{^^k^^imll^ :'.^W^^ ^.j]^^. 
 
 ■^^rs... -,^ 
 
 ^m'\-'" ^M,i 
 
 }^^ 
 
 P 
 
 *^^ 
 
 ■Wtfll^' 
 
EX L I B R I S 
 
 ROBERT PALFREY 
 
 UTTER 
 
'/i^H 
 
 i 
 
i 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE 
 
 OR;, 
 
 A COVENANTER'S STORY, 
 
 UNFINISHED. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE DECISION, " 
 " FATHER CLEMENT," &c. &c. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY W. OLIPHANT, 22, SOUTH BRIDGE ; 
 
 AND SOLD BY M. OGLE, AND CHALMERS & COLLINS, 
 GLASGOW; J. FINLAY, NEWCASTLE; BEILBY & KNOTTS, 
 BIRMINGHAM ; J. HATCHARD AND SON, HAMILTON, 
 ADAMS & CO. J. NISBET, J. DUNCAN, B. J. HOLDSWORTH, AND 
 F. WESTLEY, LONDON; AND R. M. TIMS, AND W. CURRY, 
 JUN. & CO. DUBLIN. 
 
 M.DCCC.XXV. 
 
PRINTED BY A. BALFOUR AND CO. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 It was on a calm clear day at the end of April, 
 in the year 1679, that young Colville of Arron- 
 dale, and his gray-haired servant, Adam Yule, 
 after having spent several preceding days in rid- 
 mg: from London, as the manner of the times 
 was, crossed the Border, and again, after an ab- 
 sence of six years, entered their native Scotland. 
 This day's journey had commenced early ; and 
 though Colville had frequently checked his horse, 
 and slackened his pace for a time, on recollect- 
 ing the riding powers of his attendant, still his 
 anxiety to reach Torriswood, the residence of the 
 guardian of his younger years, before sunset, had 
 made it more rapid than was altogether agree- 
 able to poor old Adam. This want of consider- 
 
 B 
 
2 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ation for himself, however, and the evident flurry 
 and emotion which he observed in his young 
 master, were so unlike Colville's usual kindness 
 and self command, that while Adam mused on 
 the causes that might thus move him on his ap- 
 proach to Torriswood, he anxiously avoided any* 
 appearance of fatigue, and carefully kept his 
 liorse exactly at that distance behind his master 
 which he considered properly respectful. Two 
 vears previous to this period, Adam would have 
 felt no surprise at the impatience his master now 
 betrayed. Then far less interesting events than 
 meeting with early and intimate friends would 
 have excited much greater ardour ; but at that 
 period an entire change had taken place in Col- 
 ville's character. He had from childhood been 
 occasionally grave, thoughtful, and studious, but 
 only occasionally ; and much more habitually 
 eager, as far as his strict education allowed, in 
 the pursuit of amusement, and, as he advanced 
 in age, of every pleasure within his power. The 
 father of our young traveller had been a firm Pres- 
 byterian, and a Covenanter, and had educated 
 his sons, while he remained with them, in the 
 strict and unbending principles of his party — in 
 the subjection of their minds and actions to the 
 dictates of the Bible, — the only standard of prin- 
 ciples and morals to which he or they conceived 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. S 
 
 themselves bound to yield obedience. At his 
 death, the elder Colville had left his sons to the 
 guardianship of two tried friends — friends with 
 whom he had struggled, through times when 
 sincerity of principles, and sincerity of affection 
 were put to the test. Those friends continued 
 to pursue his plan in the education of his sons. 
 The Bible, however, is not the standard of prin- 
 ciples and of feelings which nature is disposed 
 to choose, and our young traveller, who was the 
 elder of the boys, w hen he arrived at an age to 
 act for himself, spurned at those restraints on 
 pride, and ambition, and love of distinction, which 
 it uniformly holds out. His manners and morals 
 had been preserved simple, sincere, and pure ; 
 he was ardent in his affections, open, and gene- 
 rous, but rash, arrogant, and self-willed. With 
 this character, he had but a short time commen- 
 ced his studies at the University of St. Andrews, 
 when his undisguised scorn for one of the Pro- 
 fessors, who was regarded by his friends as mere- 
 ly a creature of the ruling party, and also for 
 some mark of disrespect shown by him, and se- 
 veral companions in guilt, to the primate, he and 
 they w^ere subjected to an examination before the 
 Archbishop and some of the masters. At this 
 examination, Colville, when replying to the pri- 
 mate, who was regarded by his party as the per- 
 
4 PHILIP COLVIIiLE. 
 
 jured betrayer of their cause, eyed him haughtily, 
 and called him " Sir." On being reproved by 
 one of the masters for this want of respect, and 
 instructed to address his Grace by the appella- 
 tion, " My Lord," he answered boldly, " I ac- 
 knowledge no Lords over God's heritage." The 
 other culprits followed his undaunted example 
 in their replies, and had not one of them been a 
 near relative of the Duke of Lauderdale's, they 
 would probably all have been expelled from the U- 
 niversity. As it was, the guardians of young Col- 
 ville perceived that this affair had left so deep an 
 impression on his feelings, that no subject seem- 
 ed to have any interest for him, unless connected 
 with schemes for the deliverance of his party 
 from the oppression under which they then groan- 
 ed ; and, dreading that he would expose himself 
 to more dangerous penalties, from his undisguis- 
 ed avowal of his sentiments, they thought it pru- 
 dent to remove him from St. Andrews, and to 
 send him to pursue his studies in Holland. Many 
 of the " suffering ministers," as they were called, 
 liad retired to that country. Colville was placed 
 at the University of Utrecht, under the care of 
 one of these, and attended by Adam Yule, a faith- 
 ful old servant of his family, and also a Cove- 
 nanter. At this University Colville had met 
 with many of his young countrymen. Several 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 5 
 
 Scotch families also, forced, by the severity of the 
 laws which were daily enacted against the Pres- 
 byterians, to leave their country, resided in the 
 town. In this society Colville's early principles 
 remained unshaken; but as his information in- 
 creased, he gradually became more liberal in his 
 sentiments towards those who differed from him. 
 He was a favourite and leader amongst his bro- 
 ther students ; and though some of the elder 
 branches of the families of his countrymen warn- 
 ed him against an excess of that liberality which 
 he defended, they generally regarded him as a 
 youth of too great promise not to be highly va- 
 lued by their now harassed and worn-out party. 
 At the period before alluded to, a change had 
 evidently taken place in Colville's character, 
 which had greatly increased their hopes from 
 him. This change had been ascribed to the in- 
 fluence of a young brother student, a devoted 
 adherent of the persecuted cause in Scotland, 
 and who was also distinguished by the singular 
 sanctity and purity of his life. He was a student 
 of divinity, and had left the University a year 
 before Colville — had been afterwards ordained 
 at Rotterdam — and had returned to Scotland to 
 preach amongst the hills and glens to the per^- 
 secuted Presbyterians. Colville, on leaving 
 Utrecht, had been entrusted with many import- 
 
6 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ant communications and instructions from his 
 countrymen there, to their friends at home. He 
 afterwards spent some time with a relation of his 
 family, who held a high situation at the court of 
 the Prince of Orange. There also he obtained the 
 regard and confidence of several of his most dis- 
 tinguished countrymen, and now returned to Scot- 
 land, bearing many instructions, and much infor- 
 mation to his party, which could not have been 
 communicated through any channel less safe. 
 
 But to return from this digression to our tra- 
 vellers — Colville had succeeded in his wish, and 
 ■the sun was still liiffh in the west when he and 
 his attendant came in sight of the village, beyond 
 which a quarter of an hour's ride would convey 
 them to Torriswood. This village consisted of 
 one long street, if it might be called so, where the 
 houses, though at a distance appearing almost in 
 a line, on a nearer approach seemed to have been 
 ,set dow^n with no other intention than to mark 
 out the irregularity of the ground on which they 
 stood, one occupying an elevated site, with a de- 
 clivity from its door to the road, while its next 
 neighbour, with its front perhaps turned another 
 way, stood snuggly ensconced in a hollow. A 
 few trees, and rocky ground partly covered with 
 turf, were intermixed with the houses. At 'the 
 further end of the villiaffe stood the church; an 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 7 
 
 old edifice, originally built and ornamented by 
 Roman Catholics, then, after being purified from 
 images, pictures, and such like Babylonish abo- 
 minations, had been occupied by the reformers, 
 and their presbyterian successors, in whose pos- 
 session it was when Colville left the country. 
 The village now wore a gay appearance. Tents 
 were pitched in the fields which surrounded it. 
 These fields were at this period clothed in their 
 brightest verdure. Flags of gay colours floated 
 in the breeze near the tents, and groups of sol- 
 diers were seen sauntering in the street, or amus- 
 ing themselves in different ways. On entering 
 the village, however, Colville perceived that the 
 doors of most of the houses were shut. On the 
 green slopes near them, where he recollected to 
 have seen the gay sports of the village children, 
 all was now silence. A few lads were seen who 
 seemed irresistibly attracted by the mirth and 
 martial prowess of the soldiers to gaze at, and 
 watch their active sports. As our travellers ap- 
 proached the alehouse of the village, however, 
 they observed a great many of the people who 
 had gathered round its door, and from the mix- 
 ed voices, and mingled laughter, and angry tones, 
 there seemed to be quarrelling amongst some of 
 the parties, which excited mirth in the bystand- 
 standers. The soldiers had narrowly eyed Col- 
 
« PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ville as he passed along the village street, and the 
 mixed group to which he now approached, in- 
 stantly on perceiving him ceased their clamour, 
 and remained regarding him almost in silence 
 till he rode past. One voice then said, 
 
 " He's one of them, I'll swear." 
 
