much dis- 
 torted by her inventions, that I could not have recognized 
 the event, if the time and place, and her often pointing to 
 me and the bed on which the body was laid, had not iden- 
 tified it. I could perceive a faint shudder come over his 
 frame, as she finished her romance. The surgeon came 
 from his examination of the body. He was a man well 
 advanced in years, of an intelligent and benevolent cast of 
 countenance. She inquired with what instrument the 
 miirder had been perpetrated. 
 
 " My good lady," said the surgeon, " I can find no 
 marks of violence upon the body, and I cannot say whe- 
 ther the individual met his death by violence or the visi- 
 tation of God." 
 
 " Oh, sir," cried the hostess, " I am certain he was 
 murdered; for I saw them struggling on the floor as I 
 entered the room ; and he said himself that he had mur- 
 dered him." 
 
 "Peace, good woman," said the surgeon, who turned to 
 me, and requested to know the particulars from myself; 
 " for I am persuaded," he continued, " that no outward 
 violence has been sustained by the deceased."
 
 266 TALES OF THE BORDEKS. 
 
 I once more began to narrate to him the whole circum- 
 stance. As I proceeded with the dream, the stranger sud- 
 denly became riveted in his attention ; his eyes were fixed 
 upon me ; the muscles of his face were strangely agitated, 
 as if he was restraining some strong emotion ; wonder and 
 anxiety were strongly expressed by turns, until I men- 
 tioned one of the names I had heard in the dream. Utter- 
 ing a heart-rending groan, or rather scream, he rose from 
 his seat and staggered to the bed, where he fell upon the 
 inanimate body, and sobbed audibly as he kissed the cold 
 forehead, and parted the long brown hair that covered 
 it. 
 
 "Oh, Charles," he cried, "my son, my dear lost son! 
 have I found you thus, who was once the stay and hope 
 of my heart ! " 
 
 There was not a dry eye in the room after this burst of 
 agonized nature. He rose from the bed and approached 
 me. Looking mildly in my face, he said — 
 
 " Stranger, be so good as continue your account of this 
 sad accident ; for both our sakes, I hope you are innocent 
 of any violence upon my son." 
 
 Overcome by his manner, in kindness to him I suggested 
 that it would be better were only the surgeon and himself 
 present at the recital. Several of those present protested 
 loudly against my proposal, saying I would make my 
 escape if I was not guarded. My anger now rose — I covdd 
 restrain myself no longer — I cast an indignant glance 
 around, and, in a voice at its utmost pitch, dared any one 
 present to say I had used violence against the unfortunate 
 young man. All remained silent. In a calmer manner, I 
 declared I had no wish to depart, urgent as my business 
 was, until the intpu'st was over; and, if they doubted my 
 word, they were welcome to keep strict watch at the door 
 and windows. 
 
 The old man perceived tlie kindness of my motive for
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WILLIA3I -WIGUTON. 267 
 
 withdrawing with him, and his looks spoke his gratitude 
 as we retired. 
 
 I once more stated every circumstance as it had occurred, 
 from the time of his son's arrival untU he fell from the 
 chair. As I repeated the words I could make out in the 
 early part of the dream, his father Avept like a child, and 
 said— "Would to God he had never left me!" When I 
 came to the London part, he groaned aloud and wrung 
 his hands. I was inclined more than once to stop ; but he 
 motioned me to proceed, while tears choked his utterance. 
 When I had made an end, he clasped his hands, and, 
 raising his face to heaven, said — " I thank Thee, Father of 
 mercies ! Thy Avill be done. He was the last of five of 
 Thy gifts. I am now childless, and have nothing more 
 worth Hvmg for but to obey Thy Avill. I thank Thee that 
 in his last moments it can be said of him as it was of thy 
 apostle — 'Behold, he prayeth!'" 
 
 For some time we remained silent, reverencing the old 
 mac's grief The surgeon first broke silence: — " Stranger," 
 he said, *' I have not a doubt of your innocence of any 
 intention to injure the person of the deceased, but your 
 humane intention to awaken him was certainly the im- 
 mediate cause of his death ; for, had you tried to rouse 
 him from sleep, either sooner or later in his dream, all 
 might have been well. Tlie gentle shake you gave his 
 arm, in all likelihood, was felt as the fatal fall of tlie plat- 
 form or push of the executioner, Avhich caused, from 
 fright, a sudden collapse of the heart, that put a final stop 
 to the circulation and caused immediate death. Wc rcaret 
 it ; but cannot say there was any bad intention on your 
 part." 
 
 I thanked the siu-geon for the justice lie had done me 
 in his remai-ks ; and then addressing the bereaved father, 
 I begged his forgiveness for my unfortunate interference 
 with his son ; I only did so to put a period to his dream,
 
 268 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 as his sufferings appeared to me to be of the most acute 
 description. 
 
 He stretched out his hand, and grasping mine, which he 
 held for some time, while he strove to overcome his emo- 
 tions, he at length said — 
 
 " Young man, from my heart I acquit you of every evil 
 intention, and beheve you from evidence that cannot be 
 called in question. What you have told coincides with 
 facts I already possess. For some time back the conduct 
 of Charles gave me serious cause of uneasiness ; but I 
 knew not half the extent of his excesses, althouQ;h his 
 requests for money were mcessant. I supplied them as 
 i'ar as was in my power ; for he accompanied them with 
 dutiful acknowledgments and plausible reasons. Until of 
 late I had fullilled his every wish ; but I found I could no 
 longer comply with prudence. Alas ! you have let me at 
 length understand that the gaming-table was the gulf that 
 swallowed iip all. I had for some time resolved to go 
 personally and reason with him upon the folly of his extra- 
 vagances ; but, unfortunately, delayed it from day to day 
 and week to week. I felt it to be my duty as a parent ; 
 but my heart shrunk from it. Fatal delay ! Oh, that I 
 had done as my duty urged ,me ! " (Here his feelings 
 overpowered him for a few minutes.) " Had I only gone 
 even a few days before I received that fatal letter that at 
 once roused me from my guilty supineness," (here he drew 
 a letter from liis pocket and gave it me,) " he might have 
 been saved ! Read it." 
 
 I complied. It Avas as follows : — 
 
 " Worthy Friend, — I scarce know how to communi- 
 cate the information ; but, I fear, no one here will do so 
 in so gentle a manner. Your son Charles, I am grieved 
 to say, lias not been acting as I could have wished for this 
 some time back. One of the partners called here this morn- 
 ing to inquire after him, as he had absconded from their
 
 tHE FORTUNES OP WILLIAM WlGHTON. 269 
 
 service on account of some irregularity that had been dis- 
 covered in his cash entries, and made me afraid, by his 
 manner, that there might be something worse. Do, for 
 your own and his sake, come to town as quickly as pos- 
 sible. In the meantime, I shall do all in my power to 
 avert any evil that may threaten. — Adieu ! 
 
 " John Walker." 
 "I was on my way," he proceeded, "to save my poor 
 Charles from shame, had even the workhouse been my 
 only refuge at the close of my days. Alas! as he told in 
 his dream, I fear he had forfeited his life by that fatal act, 
 forgery, for which there is no pardon with man. If so, the 
 present dispensation is one of mercy, for which I bless His 
 name, who in all things doeth right." 
 
 My heart ached for the pious old man. We left the 
 room, he leaning upon my arm. The surgeon and parent 
 both pronounced me innocent of the young man's death. 
 Those who still remained in the house, more particularly 
 the hostess, appeared disappointed, and did not scruple to 
 hint their doubts. Until the coroner's inquest sat, which 
 was in the afternoon, the father of the stranger never left 
 my side, b;at seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in 
 conversing about his son. The jury, after a patient inves- 
 tigation, returned their verdict, " Died by the visitation of 
 God." 
 
 I immediately bade farewell to the surgeon and the 
 parent of the young man, and proceeded for Liverpool, 
 musing upon my strange destiny. It appeared to me that 
 I was haunted by some fatality, Avhich plunged me con- 
 stantly into misfortune. I rejoiced that I was on the point 
 of leaving Britain, and hoped that iu America I should bo 
 freed from my bad fortune. 
 