 " Never a bit of him," said another. 
 
 Colville rode on. On approaching the church, 
 more soldiers were seen near its walls, and some 
 stretched on the flat grave-stones in the church- 
 yard, weary apparently of the duty on which they 
 were, for those around the church had their 
 arms. 
 
 Colville looked about for some villager to 
 whom he might apply for an explanation of the 
 military aspect assumed in this retired spot, but 
 -^observing no one excepting idle looking lads, he 
 stopt his horse near a group of soldiers, and put 
 the question to one of them. 
 
 " Because, your honour," replied the soldier 
 in an English voice, " there's a new parson to be 
 got into that there church to-morrow." 
 
 " And does it require force to get him into it ?" 
 asked Colville. 
 
 " Ye maun be a stranger. Sir, in this part, if 
 ye dinna ken that," said a village lad. 
 
 " I am a stranger," replied Colville. 
 
 " Oh then, Sir," resumed the English soldier, 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 9 
 
 " you must know that last Sunda}', when the new 
 parson was about to go up into the pulpit, the door 
 of it was found to be nailed up so fast, though it 
 had been seen open by the sexton at ten o'clock 
 the night before, that the parson had to be hoist- 
 ed over it, and out again when he was done, by 
 the soldiers ; and being as how he is not so spare 
 a man as the rebel preachers are, he wishes for 
 no such jumbling of his stomach before lie 
 preaches to-morrow.*' 
 
 " Is it regard for their former minister that 
 makes the people so averse to this one ?" asked 
 Colville. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, and to their own way," replied the 
 soldier. 
 
 ^' What was the name of the last minister ?" 
 " Mr. Andrew Wellwood, Sir,"' answered the 
 village lad. 
 
 Colville recollected him well. " And where is 
 Mr. Wellwood now ?" asked he. 
 
 " You would make a man of him you could 
 tell that to !'' exclaimed a handsome, but inso- 
 lent looking young soldier, who had hastened 
 from the group at the alehouse door to join that 
 where Colville stopt. " Five hundred merks, 
 . and the rank of a sergeant ! There's never a 
 hill, or glen, or wood within fifty miles round we 
 have not scoured over and over again in search 
 
10 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 of him, and yet there may perhaps be a congre- 
 gation of hundreds listening to him at this minute 
 not a mile off." The young soldier continued 
 with oaths to execrate the wandering fugitive. 
 Colville turned away, and in saddened mood 
 proceeded through the village. 
 
 " Did not 1 say he was one of them, Tim ?" 
 called out the soldier loud enough to be heard by 
 Adam Yule, who again rode after his master. 
 " Covenanters have all one look when they hear 
 an oath ; and here comes his serving-man — a 
 death's head and bones! Holloa, thou old scare- 
 crow, is not your master a '** 
 
 " Hold your bletherin tongue !" exclaimed a 
 soldier, giving his insolent comrade a push. 
 
 Adam Yule looked fixedly at the young man 
 who had addressed him, and stopt his horse. 
 
 " Let me die if it is not old Adam Yule !'* said 
 the young soldier, the expression of insolence on 
 his countenance giving place to one of something 
 like compunction. 
 
 " And wha are ye ?" asked Adam, looking in- 
 quisitively at him. "Allan Broome!" " And are ye 
 come to this sae sune. Ye hae been an apt scho- 
 lar in Satan's schule ! Is thy poor father living ?" 
 *' No," replied the soldier gravely, " he died 
 two years ago." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 11 
 
 Adam groaned. " Aye, aye, his gray hairs 
 
 brought in sorrow to the grave by " He stopt, 
 
 " and now Allan, your trade is to hunt out like 
 a blood-hound the persecuted servants of your 
 father's God." 
 
 " Rebels to the king, you old chip of sedition," 
 called out the English soldier, seizing the bridle 
 of Adam's horse. 
 
 " Let him a-lone Tim," said Allan, extricating 
 Adam's horse from his comrade, and leading him 
 forward. " You may say what you will to me 
 Adam," said he, " but take care who you speak 
 before — and now I must go no farther with you, 
 but remember times are worse with your people 
 than ever." He then turned back to his compa- 
 nions, and Adam hastened after his master, who 
 by this time had passed through the village. 
 
 Colville quickened his horse's pace when the 
 v/ell known scenery of Torriswood came in 
 sight. The verdure in its beautifully diversified 
 grounds was now in the most vivid freshness. 
 The woods were partly in leaf, and partly still 
 only beginning to wear the appearance of spring. 
 On a nearer approach Colville observed that 
 many of the finest trees had lately been cut down, 
 and lay with their fresh young foliage on the 
 ground. On coming to the gate at which he 
 meant to enter, he found it open, and hanging 
 
li PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 off its hinges. The road, which led through a 
 wood skirting the park, instead of being, as in 
 former days, smoothly gravelled, was full of deep 
 ruts, apparently made recently, and rough with 
 the trampling of horses. Numbers of fine trees 
 lay newly cut in the wood on each side of the 
 road. Two men approached with horses, drag- 
 ging the trunk of a large tree. 
 
 " Do you know why Mr. Osborne has been 
 cutting down so much wood ?" asked Colville. 
 
 " For a mulct. Sir," answered one of the 
 men. Colville knew that the fines levied at this 
 time were enormous, yet Torriswood must have 
 indeed suffered severely if his fortune could no 
 longer meet them. 
 
 After passing through this wood, a long straight 
 avenue led to the house. In this avenue were the 
 finest trees in the domain, and Colville was pleas- 
 ed to see that they were still untouched. The 
 gravelled road, however, which led in a straight 
 line through the middle of the avenue, direct to 
 the principal door of the mansion, was roughen- 
 ed by recent marks of the trampling of horses, 
 and the smooth turf on either side trodden down 
 and disfigured. 
 
 On advancing nearer to the house, Colville 
 observed a female figure walking in front of it, 
 and occasionally stooping down over the flowers 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 13 
 
 which he remembered grew there. He alighted 
 from his horse, and leaving it with Adam, ap- 
 proached towards the figure. Two daughters of 
 his guardian had been the sweet playmates of his 
 earlier youth. He had left them little more than 
 children ; but now he knew he would find them 
 grown to womanhood. This female might be the 
 lady of Torriswood, and if so, he should rejoice 
 to see her ; but more probably it was one of the 
 daughters, and he felt rather a different emotion 
 in the expectation of meeting one of them. Flo- 
 rence, the eldest, had been his favourite when 
 they parted, but Olive promised, every one but 
 he had thought, to be the most lovely, and had 
 also been a most eno-ao-ino; youno; tiling. 
 
 Colville now perceived that it was not the lady 
 of Torriswood. The figure was young and light. 
 She wore a large silk scarf, put over her head, 
 and fastened under the chin. When she walked 
 she folded it around her, but in stooping over 
 the flowers, one arm and shoulder w^ere uncover- 
 ed. 
 
 Colville approached unperceived till within a 
 short distance of the lady. He stopped for an 
 instant. She again stooped to raise from the 
 ground some white lilies which seemed to have 
 been trodden down, as Colville now perceived all 
 
 the ground near the house had recently been, by 
 
 4 
 
14 , PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 horses. Colville advanced another step or two ; 
 the young female started up, and looking round, 
 seemed at first to think of flight, but recollecting 
 herself, waited his approach, with an air of grace 
 and dignity. Colville advanced respectfully, but 
 one look was sufficient. 
 