 When I arrived in Liverpool I foimd the packet on the 
 eve of sailing; and, witli all expedition, I made everything 
 ready and went on board. We were to sail with tha
 
 270 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 morning tide. There were a good many passengers; but 
 all of them appeared to be every-day personages — all less 
 or more studious about their own comforts. After an 
 agreeable voyage of five weeks, Ave arrived safe, and all in 
 good health, in Charleston. In a few months I completed 
 our arrangement satisfactorily, and began to make prepa- 
 rations for my return to England again. A circumstance, 
 however, occurred, which overturned all my plans for a 
 time, and gave a new turn to my thoughts. Was it pos- 
 sible that, after the way in which I had been cast off before 
 by one of the bemtching sex, I coidd ever do more than 
 look upon them again with indifference ? I did not hate 
 or shun their company, but a feehng pretty much akin to 
 contempt, ofien stole over me as I recollected my old 
 injury. I could feel the sensation at times give way for a 
 few hours in the company of some females, and again 
 return Avith redoubled force upon the slightest occasion, 
 such as a single word or look. I was prejudiced, and 
 resolved not again to submit to the power of the sex. 
 But vain are the resolves of man. This continued struggle, 
 I really beUeve, was the reason of my again falling more 
 violently in love than ever, and that, too, against my own 
 will. When I strove to discover faults, I only found 
 perfections. 
 
 I had boarded in the house of a widow lady who had 
 three daughters, none of them exceeding twelve years of 
 age. A governess, one of the sweetest crcatui-es that I 
 liad ever seen, or shall ever see again, had the charge of 
 them. On the second evening after my arrival, I retired 
 to my apartment, overcome by heat and fatigue. I lay 
 listlessly thinking of Auld Reekie, the mysterious murder, 
 and all the strange occurrences of my past life. My atten- 
 tion Avas awakened by a voice the sweetest I had ever 
 heard. I listened in rapture. It \vas only a few notes, as 
 the singer was trying the pitch of her voice, and soon
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGIITOX. 271 
 
 ceased. I -was wondering which of the family it cotild be 
 ulio sang so well, when I heard one of the daughters say, 
 " Do, governess, sing me one song, and I will be a good 
 girl all to-morrow. Pray do !" I became all attention — 
 again the voice fell upon my ear. It was low and plain- 
 tive — the air was familiar to me — my whole soul became 
 entranced — the tear-drop swam in my eyes — it was one of 
 Scotland's sweetest ditties — "The Broom o' the Cowden- 
 knowes." No one who has not heard, unexpected, in a 
 foreign land the songs he loved in his youth, can appre- 
 ciate the thrill of pleasing ecstasy that carries the mind, 
 as it were, out of the body, when the ears catch the well- 
 known soimds. 
 
 Next day I was aU anxiety to see the individual who 
 liad so fascinated me the evening before. I found her all 
 that my imagmation had pictured her. A new feeling 
 possessed me. In vain I called pride to my aid — I could 
 not drive her from my thoughts. Sleeping or waking, her 
 voice and form were ever present. I left the town for a 
 time to free myself from these unwelcome feelings, pleas- 
 ing as they were. I felt angry at myself for harbouring 
 them i but all my endeavours Avere vain — go where I 
 would, I was with my Mary on the Cowdenknowes. 
 
 I know not how it was. I had loved with more ardour 
 in my first passion, and been more the victim of impulse; 
 a dreamy sensation occupied my mind, and my whole 
 existence seemed concentrated in her alone; now, my 
 mind felt cool and collected— I weighed every fault and 
 excellence ; still I was hurried on, and felt like one placed 
 in a boat in the current of a river, pulling hard to get out 
 of the stream in vain. I at length laid down my oars, and 
 yielded to the impulse. In short, I made up my mind to 
 win the esteem and love of Mary; nor did I strive in vain. 
 My humble attentions were kindly received, and dear to 
 my heart is the remembrance of the timid glances I first
 
 272 TALES Of THE BORDERS. 
 
 detected in lier full black eyes. For some weeks I songlit 
 an opportunity to declare my love. She evidently shunned 
 being alone with me; and I often could discern, when I 
 came upon her by surprise, that she had been weeping. 
 Some secret sorrow evidently oppressed her mind, and, at 
 times, I have seen her beautiful face suffused with scarlet 
 and her eyes become wet with tears, when my pompous 
 landlady spoke of the ladies of Europe and " the true white- 
 blooded females of America." I dreamed not at this time 
 of the cause; but the truth dawned upon me afterwards. 
 
 It was on a delightful evening, after one of the most 
 sultry days in this climate, I had wandered into the garden 
 to enjoy the evening breeze, with which nothing in these 
 northern chmes will bear comparison; the fire-flies sported 
 in myriads around, and gave animation to the scene ; tlie 
 fragrance of plants and the melody of birds filled the senses 
 to repletion. I wanted only the presence of Mary to be 
 completely happy. I heard a low warbling at a short dis- 
 tance, from a bower covered with clustering vines. It was 
 Mary's voice ! I stood overpowered with pleasure — she 
 sung again one of our Scottish tunes. 
 
 As the last faint cadence died away, I entered the arbour; 
 the noise of my approach made her start from lier seat ; 
 Bhe was hurrying away in confusion, when I gently seized 
 her hand, and requested her to remain, if it were only for 
 a few moments, as I had something to impart of the utmost 
 importance to us both. She stood; her face was averted 
 from my gaze; I felt her hand tremble in mine. Now that 
 the opj)ortunity I so much desired had been obtained, my 
 resolution began to fail me. We had stood thus for sometime. 
 
 " Sir, I must not stay here longer," she said. *' Good 
 evening!" 
 
 " Mary," said T, ** I love you. May I hope to gain your 
 regard by any length of service? Allow me to hope, and I 
 shall be content."
 
 THE FORTUNES OP -VVII-LIAM -WIGnXON. 273 
 
 "I must not listen to tliis language," she replied. " Do 
 not hope. There is a barrier between us that cannot be 
 removed. I cannot be yours. I am unworthy of your 
 regard. Alas ! I am a child of misfortxme," 
 
 " Then," said I, " my hopes of happiness are fled for ever. 
 So young, so beautifid, with a soul so elevated as I know 
 yotirs to be, you can have done nothing to render you 
 unworthy of me. For heaven's sake, tell me what that 
 fatal barrier is. Is it love?" 
 
 " I thank you," she replied. " You do me but justice. 
 A thought has never dwelt upon my mind for which I have 
 cause to blush ; but Nature has placed a gulf between you 
 and me, you will not pass." She paused, and the tears 
 swam in her eyes. 
 
 "For mercy's sake, proceed!" I said. 
 
 " There is black Mood in these veins" she cried, in 
 agony. 
 
 A load was at once removed from my mind. I raised 
 her hand to my lips: — " Mary, my love, this is no bar. I 
 come from a coiuitry AThere the aristocracy of blood is 
 unknoAvn, where nothing degrades man in the eyes of his 
 fellow-man but vice." 
 
 Why more ? Mary consented to be mine, and we were 
 shortly after Aved. I was blessed in the possession of one 
 of the most gentle of beings. 
 
 We had been married about six or seven Aveeks, when 
 business called me from Charleston to one of the northern 
 States. I resolved to take Mary Avith me, as I Avas to go 
 by sea; and our arrangements Avere completed. The vessel 
 Avas to sail on the folloAviug day. I Avas seated Avith her, 
 enjoying the cool of the evening, Avhen a stranger called 
 and requested to see me on business of importance. I 
 immediately Avent to him, and Avas struck Avith the coarse- 
 ness of his manners, and liis vulgar importance. I bowed, 
 and asked his business. j 2
 
 274 TALES OF THE BOBDEKS. 
 
 "You have a woman in this house," said he, "called 
 Mary De Lyle, I guess." 
 
 " I do not tmderstand the purport of yottr question," 
 said I. "TVliat do vou mean?" 
 
 " My meaning is pretty clear," said he. " Mary De Lyle 
 is in this house, and she is my property. If you offer to 
 carry her out of the State, I Avill hare her sent to jail, and 
 you fined. That is right a-head, I guess." 
 
 ""Wretch," said I, in a voice hoarse vnXh. rage, " get out 
 of my house, or I •v\-ill crush you to death. Begone !" 
 