 " Olive ! dear Olive ! Do you not know me ?" 
 Olive had scarcely ventured to look at the young 
 stranger, but now, on hearing a voice she felt as if 
 she knew, address her so warmly, she fixed her 
 eyes earnestly on him. 
 
 '' Philip Colville !" exclaimed she, welcoming 
 his warm salute with the affection of a sister, 
 " Hov/ changed 3^ou are ! I declare I did not at 
 first know you." 
 
 " And you, Olive, surely you are more chang- 
 ed, and yet I knew you instantly." 
 
 Olive turned blushing away from Colville's evi- 
 dently admiring looks of recognition. 
 
 Who is at home ? and where is this, and 
 where is that member of the family ? were eager- 
 ly asked by Colville, and answered by Olive, that 
 Torriswood himself was at home — Florence would 
 not leave her father, and Olive never separated 
 from Florence. Eric was the only brother at 
 home. Mrs. Osborne had been persuaded by her 
 husband to retire for a time to a distant part of 
 England with her two eldest, and two youngest 
 children ; '* For perhaps you do not know," con- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 15 
 
 tinued Olive, " that matters are becoming every 
 day worse with our cause." 
 
 " I do know it, dear Olive, and I am come to 
 share in what is suffered for it." 
 
 " Our sufferings compared to those of some 
 others, have not as yet been great," said Olive, 
 " yet terror to us females is real suffering. My 
 father saw that my mother's health was quite un- 
 dermined by the constant state of apprehension 
 in which she lived, and prevailed on her to leave 
 us, provided my two elder brothers would ac- 
 company her. She was in constant dread that 
 their rashness would lead them into some fatal 
 mark of rebellion to the ruling party. Nothing, 
 however, but my father's positive command would 
 induce them to leave their country. Since they 
 went — indeed within the last week, the house has 
 been searched twice, while a troop of soldiers 
 surrounded it that no one might get out; and 
 you see what they have done," continued Olive, 
 casting a mournful look on the wrecks of her 
 shrubs and flowers. 
 
 " A few months will restore these to beauty, 
 Olive," said Colville, gently, " and in such a 
 cause the sacrifice of a few flowers ought not to 
 be regarded by us, who ought to make our 
 thoughts familiar even with the idea of martyr- 
 dom." 
 
16 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Oh, you talk like Florence !" replied Olive, 
 " but she, too, looks mournful enough when she 
 sees the fine old trees marked out to be laid low." 
 " Where is your father and Florence now ?" 
 " Walked out to the Holm-wood to direct the 
 forester in marking more trees for the axe. Flo- 
 rence forces herself to do so, because she saySj 
 while her heart would withhold one, it is not truly 
 devoted to her master's cause. Besides, she ne- 
 ver leaves my father when she can be with him.'* 
 " Shall we go in search of them?"' 
 Olive consented, and they proceeded round the 
 house to the path which led to the Holm-wood. 
 
 " Why was the house searched ?" asked Col- 
 ville, as he observed the marks of horses feet all 
 around it. 
 
 " It was thought Mr. Wellwood was concealed 
 by us." 
 
 " And do you know any thing of him ?" 
 Olive smiled, and looking up in Colville's face, 
 and putting her's close to his ear, said in a whis- 
 per, " He was in the house both times it was 
 searched.'' She then looked round as if afraid 
 she had been heard. 
 
 On passing the court behind the house, the at- 
 tention of Colville and his companion were at- 
 tracted by a group of domestics and others, in 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 17 
 
 the midst of whom ^ood Adam- Yule. A lad to 
 whom he had given the horses, had led them 
 away a step or two, but now stood looking back, 
 apparently arrested by Adam's eloquence. 
 
 Adam was addressing an old man so exactly 
 the counterpart of himself, that the one might 
 have been taken for the ghost of the other, at least 
 Adam miojht hiive been taken for the cfhost of his 
 friend ; for the other old man's complexion was 
 still fresh and ruddy, while Adam's was so pale 
 as to justify the soldier's appellation of ' death's 
 head.' His friend was, however, equally tall and 
 spare, and similar thin curls of gray hair, sepa- 
 rated by his hat behind, fell on the tight neck of 
 his coat on either side. 
 
 When Colville came in sight, exclamations of 
 joy and welcome proceeded from the group, and 
 several of the elder domestics respectfully ad- 
 vanced on seeing Colville stop to answer their 
 welcom.e. 
 
 " How goes it with you, Gilbert Scougal ?" 
 asked Colville, cordially shaking hands with 
 Adam's old counterpart. 
 
 " Wearin' on. Sir, to my lang hame." 
 
 " Indeed, Gilbert, I see little change on you 
 since we parted." 
 
 The old man smiled ; " I canna say that o' 
 you Sir. Its wonderful what travelling does to 
 
18 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 gie a noble presence. I wadna hae thought it 
 easy, Mr. Philip, to mak your's mair sae than it 
 was." 
 
 Colville reddened, and Olive laughed. 
 
 " Where shall we find your master, Gilbert," 
 asked Colville. 
 
 " In the Holm-wood, Sir,'*" replied the old 
 man, an expression of melancholy taking imme- 
 diate possession of his countenance. 
 
 " You and I must have some conversation soon, 
 Gilbert," said Colville, kindly. He then noticed 
 some of the other people, while Olive, with equal 
 kindness, recognised Adam Yule, who had stolen 
 near to reconnoitre whether this fine young lady 
 could be one of the pretty children he had left 
 six years before. Colville and she then proceed- 
 ed to the wood. 
 
 As they passed along, they observed several 
 beautiful trees, in the barks of which the forest- 
 er had made small marks with his hatchet. 
 
 " You have not yet told me for why this fine 
 is to be levied, dear Olive," said Colville, " did 
 they discover Mr. Wellwood ?" 
 
 " Oh no, but my father went to hear him 
 preach in the fields. One large fine is in conse- 
 quence of that. There are other fines for ab- 
 sence from the parish church, into which my fa- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. W 
 
 ther has never entered since Mr. Wellwood was 
 turned out of it." 
 
 " How Ions: affo is that ?" 
 
 " More than six months. You know Mr. 
 Wellwood is a mild character, and his love of 
 peace long preserved him from that persecution 
 to which many others were exposed ; and then 
 his anxiety to remain among his people induced 
 him to accept permission to do so on those con- 
 ditions which were called indulgencies. My 
 father never approved of his doing so, because it 
 appeared to him in some degree abandoning the 
 principles of the covenant. Still, however, my 
 father continued to attend at his church, because 
 he thought his motives Christian ; but it was re- 
 marked that poor Mr. Wellwood never preached 
 so powerfully after so far yielding. He seemed 
 languid and depressed. At last what my father 
 had foreseen took place. New tests and new acts 
 were proposed, with which it was impossible for 
 Mr. W^ellwood to comply, and the indulgencies 
 were proved to be mere pretexts, to get rid more 
 plausibly of the Presbyterian clergy. At last 
 Mr. Wellwood refused to go any farther, and 
 was displaced, and commanded not to preach. 
 Another indulged minister occupied his pulpit 
 for a few Sundays, but he had yielded so far that 
 my father could feel no respect for him, and ne- 
 
20 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ver went to church. The people however, at 
 least some of them, did ; and from this it was 
 supposed that they were sufficiently prepared to 
 receive a curate, and conform ; but last Sunday 
 proved the contrary. The curate is an ignorant 
 pedantic Englishman, who has hitherto lived al- 
 most in idleness, as chaplain to an old English 
 nobleman, who died lately. Since Mr. Well- 
 wood has boldly returned to his first principles, 
 all his warmth and energy in preaching have re- 
 turned also, and the people flock to hear him at 
 all risks. And surely," added Olive, " there is 
 something peculiarly affecting and striking in 
 what is said by a person in his circumstances. 
 Perhaps, too, the surrounding scenery, th6 
 anxiety and alarm, and other causes, add to its 
 force." 
 
 " You then, Olive, have ventured to those 
 proscribed meetings ?"' 
 
 " I have two or three times ; but am such a 
 coward, that my father rather discourages my 
 ojoinff. Florence never misses one that is within 
 her reach." 
 
 On turning into another path, guided by Olive, 
 Colville perceived Torriswood and Florence ap- 
 proaching, and at no great distance, Florence 
 seemed first to observe him, then her father. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 21 
 
 " Neither my father nor Florence know you, 
 I perceive," said Olive, laughing. 
 
 Torriswood approached with that firm step, 
 and mild but dignified air, which Colville well 
 remembered. Time had made little change, and 
 all Colville's early impressions reviving with over- 
 powering warmth, he would have hastened on to 
 meet his guardian, had not Olive, who leant on 
 his arm, checked him. 
 