 I believe I would have done him some fearful injury, 
 had he not precipitately made his escape. In a frame of 
 mind I want words to express, I hurried to Mary, and sank 
 upon a seat, with my face buried in my hands. She, poor 
 thing, came trembling to my side, and implored me to tell 
 her what was the matter. I coidd only answer by my 
 groans. At length, I looked imploringly in her face : — 
 
 "Mary, is it possible that you are a slave?" said L 
 
 She uttered a piercing shriek, and sank inanimate at my 
 feet. I lifted her upon the sofa; but it was long before she 
 gave symptoms of returning hfe. 
 
 As soon as I could leave her, I went to a friend to ask 
 his advice and assistance. Through him, I learned that 
 v.-hat I feared was but too true. By the usages and laws of 
 the State, she was still a slave, and liable to be hurried 
 from me and sold to the highest bidder, or doomed to any 
 drudgery her master might put her to, and even flogged 
 fit will. There was only one remedy that could be appUed; 
 and the specific was dollars. My friend was so kind as 
 neeotiatc with the rufiian. One thousand was demanded, 
 and cheerfully paid. I carried the manumission home to 
 my sorrowing Mar)\ From her I learned, as she lay in 
 bed— her beautiful lace buried in the clothes, and her voice 
 choked by sobs— that the ^vretch who had caUed on mc 
 was her o'svn father, whose avarice could not let slip this
 
 XmS FOUTUNES OF AVILLIAM WIGUTON. 275 
 
 opportunity of extorting money. TTitli an inconsistency 
 often found in man, he had given Mary one of the best of 
 educations, and for long treated her as a favoured cliild, 
 during the life of her mother, who was one of his slaves, a 
 ■woman of colour, and "with some accomplishments, which 
 fhe had acquired in a genteel family. At her death, Mary 
 had gone as governess to my landlady; but, trntd the day 
 of her father's claim, she had never dreamed of being a 
 slave. I allowed the vessel to sail without me, wound up 
 my affairs, and bade adieu for ever to the slave States. 'Tis 
 now twenty years since I purchased a wife, after I had won 
 her love, and I bless the day she was made mine ; for I 
 have had uninterrupted happiness in her and her offspring. 
 The slave is now the happy ^vife and mother of five lovely 
 children, who rejoice in their mother. After remaining 
 some years in Leeds, I retiu-ned to Edinburgh. Widow 
 Neil was dead; but one day I discovered, by mere cliance, 
 that the murder I committed in her house was on a sheej).
 
 27 G TALES OF TUE BOllDERS. 
 
 MY BLACK COAT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BREAKING OF THE BRIDE'S CHINA. 
 
 Gentle reader, the simple circumstances I am about to 
 relate to you, liang upon wliat is termed — a bad omen. 
 There are few amongst tlie uneducated who have not a 
 degree of faitli in omens ; and even amongst the better 
 educated and well informed there are many who, while 
 they profess to disbelieve them, and, indeed, do disbelieve 
 them, yet feel them in their hours of solitude. I have 
 known individuals Avho, in the hour of danger, would have 
 braved the cannon's mouth, or defied death to his teeth, 
 who, nevertheless, would have buried their heads in the 
 bedclothes at the howling of a dog at midnight, or spent a 
 sleepless night from hearing the tick, tick, of the spider, or 
 the untiring song of the kitchen-fire musician — the jolly 
 little cricket. The age of omens, however, is drawing to a 
 close; for truth in its progress is trampling delusion of 
 every kind under its feet ; yet, after all, tliough a belief in 
 omens is a superstition, it is one that carries with it a por- 
 tion of the poetry of our nature. But to proceed with our 
 story. 
 
 Several years ago I was on my way from B to 
 
 Edinburgh ; and being as familiar with_ every cottage, 
 tree, shrub, and whin-bush on the Dunbar and Lauder 
 roads as with the face of an acquaintance, I made choice 
 of the less-frequented path by Longformacue. I always 
 took a secret pleasure in contemplating the dreariness of 
 wild spreading desolation ; and, next to looking on the
 
 THE BBEAKING OF THE BRIDE's CHIXA, 277 
 
 sea when its waves dance to the music of a hurricane, I 
 loved to gaze ou the heath-covered wUderness, where the 
 blue horizon only girded its purple bosom. It was no 
 season to look upon the heath in the beauty of barrenness, 
 yet I purposely diverged from the main road. About an 
 hour, therefore, after I had descended from the region of 
 the Lammermoors, and entered the Lothians, I became 
 sensible I was pursuing a path which was not forwarding 
 my footsteps to Edinburgh. It was December; the sun 
 had just gone dowm ; I was not very partial to travelling 
 in darkness, neither did I vfish. to trust to chance for find- 
 ing a comfortable restingplace for the night. Perceiving a 
 farm-steading and water-mill about a quarter of a mile 
 from the road, I resolved to turn towards them, and make 
 inquiry respecting the right path, or, at least, to request 
 to be directed to the nearest inn. 
 