 *' Do let us see whether Florence knows you. 
 After all she has said about it, I am almost sure 
 she does not." 
 
 " What has Florence said ?" 
 " Oh never mind." 
 
 Olive was, however, mistaken. Florence, after 
 advancing a few steps, seemed to recognise her 
 old play-fellow, and exclaiming, " It is Colville !" 
 hastened forward a few steps, then checking her- 
 self, turned back, and again leant on her father's 
 arm. 
 
 Colville would no longer be detained, but 
 rushed forward, and was received in the most cor- 
 dially affectionate manner by Torriswood. Flo- 
 rence he approached with greater uncertainty, 
 and she received him with more reserve than 
 Olive had done. Her deeply blushing counte- 
 nance, however, betrayed more emotion ; and 
 after exchanging a few looks and words of re- 
 
22 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 cognition, Colville found all his former regard 
 returning for his once playful, sweet, confiding 
 playmate, — now a feminine likeness of her fa- 
 ther — more womanly in appearance than Olive, 
 and with more character in her countenance 
 and manner. 
 
 Torriswood himself seemed little more than 
 fifty. His person tall, majestic, and command- 
 ing. His countenance of that cast which at first 
 sight denotes superiority of character ; the ex- 
 pression elevated, grave, and thoughtful, but 
 feeling. On first meeting Colville an expression 
 of the kindest feeling predominated ; but after the 
 first moments of affectionate recognition were 
 over, and some reference was made to the state 
 of Scotland, it gave place to an expression almost 
 stern. 
 
 " The struggle, I hope, is near a close," said 
 Colville. " England is now fully awake. The 
 last returns to parliament prove that arbitrary 
 power will no longer be endured in that coun- 
 try." 
 
 " It is making itself a retreat to fly to then in 
 this," replied Torriswood. We have been ha- 
 rassed to stupefaction, and new divisions among 
 ourselves paralyse our every effort. The people 
 have been so misled by those divisions, they now 
 scarcely know right from wrong. Their hearts 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 23 
 
 cling to liberty of conscience, but they have been 
 so bewildered by our different factions that they 
 lose sight of the only principle for which we at 
 first contended." 
 
 " It is for that reason, Sir," said Colville, 
 " that I have been intrusted with instructions 
 from several patriotic men in London, to attempt 
 to induce one of my own countrymen, thorough- 
 ly acquainted with the present state of parties, 
 immediately to join them in London. They wish 
 for true information on the subject, for facts on 
 which to ground their appeals in our behalf. 
 You, Sir, were one of those gentlemen they nam- 
 ed — one of the Fife Balfours — Lord Cardross — 
 Inchcarran, or any gentleman deputed by you 
 and them. 
 
 Torriswood's countenance brightened, " God 
 
 be thanked P" exclaimed he, " I am ready to go 
 
 to-morrow, though on my return I should suffer 
 
 martyrdom." 
 
 Florence clung to her father, and became as 
 
 pale as death. 
 
 " Inchcarran has no children, Colville," said 
 
 she reproachfully, " why did you not first tell 
 
 him this message ?" 
 
 Colville was shocked, " I do not anticipate 
 
 such a conclusion to this mission, Florence," said 
 
 he. " The patriotic men whom I mentioned to 
 
21 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 you, my dear Sir, are not regarded with suspi- 
 cion by the government. Communication with 
 them could not excite alarm in the present rulers 
 in Scotland/' 
 
 " Ah, you do not know them !" said Florence 
 emphatically. 
 
 Torriswood smiled, " I fear he does not ; but, 
 Florence, we may think too hardly of them. At 
 any rate, my child, when duty is plain we must 
 leave the event with God." 
 
 Florence became perfectly composed, but con- 
 tinued very pale. 
 
 " Why return to Scotland at all. Sir?" said 
 Olive, " we could all join you in some place of 
 safety." 
 
 " Poor Olive !" said her father, looking com- 
 passionately at her, " I indeed wish thou wert in 
 some safe place.'' 
 
 " But unless we were all safe 1 should only be 
 the more miserable," replied Olive. 
 
 " I know it my poor child — but, Olive, there 
 are duties superior even to regard for the safety 
 of those we most love." 
 
 Olive blushed even to tears. " I ought not 
 to require being reminded of this," said she. 
 
 Colville walked on in thoughtful silence. 
 
 " How long can you remain with us Colville ?'' 
 asked Torriswood. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 25 
 
 " I must see Inchcarran, the Balfours, and 
 some others, to whom I have instructions, as 
 soon as I can find out where they are. After I 
 have seen them, I go immediately to Arrondale, 
 where I hope to find my mother and brother." 
 
 " The Balfours are in Fife," replied Torris- 
 wood, " Inchcarran is, I imagine, now in Edin- 
 burgh. The Balfours are favouring too violent 
 counsels. They, and a few others, are, I fear, 
 on the eve of some rash attempt, which will only 
 injure or ruin the cause. Their patience is utter- 
 ly worn out, or I should rather say, their faith. 
 I shall follow you to Edinburgh, Colville, and we 
 may there arrange our future plans." 
 
 " You will not leave us here, I hope. Sir," said 
 Olive, anxiously, then recollecting herself, " but 
 if it is best " 
 
 " No, no, my dear father!" exclaimed Florence, 
 " let us accompany you wherever you go. You 
 cannot be suspected of any thing while you trouble 
 yourself with the charge of two girls." 
 
 " I shall at least take you to Edinburgh,"" re- 
 plied their father. 
 
 " Then we may all go together," said Colville, 
 " I can, if necessary, wait a day or two for yon." 
 
 " No, Colville, you had better not stay to tra- 
 vel with us," said Torriswood, " that would in- 
 stantly mark you out for suspicion." 
 c 
 
26 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " I care not," replied Colville, " I desire to be 
 considered one of you. I am ready to live or die 
 in defence of liberty of conscience for myself, and 
 for my country. If our friends have determined 
 to attempt mingling the attainment of other rights 
 with their struggle for this, I must examine their 
 principles before I join in their plans ; but on 
 this one point I am, I hope, unalterably decid- 
 ed." 
 
 " And for that one point alone, have I as yet 
 contended," replied Torriswood, " and on this 
 point the struggle has hitherto turned: If 
 our friends leave this ground, I must leave 
 them." 
 
 " Then, Sir, you and I are of one soul," said 
 Colville, " and I shall glory in having my prin- 
 ciples made plain to every one by an evidence so 
 honourable as that of your friendship." 
 
 Torriswood shook hands warmly with Colville, 
 but said, " We shall settle this afterwards. I 
 expect two friends from Edinburgh to-day, law- 
 yers who have been independent enough to un- 
 dertake the causes of several oppressed Covenant- 
 ers, and to plead them with sincerity and force. 
 They have been employed by me, to attempt ob- 
 taining some mitigation of the ruinous fines 
 lately imposed on me, and to-day promised to be 
 with us." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 27 
 
 On reaching the house, the party found that 
 the two lawyers had just arrived. 
 
 The day was now nearly closed in, and the 
 blazing fire, in the ample old fire place of the 
 large apartment in which the party now assem- 
 bled, seemed agreeable to every one. It was 
 near the supper hour of those times, and the party 
 were soon collected round the then hospitably 
 loaded table. After some time devoted to do ho- 
 nour to its various eatables, Colville and the two 
 lawyers seemed equally occupied, while apparent- 
 ly engaged in conversing on indifferent subjects, 
 in examining each other. The elder of the two 
 lawyers seemed about thirty, — his countenance 
 acute, intelligent, and penetrating. He spoke 
 much and volubly, yet his thoughts and words 
 did not altogether appear in unison ; for if a pause 
 occurred in the part he took in the conversation, 
 the grave and absent expression of his counte- 
 nance bespoke a different vein of thought from 
 the light and gay subjects on which he conversed. 
 He listened, however, with marked attention 
 when Colville spoke, and his polite and respect- 
 ful civility gradually gave place to a manner more 
 marked by kindness, confidence, and interest. 
 The other lawyer was younger than his compa- 
 nion, and Colville soon recognised in him the son 
 of a neighbour of Torriswood'sj whom he had 
 
28 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 met before, but not frequently, as he had hap- 
 pened to be at College the greatest part of those 
 years during which Colville had been most at 
 Torriswood. Young Ormistoun did not seem 
 very anxious to renew the acquaintance, and half 
 an hour's observation to one much less quick- 
 sighted than Colville, would have been sufficient 
 to prove, that however deep his interest might 
 be in the father, the daughter excited far differ- 
 ent feelings in the affections of the young advo- 
 cate. Colville had placed himself next Florence, 
 and had attempted to draw her into conversation, 
 but in vain. The anxious and thoughtful ex- 
 pression her countenance had assumed, after 
 hearing Colville's message from his English friends 
 to her father, still continued. She replied to any 
 thing he said to her, but immediately relapsed 
 into apparently anxious thoughtfulness. Young 
 Ormistoun was seated on her other side, and was 
 evidently equally desirous to gain her attention, 
 and with no better success, till at last, on hear- 
 ing some words he had addressed to Olive, 
 she turned hastily round, and joined with the 
 most marked interest in the conversation. Or- 
 mistoun spoke in a low tone, and Colville heard 
 not what he said, but he seemed now to have 
 found means to attract her whole attention. She 
 turned quite away from Colville, and seemed en- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 29 
 
 tirely to forget that he was present, while both 
 she and Olive listened to Orniistoun with the 
 most marked pleasure and interest. Colville felt 
 hurt, and in his turn talked with Torriswood and 
 Lindsay, the elder lawyer, on subjects at a dis- 
 tance from his thoughts, while they were occupied 
 with the idea that this young lawyer, who had 
 found it in his power to serve the father, had 
 most probably also gained the affections of the 
 daughter. " And why not," said he to himself — 
 yet the thought was scarcely endurable ; mid 
 while he was occasionally joining in the conver- 
 sation now carried on with interest by Torris- 
 wood and Lindsay, he was at the same time at- 
 tempting to reason himself out of the folly of 
 feeling disappointment at what, had he been in- 
 formed of it a week before, he would have con- 
 sidered a thing of course. After thus reasoning 
 himself into wisdom, he looked once more to- 
 wards Florence, and seeing the expression of 
 sadness almost entirely fled from her countenance, 
 as she still listened to Ormistoun, he turned 
 proudly away, and drawing his chair closer to 
 Lindsay and Torriswood, was soon engaged in 
 conversation with them on subjects sufficiently 
 interesting to make him almost forget the younger 
 party, unless when reminded of their presence by 
 occasional bursts of merriment, which proved to 
 
30 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 him the superior powers of the young lawyer in 
 overcoming a lady's sadness. Colville, however^ 
 never looked round, and felt something like con- 
 tempt for a change of feelings so sudden; and 
 his whole attention was at last arrested by Lind- 
 say, who entered into the most clear and dispas- 
 sionate account of the then state of parties in 
 Scotland. He also, at Torriswood's request, en- 
 tered on the subject of his own affairs. He had 
 not, he said, succeeded in obtaining a mitigation 
 of the fines, but hoped still to get them levied 
 with less rigour. He then mentioned a new act 
 about to be put in force, deeply affecting the 
 cause of the suffering party, and was distinctly 
 stating the clauses of tlie act, when the exclama- 
 tion — 
 
 " Where can Eric be so late ?" uttered in a 
 voice of alarm by Olive, arrested the attention 
 of every one. 
 
 " Where can he be ?" said Torriswood, rising, 
 and anxiously looking at his watch. " I had 
 forgot how late it was !" 
 
 " Olive, how can you alarm every one so ?" 
 exclaimed Florence. " My dear father, do not 
 be anxious. Eric is quite safe. I know where 
 he is. You will see him in time for family wor- 
 ship." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 31 
 
 She had scarcely ceased speaking, when Eric, 
 a fine handsome boy, entered the room, his com- 
 plexion apparently heightened by violent exer- 
 cise, and still breathing quick, while attempting 
 to appear as if he had just come from the next 
 room. 
 
 " Where have you been, Eric ?" demanded 
 his father. Eric looked embarrassed. — " Flo- 
 rence knows, Sir," replied he. 
 
 Torriswood smiled, " very well ; you can tell 
 me afterwards." 
 
 Eric w^as kindly greeted by the two lawyers, 
 which he as cordially returned. To Colville he 
 demeaned himself as to a stranger; still, how- 
 ever, glancing towards him looks of anxious in- 
 quiry, then going to his father, he whispered 
 something in his ear, and, on receiving an answer, 
 stole behind Colville's chair, who had amused him- 
 self by watching the boy's looks. In an instant, 
 Eric, from behind, clasped his arms round Col- 
 ville' s neck, with a force that threatened strangu- 
 lation. " So you will not acknowledge your old 
 friends, Mr. Philip !" exclaimed the boy, press- 
 ing his cheek over Colville's shoulder to his, in 
 the most affectionate manner. 
 
 Colville disengaged the boy's hands, and hold- 
 ing them in his, drew him in front of him. " How 
 
32 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 could I know the curly pated little pickle I left, 
 grown to such a fine tall orderly gentleman ?" 
 
 This question was answered by a slap on the 
 face, and after some affectionate sparring, Eric 
 putting his arm within Colville's, whispered in 
 his ear, " come to the other end of the room, and 
 i'll tell you where I have been." 
 
 Colville indulged the boy, and leaning closely 
 to him, Eric whispered in his ear, " My foster- 
 brother, Sandy Wilkie, and I, have been nailing 
 up the pulpit door again." 
 
 " You, Eric !" exclaimed Colville. 
 " Hush. Don't speak so loud. I am not sure 
 of that Ormistoun. He is too often at Meldrum." 
 " And what should prevent his being at Mel- 
 drum r 
 
 " What? do you not know that the Mochrums 
 of Meldrum are all Papists in heart, and spies 
 all over the neighbourhood ; and that old Mel- 
 drum is made Justice of Peace in reward for per- 
 secuting our cause. It was because Sandy Wil- 
 kie's uncle was employed in fitting up a grand 
 new seat for the Mochrums, that we made out to 
 get into the church." 
 
 " How could I know all that, Eric ? But was 
 it you and Sandy who nailed up the pulpit door 
 last Sunday ?" 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 33 
 
 " Oh no. Many of the country people came 
 to do it last Sunday, as old Saunders Gibb knew 
 well enouofh, thouo-h he could swear he saw it 
 open at ten o'clock the night before ; and so he 
 did ; for the people came at day dawn, and got 
 in by a window, and nailed it up. But see how 
 Florence is looking at us. She is curious to know 
 what we have done. We must let her join us," 
 added he, beckoning to her. Florence imme- 
 diately rose to obey his summons. Ormistoun 
 also rose. 
 
 " Not you," said Eric, " at least not yet," re- 
 collecting himself, and with a good deal of ad- 
 dress giving a playful turn to his secrecy, " Your 
 help may be required in the matter, Mr. Lawyer, 
 at a future period." Then putting his disen- 
 gaged arm within Florence's, he drew her close 
 to him and Colville, while he proceeded in a whis- 
 per to tell — that Sandy's uncle could not get 
 Meldrum's pew finished till late, — that Sandy 
 had often gone with different articles to his un- 
 cle, and that the soldiers knew him, and suffered 
 him to pass to and from the church. That this 
 night Sandy had to carry to his uncle a large 
 piece of wood, and having procured for Eric the 
 dress of a carpenter's boy, he had passed unsus- 
 pected into the church, assisting Sandy to carry 
 the wood. That Sandy had furnished him with 
 
34 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 screw nails, and proper tools ; and that while the 
 lififhts belonorino: to the workmen dimly illumi- 
 nated the part of the church where they were, 
 they served to throw to them the other parts of 
 the church into a deeper shade. That while the 
 noise of their hammers resounded through the 
 old edifice, the noise of his footsteps as he pro- 
 ceeded to the pulpit, was quite unheard. That 
 when there, he watched, and only used his tools 
 during the loudest noise of hammers, and sue- 
 ceeded in fixing the nails according to the direc- 
 tions given by Sandy. 
 
 " And did you do it in the manner I advised ?" 
 asked Florence, who seemed as deeply interested 
 as he was in Eric's recital. 
 
 « Yes, exactly," replied Eric. " I left a little 
 bit of the door open ; and there is no chance of 
 Saunders Gibb troubling himself to mount the 
 stairs when- he sees that: and you know there 
 is no Bible placed on the cushion before the 
 curate goes up into the pulpit as there used 
 to be for our Mr. Wellwood. Sandy watched 
 all this and told me how it was. The curate 
 first comes in, he says, choaked up in a white 
 o-own which makes his face look still more 
 purple. He then goes into the precentor's 
 desk, and reads a great many things, sometimes 
 kneeling for two minutes, and then standing for 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 35 
 
 two minutes, and then pop down again, and up 
 again, for a long time. He then comes out of 
 the precentor's desk, and goes out with Saun- 
 ders Gibb, who takes off his white gown and 
 puts him on a black one. Then Saunders walks 
 up tlie steps to open the pulpit door, and the cu- 
 rate follows, carrying a little book of his own 
 writing to preach from instead of the Bible. You 
 know how comfortably he got into the pulpit last 
 Sunday," said Eric, laughing, " he will have the 
 same to do to-morrow." 
 