 The " town," as the three or four houses and mill were 
 called, was all bustle and confusion. The female inhabi- 
 tants were cleaning and scouring, and running to and fro. 
 I quickly learned that all this note of preparation arose 
 from the "maister" being to be married within three 
 days. Seeing me a stranger, he came from his house 
 towards me. lie was a tall, stout, good-looking, jolly- 
 faced farmer and miller. His manner of accosting me 
 partook more of kindness than civility ; and his inquiries 
 were not free from the famihar, prying curiosity which 
 prevails in every corner of cxir island, and, I must say, in 
 the north in particular. 
 
 *' Where do you come fra, na— if it be a fair question ? " 
 inquired he. 
 
 " From B ," was the brief and merely civil reply. 
 
 "An' hae ye come frae there the day?" he continued. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer. 
 
 "Ay, man, an' ye come frae B , do ye?" added he; 
 
 " then, nae doot, ye'll ken a person they ca' Mr. ? "
 
 278 TALES OP THE BORDERS. 
 
 "Did he come originally from Dunse?" returned I, 
 mentioning also the occupation of the person referred to. 
 
 "The vera same," rejoined the miller; "are ye ac- 
 quainted wi' him, sir ? " 
 
 " I ought to be," replied I ; " the person you speak of is 
 merely my father." 
 
 " Your faither ! " exclaimed he, opening his mouth and 
 eyes to their full width, and standing for a' moment the 
 picture of surprise — " Gude gracious ! ye dinna say sae ! — 
 is he really your faithei ? Losh, man, do you no ken, 
 then, that I'm your cousin ! Ye've heard o' your cousin, 
 Willie Stewart." 
 
 " Fifty times," replied I. 
 
 " Weel, I'm the vera man," said he — " Gie's your hand; 
 for, 'odsake, man, I'm as glad as glad can be. This is renl 
 extraordinar'. I've often heard o' you — it will be you that 
 writes the bulks — faith ye'll be able to mak something o' 
 this. But come awa' into the house — ye dinna stir a mile 
 far'er for a week, at ony rate." 
 
 So saying, and still grasj)ing my hand, he led me to the 
 farm-house. On crossing the threshold — 
 
 " Here, lassie," he cried, in a voice that made roof and 
 rafters ring, " bring ben the speerits, and get on the kettle 
 — here's a cousin that I ne'er saw in my life afore." 
 
 A few minutes served mutually to confirm and explain 
 ovir newly-discovered relationship. 
 
 " Man," said he, as we were filling a second glass, 
 " ye've just come in the very nick o' time ; an' I'll teU ye 
 how. Ye see I'm gaun to be married ^the day after the 
 morn ; an' no haein' a friend o' ony kin-kind in this quar- 
 ter, I had to ask an acquaintance to be the best man. 
 Now, this was vexin' me mair than ye can think, particu- 
 larly, ye see, because the sweetheart has aye been hinting 
 to me that it wadna be lucky for me no to hae a bluid 
 relation for a best man. For that matter, indeed, luck
 
 THE BRBAKING OF THE BRIDE's CHINA. 279 
 
 here, luck there, I no care the toss up o' a ha'penny about 
 omens mysel' ; but now that ye've fortunately come, I'm a 
 great deal easier, an' it will be ae craik out o' the way, for 
 it ^vill please her ; an' ye may guess, between you an' me, 
 that she's worth the pleasin', or I wadna had her; so I'll 
 just step ower an' tell the ither lad that I hae a cousin come 
 to be my best man, an' he'll think naething o't." 
 
 On the morning of the third day, the bride and her 
 friends arrived. She was the only child of a Lammermoor 
 farmer, and was in truth a real mountain flower — a heath 
 blossom ; for the rude health that laughed upon her cheeks 
 approached nearer the hue of the heather -bell, than the 
 rose and vermillion of which poets speak. She was comely 
 withal, possessing an appearance of considerable strength, 
 and was rather above the middle size — ^in short, she was 
 the very belle ideal of a miller's wife ! 
 
 But to go on. Twelve couple accompanied the happy 
 miller and his bride to the manse, independent of the 
 married, middle-aged, and grey-haired visitors, who fol- 
 lowed behind and by our side. AVe were thus proceeding 
 onward to the house of the minister, whose blessing was to 
 make a couple happy, and the arm of the blooming bride 
 was through mine, when I heard a voice, or rather let me 
 say a sound, like the croak of a raven, exclaim — 
 
 " Mercy on us ! saw ye e'er the like o' that I — the best 
 man, Til declare, has a black coat on!" 
 
 " An' that's no lucky ! " replied another. 
 
 "Lucky!" responded the raven voice — "just perfectly 
 awfu' ! I wadna it had happened at the Aveddin' o' a bairn 
 o' mine for the king's dominions." 
 
 I observed the bride steal a glance at my shoulder ; I 
 felt, or thought I felt, as if she shrunk from my arm ; and 
 when I spoke to her, her speech faltered. I found that 
 my cousin, in avoiding one omen, had stumbled \ipon 
 another, in my black coat. I v/as wroth with the rural
 
 280 TALES OF THE BOKDEIIS. 
 
 proplietess, and turned round to behold her. Her little 
 grey eyes, twankling through spectacles, were wink, Avink- 
 ing upon my ill-feted coat. She was a crooked (forgive 
 me for saying an ugly), little, old woman ; she was 
 *' bearded like a pard," and Avalked with a crooked stick 
 mounted with silver. (On the very spot* where she then 
 was, the last Avitch in Scotland was burned.) I turned 
 from the grinning sibyl with disgust. 
 
 On the previous day, and during part of the night, the 
 rain had fallen heavily, and the Broxburn was swollen to 
 the magnitude of a little river. The manse lay on the 
 opposite side of the burn, which was generally crossed by 
 the aid of stepping-stones, but on the day in question the 
 tops of the stones were barely visible. On crossing the 
 burn the foot of the bride slipped, and the bridegroom, in 
 his eagerness to assist her, slipped also — knee-deep in the 
 water. The raven voice was again heard — it was another 
 omen. 
 
 The kitchen was the only room in the manse large 
 enough to contain the spectators assembled to witness the 
 ceremony, which passed over smoothly enough, save that, 
 when the clergyman was about to join the hands of the 
 parties, I drew off the glove of the bride a second or two 
 before the bridesmaid performed a similar operation on 
 the hand of the bridegroom. I heard the whisper of the 
 crooked old woman, and saw that the eyes of the other 
 women were upon me. I felt that I had committed another 
 omen, and almost resolved to renounce wearing " blacks " 
 for the future. The ceremony, however, was concluded; 
 we returned from the manse, and everything was forgotten, 
 save mirth and music, till the hour arrived for tea. 
 
 The bride's mother had boasted of her " daughter's 
 double set o' real china " during the afternoon ; and the 
 
 * The last peruon burued for witchcraft In Scotland wai at Spot — the scene of 
 our present stury
 
 THE BREAKING OP THE BRIDE's CHINA. 281 
 
 female part of the company evidently felt anxious to 
 examine the costly crockery. A young woman was enter- 
 ing with a tray and the tea equipage — another, similarly 
 laden, followed behind her. The " sneck " of the door 
 caught the handle of the tray, and down went china, 
 waiting-maid, and all ! The fall startled her companion — 
 their feet became entangled — both embraced the lloor, and 
 the china from both trays lay scattered around them in a 
 thousand shapes and sizes! This was an omen Avith a 
 vengeance ! I could not avoid stealing a look at the sleeve 
 of my black coat. The bearded old woman seemed in- 
 spired. She declared the luck of the house was broken ! 
 Of the double set of real china not a cup was left — not an 
 odd saucer. The bridegroom bore the misfortune as a 
 man ; and, gently drawing the head of his young partner 
 towards him, said — 
 
 " Never mind them, hinny — let them gang — we'll get 
 mair." 
 