 Colville looked at Florence, while she listened 
 with the utmost interest to Eric's story. When 
 he had finished, she said emphatically, " Our 
 dear Mr. Wellwood will see that more than one 
 effort shall be made to keep the hireling out of 
 his pulpit !" 
 
 " It will never be open to a curate," said 
 Eric, " as long as the people are of their pre- 
 sent mind. Oh, I wish T could only see the 
 Mochrums to-morrow !" 
 
 " But had you been detected, Eric " said 
 
 Colville. 
 
 " There was very little danger of that," observed 
 Florence timidly, on seeing the cold expression of 
 Colville's looks as theymethers. "It was not likely 
 that the soldiers should suspect him in the dress he 
 wore ; and none of the people would betray him." 
 
36 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Colville listened to Florence with a distant and 
 constrained expression of countenance, and made 
 no reply, but turned again to Eric, who had still 
 much to communicate. Florence became thought- 
 ful for a few moments, then watching for a pause 
 in Eric\s ardent volubility. 
 
 '^ Mr. Colville," said she, " I have just re- 
 ceived some information from Mr. Ormistoun 
 which has " 
 
 At this moment Gilbert Scougal, followed by 
 another domestic entered the apartment, and ap- 
 proached that end of it to which Eric had drawn 
 Colville and his sister. 
 
 " Worship," said Eric, " We must leave 
 this part of the room," added he, as Gilbert be- 
 gan to move forward a table on which lay a 
 large Bible and several other books. Colville 
 then gently withdrawing from the boy, rejoined 
 Torriswood and Lindsay, who seemed in earnest 
 conversation. 
 
 " Colville," said Torriswood, as he approach- 
 ed, " I have mentioned to Lindsay what you said 
 to me respecting the wishes of our English friends, 
 and he has just informed me, that there has al- 
 ready been, as privately as it could be managed, 
 a consultation on the same subject by those gen- 
 tlemen, at present in Edinburgh, who are attach- 
 ed to the cause. They mean to consult Lindsay, 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 37 
 
 Step by step, as they proceed, and will do no- 
 thing that can be questioned, at least injustice. 
 There is, therefore, little cause to dread the con- 
 sequences from my going to London, which I 
 thoughtlessly anticipated this morning." 
 
 " I must add," rejoined Lindsay, " that one 
 cause of my being here to-day was to intreat Mr. 
 Osborne's presence in Edinburgh on Monday 
 evening, when a few of the leading men of the 
 party will meet at my house. May I hope that 
 you, Mr. Colville, will join us." 
 
 Colville immediately assented, and all further 
 conversation was stopped by the entrance of Gil- 
 bert Scougal, followed by every domestic of the 
 mansion, down to the lowest menial. These ar- 
 ranged themselves according to their different 
 degrees of importance, at the lower end of the 
 room, each furnished with a Bible and Psalm- 
 book. Chairs were placed for the family at the 
 upper end of the apartment, and one for Torris- 
 wood near the table on which lay the large Bible, 
 and other Bibles and Psalm books, one of which 
 was taken by each person before taking his or 
 her place. Florence and Olive seated themselves 
 on each side of their father, Eric drawing his 
 chair as close as he could to Colville's. A short 
 pause ensued, w^hile Torriswood sought out a 
 psalm. 
 
38 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 There is perhaps no moment in the life of the 
 father of a family in which he is regarded with 
 so many of those feelings with which the father 
 of all has taught us to view the perfect exhibi- 
 tion of that character, than, when surrounded by 
 his family, he appears before them as their in- 
 structor in the way to heaven ; as an intercessor 
 for them, and as an example of the peace and 
 elevation of soul to be enjoyed in approaching 
 that Being he would teach them to know and 
 love. Any father, in such circumstances, is re- 
 garded with love and reverence, even by the least 
 religious. Torriswood seemed to excite the high- 
 est degree of those feelings. Every eye was fixed 
 on him with love and veneration, while his coun- 
 tenance, peculiarly fitted to express all elevated 
 feelings, now indicated, that while he was search- 
 ing for suitable words in which to convey his 
 thoughts, he himself sought communion with 
 that Being, who to him was present every where. 
 
 " God is our refuge and our strength," 
 
 Began the psalm he had fixed upon, and its ele- 
 vated strain of trust in the Almighty ruler of the 
 universe, seemed to be felt by all as they sung. 
 Even the lawyers joined in this service. Lindsay 
 with apparent feeling. Ormistoun seemed less at 
 home. When the psalm was finished, Torriswood 
 read a portion of scripture to the same elevating 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 39 
 
 and encouraging effect — then all kneeling down, 
 he offered up prayers, chiefly for spiritual blessing 
 for all, and for his absent ones — for his friends, and 
 last, and most earnestly for Scotland ! his country ! 
 While in the midst of this prayer, a trampling of 
 horses was heard under the windows. No one 
 stirred, and Torriswood proceeded with greater 
 earnestness. A loud knocking at the door suc- 
 ceeded. Torriswood did not yet rise from his 
 knees. Still he implored mercy on Scotland ! dis- 
 tressed, persecuted, in danger of being given up 
 to ignorance and darkness, under the domination 
 of a cumbrous and worldly hierarchy. He pray- 
 ed that strength might be imparted according to 
 their day of trial to the young and the weak in 
 faith. He then rose from his knees, and then 
 the others did so also. 
 
 The knocking was now louder, and was accom- 
 panied by angry vociferations from the party 
 without. The girls clung to their father ; the 
 female servants shrunk nearer him also ; and the 
 men seemed to wait his orders. 
 
 " I shall demand from the window what they 
 want," said Colville, throwing open a window. 
 " No, Colville," said Torriswood, disengaging 
 himself from his daughters. " I must speak to 
 them myself. Take care of the girls." 
 
 Torriswood then went to the window. The 
 
40 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 moon shone clearly, and a troop of horsemen, 
 with their swords drawn, and glancing in its 
 beams, were drawn up in front of the house. 
 Others were riding around it, while some had 
 alighted, and were thundering at the door. Tor- 
 riswood addressed one in advance, who seemed to 
 be an officer, and asked in a calm tone of voice 
 for what cause his family were thus rudely dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 " Because," replied the officer civilly, " it is 
 believed that some suspicious persons are con- 
 cealed here; and, as I have an order from my 
 commanding officer to that effigct, I shall be 
 compelled, Sir, to search your house." 
 
 " Open the door, Gilbert," said Torriswood, 
 " and do you, Tom and Davy, accompany Gilbert, 
 and do not one of you say an uncivil word to 
 the soldiers. The other men may go to the hall; 
 the women had better remain here.'" 
 
 " Stay,'' exclaimed Florence, who seemed to 
 have recovered from her alarm, " If any of you 
 have intercommuned friends concealed here, re- 
 member they will be quite safe in the place where 
 Mr. Wellwood was." 
 
 The servants declared they had no friends in 
 the house, and Gilbert proceeded to open the 
 hall door. 
 
 Poor Olive, on being left by her father, un- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 41 
 
 conscious of what she did, had sprung for protec- 
 tion to Mr. Lindsay, who was near, and now 
 clung trembling, and almost fainting, to his arm, 
 and shrinking farther and farther into the room, 
 as she heard the heavy tread of the soldiers enter 
 the hall. Ormistoun had gone near Florence, as 
 if to protect her, but she had recovered herself, 
 and required it not, and now stood by her father. 
 
 "This is intolerable !" exclaimed Colville. "Who 
 is this commanding officer? Is not the word of a 
 gentleman sufficient on such occasions ?" 
 
 Torriswood whispered to Florence, " Colville 
 will do something rash. This must be prevented. 
 Do you, Florence, try to occupy him. Lindsay 
 I see is fully engaged with poor Olive. There is 
 no fear of Ormistoun. But where is Eric ?" 
 looking anxiously around. 
 
 " I shall find him,^' said Colville. 
 
 " No, No," exclaimed Florence, darting after 
 him. Colville, however, impatient at standing an 
 idle witness to such a scene, would have been be- 
 yond her reach, had he not been stopt at the door 
 of the apartment, by a soldier who guarded it, and 
 objected to his passing, saying that no one must 
 leave the room til] his officer had visited it." 
 
 " I am going to your officer," said Colville. 
 
 " You must not pass, Sir," said the soldier. 
 
42 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Must not !" repeated Colville. " Take care, 
 fellow, your orders !" 
 
 " Colville ! what madness !" exclaimed Flo- 
 rence, rushing between him and the soldier, " you 
 will make matters a thousand times worse by this 
 rashness." 
 
 " I am going in search of your brother, Flo- 
 rence," said Colville mildly, " I shall first go to 
 this same house-searcher, and show that 1 am 
 not the person he is in quest of. But Florence, I 
 entreat you return to your Father," added he 
 earnestly, and standing as if to screen her from 
 the very looks of the soldier. 
 
 " Not one step without you, Colville,"" replied 
 Florence firmly. 
 
 " Take care of Florence till I return, Colville," 
 said Torriswood, then addressing the soldier, 
 " you know me friend ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 " I shall i-eturn in five minutes." The soldier 
 immediately allowed him to pass. 
 
 Florence continued to lean on Colville's arm, 
 and to listen anxiously to the steps of the soldiers, 
 who were now in the upper part of the house, 
 and trode heavily over their heads. Olive had 
 been, in some degree, restored to composure by 
 Mr. Lindsay's assurances, that it was impossible 
 any unpleasant consequences could follow the 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 43 
 
 search of the soldiers, when there was no one 
 concealed. She still, however, clung timidly to 
 his arm. Ormistoim stood in apparently gloomy 
 silence, his back to the fire, and his arms crossed 
 on his breast. His eyes followed Florence wher- 
 ever she moved; but Florence seemed to have 
 but one thought, and that was, the safety of Col- 
 ville; while Colville, on his part, now seemed to have 
 but one wish, and that was, to escape from Flo- 
 rence. While she continued assuring him that 
 there was no cause for alarm, and that, even 
 when there was every reason to believe that Mr. 
 Wellwood was in the house during former 
 searches, the soldiers had not behaved ill. In 
 the midst of these assurances, her own counten- 
 ance betrayed the utmost anxiety, and she listened 
 with breathless attention to the motions of the 
 soldiers. At last, they were heard descending 
 the stairs, and approaching towards the apart- 
 ment in which they were. Torriswood at the 
 same time returned. 
 
 " I can find Eric no where," said he anxious- 
 ly, " but he is not with the soldiers as I 
 dreaded." 
 
 At this moment, the voice of the officer who 
 commanded the party, was heard addressing Gil- 
 bert. " Stop, stop, if you please, old Mr. Torch- 
 bearer, we shall pass no doors with your leave ; 
 
44 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 here, open this one so conveniently concealed 
 under the stairs." 
 
 " Hoot, that's whar the lasses keep their be- 
 soms and camstane," answered Gilbert, weary ap- 
 parently of his occupation, 
 
 " Well, well, let us see the besoms and cam- 
 stane," said the young officer, insolently. 
 
 The door was opened, and nothing to be sure 
 was there to be seen, but besoms and camstane. 
 
 A lauffh of a sinjrular and wild sound followed 
 this discovery. 
 
 " Again that laugh !" exclaimed the officer, 
 " who is it, old man ? I have told you that I 
 would not bear it." 
 
 " And I hae telt you. Sir, that I kenna wha it 
 is." 
 
 " Have you told me truth ?" 
 
 " Its no our folk that tells untruths, as thev 
 ken to their cost," replied Gilbert, drily. 
 
 " But did you never hear that laugh till to- 
 night r 
 
 " I have heard something like it afore, but no 
 just that.'' 
 
 " And who was it that laughed like that ?" 
 
 " He's dead," replied Gilbert, shortly, then 
 adding, " d'ye want to glour at the camstane ony 
 longer ?" 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 45 
 
 " I have now seen every place, I think, but 
 the apartment in which your master is," said the 
 young officer. " Dawson," calling to the young 
 soldier who guarded the room-door, " you may 
 search that apartment/' 
 
 " I do not know the person we are in search 
 of by sight, Sir," replied the man. 
 
 " Ye needna scruple about gangin' in Sir," said 
 Gilbert. " It would be thought just as civil in 
 you to do it yoursel as to send ony ither." 
 
 The officer hesitated, and seemed very reluc- 
 tant to enter. At last, drawing his military cap 
 still further over his face, he entered awkwardly 
 a few steps, and glancing round the room, but 
 without looking any of the gentlemen in the face, 
 he turned hastily round, and muttering some- 
 thing which no one heard, hurried out again. 
 
 " I think ye canna be muckle the wiser o' that 
 survey," said Gilbert on his returning to the hall ; 
 " but indeed its no pleasant to come as a spy to a 
 house where ye hae sae often been welcomed as 
 a companion by the young gentleman." 
 
 " What ! do ye know me ?" 
 
 " Oh aye, Mr. Willy Mochrum, I sune kent 
 ye. YeVe grown taller, and that dress makes an 
 odds, but the Mochrums have a* one tongue, and 
 I sune kent it." 
 
 The same wild laugh, but louder and nearer, 
 
46 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 followed this recognition. The officer turned 
 round. 
 
 " Have you forgot where you last heard that 
 laugh, Mr. William Mochrum ? Have you for- 
 got Roger Broome ?" exclaimed Eric, coming in 
 front of the young officer. 
 
 " What ! Eric ! Is it you ? Oh I recollect. 
 How are you, Eric ?" added he in the greatest 
 confusion, for Torriswood and Colville had now 
 come into the hall, and in his embarrassment, 
 holding out his hand to Eric. Eric dashed it 
 away with the utmost scorn. 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed he. Osborne's and Mo- 
 chrums shall never shake hands again, till the 
 Mochrums have purified theirs from bribes and 
 blood." 
 
 The young officer''s eyes flashed fire, and he 
 advanced a step towards Eric, Colville rush- 
 ed between them, and the officer stopt short, 
 and fiercely eyed him. Torriswood approached, 
 and putting his hand on the young man's shoul- 
 der, " You had better draw off your men, 
 Mochrum. It is late. You are a young officer, 
 and must learn to keep your temper. In such 
 duties as you are called to at present, you must 
 not regard what is said by servants and children. 
 Good night," added he courteously ; then putting 
 one arm within Colville' s, and the other round 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 47 
 
 Eric's shoulders, he drew both away, and return- 
 ing to the apartment where the others still were, 
 closed the door. 
 
 " Are they gone?" asked Florence. 
 
 " They soon will," replied Colville, and his 
 words seemed to be immediately verified, as 
 horses were heard setting off at full gallop from 
 under the windows. 
 
 Still, however, there was noise in the hall, and 
 Torrisw^ood, on going to a window, observed that 
 several soldiers still continued near the house, 
 each attending to several horses whose riders 
 were absent. Torriswood leant from the window, 
 and beckoning to one of them to approach, 
 " What detains you now ?" asked he. " Is not 
 your officer gone ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir," replied the trooper, " but the night 
 is cool, and my comrades are searching for some- 
 thing to warm their stomachs after watching 
 here." 
 
 " But will it be safe for you if your officer 
 returns to quarters without you ?" 
 
 The man laughed. — " Our officer will take 
 care to say nothing about the matter. A fine 
 search he has made of it — never went to the 
 under part of the house. We are remaining to 
 do that part of the duty." 
 
 The noise had now changed from the hall to 
 
48 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 the lower part of the mansion, and became louder 
 every moment. 
 
 " You see what a gentleman's house in Scot- 
 land now is,'- said Torriswood, " unless he is 
 prepared to be dictated to even as to how he 
 must address his God. The place, and language, 
 and attitude must be chosen for him. Would 
 our fathers own us, think you, were they to re- 
 visit us ?" 
 
 " And how long are Scotchmen to submit to 
 such disgraceful thraldom?" asked Colville, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " The present state of things cannot last much 
 longer," observed Lindsay, " but any attempt at 
 violent measures by the suffering party would at 
 present only accelerate the ruin, I shall not say 
 of their cause, for the cause of liberty has never 
 been abandoned in Scotland, but it would ruin 
 the most distinguished of its partizans.*" 
 
 The noise below was increased to absolute up- 
 roar. Olive again clung trembling to Lindsay, 
 who had continued his attentions to her with 
 the kindest interest. 
 
 *' I must find out what all this means," said 
 Torriswood. 
 
 " And accompany you I will," said Colville. 
 
 " On no, dear Sir," exclaimed Florence, cling- 
 ing to her father, " You may trust Gilbert to 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 49 
 
 manage the people below stairs. He can bear 
 with the insolence of the soldiers. He knows 
 how to get them away. Do not go." 
 