 The bride, poor thing, shed a tear; but the miller 
 threw his arm round her neck, stole a kiss, and she 
 blushed and smiled. 
 
 It was evident, however, that every one of the company 
 regarded this as a real omen. The mill-loft was prepared 
 for the joyous dance ; but scarce had the fantastic toes 
 (some of them were not light ones) begun to move through 
 the mazy rounds, when the loft-floor broke down beneath 
 the bounding feet of the happy-hearted miller ; for, \mfor- 
 tunately, he considered not that his goodly body was 
 heavier than his spirits. It Avas omen upon omen — the 
 work of breaking had begun — the " luck " of the young 
 couple was departed. 
 
 Three days after the wedding, one of the miller's carts 
 was got in readiness to carry home the bride's mother. 
 On crossing the unlucky burn, to which Ave have al- 
 ready alluded, the horso stumbled, fell, and broke its
 
 282 TALES OF THE BOBBERS. 
 
 knee, and had to be taken back, and another put in its 
 place. 
 
 " Mair breakings ! " exclaimed the now almost heart- 
 broken old woman. " Oh, dear sake ! how "will a' this 
 end for my puir bairn !" 
 
 I remained with my new-found relatives about a week ; 
 and while there the miller sent his boy for payment of an 
 account of thirty pounds, he having to make up money to 
 pay a corn-factor at the Haddington market on the follow- 
 ing day. In the evening the boy returned. 
 
 " Weel, callant," inquired the miller, " hae ye gotten 
 the siller?" 
 
 " No," replied the youth. 
 
 "Mercy me!" exclaimed my cousin, hastily, "hae y» 
 no gotten the siller ? "Wlia did ye see, or what did they 
 say?" 
 
 " I saw the wife," returned the boy ; " an' she said — 
 ' Siller ! laddie, what's brought ye here for siller? — I dare- 
 say your maister's daft ! Do ye no ken we're broken ! I'm 
 sure a'body kens that we broke yesterday ! " 
 
 "The mischief break them ! " exclaimed the mUler, 
 rising and walking hurriedly across the room — " this is 
 breaking in earnest." 
 
 I may not here particularize the breakings that followed. 
 One misfortune succeeded another, till the miller broke 
 also. All that he had was put under the hammer, and he 
 wandered forth with his young wife a broken man. 
 
 Some years afterwards, I met with him in a different 
 part of the country. He had the management of exten- 
 sive flouj mills. He was again doing well, and had money 
 in his master's hands. At last there seemed to be an end 
 of the breakings. We were sitting together when a third 
 person entered, with a rueful coxintenance. 
 
 " Willie," said he, with the tone of a speaking sepulchre^ 
 " hae ye heard the news ? "
 
 THE BREAiaNG OF THE BRIDE's CHINA. 283 
 
 " \Vliat news, now?" inquired the miller, seriously. 
 
 "The maister's broken!" rejoined the other. 
 
 "An' my fifty pounds?" responded my cousin, in a 
 voice of horror. 
 
 " Are broken wi' him," returned the stranger. " Oh, 
 gude gracious ! " cried the young wife, wTiuging her hands, 
 " I'm sure I wash I were out o' this world ! — -will erev thir 
 breakings be done ! — what tempted my mother to buy me 
 the cheena?" 
 
 " Or me to wear a black coat at your wedding," 
 thought I. 
 
 A few weeks afterwards a letter arrived, announcing 
 that death had suddenly broken the thread of life of her 
 aged father, and her mother requested them to come and 
 take charge of the farm Avhich was now theirs. They 
 went. The old man had made money on the hills. They 
 got the better of the broken china and of my black coat. 
 Fortune broke in upon them. My cousin declared that 
 omens were nonsense, and his -wife added that she " really 
 thought there was naething in them, But it was lang an' 
 mony a day," she added, " or I could get your black coat 
 and my mother's cheena out o' my mind." 
 
 They began to prosper and they prosper still. 
 
 END OP VOLUJIE II. 
 
 Pi-inted by A. Irelaud & Co. for James Ainsworth, KS, riccaili!1>. srnncJiester.
 
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