 " I shall merely ask the occasion of such 
 noise," said Colvillej darting out of the room, 
 regardless of Torriswood's remonstrances, or 
 Florence's intreaties, who hastened after him, 
 but in vain. He was out of sight before she got 
 into the hall. 
 
 On reaching the old large servants' hall, from 
 whence the noise proceeded, Colville found it al- 
 most filled with soldiers. As he entered one was 
 vociferating — 
 
 o 
 
 " I tell you old fellow, we shall have some 
 drink." "And you shall pledge us," roared out ano- 
 ther, " in drinking confusion to the Covenant." 
 " Down with your keys, old boy," exclaimed a 
 third, " or we shall soon make an end of your 
 locks and doors, and yourself into the bargain." 
 
 Gilbert Scougal stood facing the soldiers, his 
 countenance expressing the most determined re- 
 solution to resist their demands. 
 
 " I hae telt ye already that I'm a servant o' 
 my master's, as ye are o' the king, and your 
 threatening will nae mair mak me forget my 
 duty to him than feelings o' pity to your fellow- 
 creatures mak you forget your duty to the king ; 
 so gin ye break locks as part o' that duty, 1 wish 
 ye a' muckle gude o' your master." 
 
50 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Do you say the king is a lock 'breaker, you 
 old covenanting rebel,""' called out a soldier, half 
 laughing. 
 
 " Its no me that say'st," answered Gilbert, 
 " but ye can hae nae business here but as his 
 servants, so if ye break locks, ye maun either be 
 doing sae in his service, or ye are something- 
 else, ye canna miss what." 
 
 Colville now civilly, but with dignity and au- 
 thority, demanded the cause of such a number of 
 soldiers having entered the house without their 
 officer. All were silent, and the men, though 
 apparently determined to maintain their post, 
 seemed at a loss for an answer. 
 
 " Is there a serjeant, or any superior among 
 you?" asked Colville. 
 
 " No sir," answered some of the men. 
 " And who, or what authorises you to remain 
 in this house ?" demanded Colville. 
 No one answered. 
 
 At this moment Torriswood and Lindsay en- 
 tered the hall. 
 
 " Mr. Lindsay," said Colville, " you are a 
 lawyer, and can perhaps tell whether armed sol- 
 diers are authorised to enter gentlemen's houses, 
 without an officer, or orders of any kind, and to 
 lay the defenceless servants under contribution." 
 «' You belong to Major Oglethorpe's detach- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. SI 
 
 ment, I perceive," said Lindsay, after regarding 
 the men carefully for an instant. " My friends," 
 turning to the servants who stood drawn up to 
 support Gilbert, " I suppose you would know 
 some of these men again ?" 
 " Oh yes Sir." 
 
 " Take particular notice of them," continued 
 Lindsay, " we cannot prevent such a force from 
 doing their pleasure now, but still there is law in 
 the country." The men nearest the door were 
 now stealing away. Some others marched off' 
 with more noise and insolence, and, at last, Gil- 
 bert had the satisfaction of seeing the whole safe 
 out of the house, after having been assured that 
 they would soon pay him another visit, and make 
 him repent that night's work. 
 
 Gilbert secured the doors, and returned with 
 his countenance little moved. " Poor, ignorant, 
 graceless creatures !" said he to himself. 
 
 During this scene, Adam Yule had been sit- 
 ting unobserved in the recess of the large old 
 chimney behind the fire. On hearing the doors 
 closed, he came forward bearing Gilbert's keys, 
 having received a hint from his old friend as he 
 left the room to admit the soldiers, to see every 
 place below stairs secured. Adam had most 
 faithfully performed his part, having left scarce- 
 1}^ one door unlocked in which he found a key. 
 
52 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " We have got easily off," said Torriswood, 
 on returning to the apartment where his family 
 were. Had those soldiers, in the humour they 
 now are, been sent to the house of a poorer and 
 less known covenanter, any thing, however bad, 
 might have been the consequence." 
 
 " Tis' too true," replied Lindsay, " as of late 
 we have had ample proof. I have heard of re- 
 cent instances of cruelty and oppression, particu- 
 larly in Fife, which call to heaven for vengeance. 
 The people in vain seek redress. The soldiers 
 are protected, and, indeed, instigated to what they 
 do, by that wretch Carmichael. Carmichael is 
 only the tool of Sharpe, and Sharpe has the 
 council at his nod.'^ 
 
 Torriswood was silent. Lindsay had touched 
 on a theme which instantly banished from his 
 countenance that expression of calmness and self- 
 command, with which he had met the intrusion 
 and insolence of the Soldiers, and recalled that 
 look of sternness, which marked the struggle with- 
 in, when, under the influence of religion, he sought 
 to repress those feelings of abhorrence and indig- 
 nation which were excited by the success and 
 triumph of that faction whom he considered as 
 the rapacious destroyers of the liberties, and be- 
 trayers of the religion of his country. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 53 
 
 It was now what was in a Covenanter's family 
 considered late, and the party soon separated — 
 all excepting Torriswood and Colville. They 
 continued in deep and earnest conversation till 
 that hour, which was regarded by them as the 
 first of the Sabbath. They then parted — Colville 
 more deeply aware than he had hitherto been, of 
 the necessity of using caution in steering his 
 course through the times in which he was called 
 to act, and Torriswood fully convinced that his 
 high expectations from the character of his young 
 ward, would not be disappointed. 
 
•51 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The Sabbath morning rose calm and beautiful. 
 It was one of the loveliest of lovely spring clays. 
 Colville had early placed himself at a window, 
 with a Bible before him, to spend the first mo- 
 ments of the morning as those of his principles 
 always do ; but the extreme beauty of the rising- 
 day, the freshness of nature bursting into life, 
 were irresistible, and putting a small Bible into 
 his pocket, he left the house, to worship under 
 the glorious expanse of heaven, and amidst the 
 surrounding magnificence of nature. Every path, 
 and every hill, or glen in the neighbourhood, 
 were familiar to him. He now bent his steps to 
 a wooded hill which rose behind the house, on 
 his way he observed more cause of grief for poor 
 Olive. Very few of her flowers had escaped from 
 the last visit of the soldiers. They now lay brok- 
 en and destroyed, or were crushed into the ground, 
 and all around the house was trampled down, and 
 disfigured. A feeling of indignation, mingled with 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 65 
 
 the happier and holier emotions which had filled 
 Colville's breast, and, as he walked on, he thought 
 deeply, and with the most earnest desire to see 
 plainly what was right and duty in a crisis where 
 he felt all were compelled to act. He had often 
 considered the subject before, but now he must 
 decide, — and that decision would probably mark 
 out his future destiny. Colville's aim was single. 
 It was simply to obey God. Could he do so, and 
 at the same time subject himself to a human law- 
 giver in matters of religion ? Impossible. Could 
 he, with the^ Bible in his hand, obey God by 
 closing it, and by receiving from an earthly ruler 
 his notions of what was the best mode of wor- 
 ship — and that ruler profligate and irreligious ? 
 Absurd ! Was he to give up his right of private 
 judgment in this matter, — and to whom? Cer- 
 tainly not to earthly rulers. Was it then to those 
 who considered themselves the ministers of reli- 
 gion, — but who, in the face of day, were the most 
 worldly of men ? W^as not this the worst feature 
 of Popery, the very source from whence its every 
 iniquity flowed ? The result of Colville's reason- 
 ing was this, — that in civil matters, as far he 
 could in the existing state of affairs, distinguish 
 them from religious, he would attempt to obey 
 his rulers, — at least till he had further consider- 
 ed the subject. In religious matters his only guide 
 
56 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 should be the Bible, as he himself understood it ; 
 and having decided this to be the plain path of 
 duty from his knowledge of the Scriptures, he de- 
 termined, with God's help, to follow it, whatever 
 might be the consequences. After having come 
 to this decision, he felt the most perfect calm of 
 soul, resigning his future lot, were it persecution, 
 — or imprisonment, — or penury, — or scorn, — or 
 death itself, with heartfelt confidence to the dis- 
 posal of God, imploring strength, and integrity 
 of soul to abide by what he considered truth and 
 right. 
 
 In this calm and elevated state of feeling, Col- 
 ville reached the spot from which he wished once 
 more to view those scenes which his memory had 
 often recalled when far distant from them. The 
 hill he now ascended was wooded nearly to the 
 top. The summit, however, was craggy and bro- 
 ken, and only partially clothed with such trees as 
 could grow in the scanty soil they found amongst 
 the rocks. Colville chose to attain the highest 
 part of this favourite hill in the same manner he 
 used to reach it in his boyish days ; and, catch- 
 ing by the branches of the trees and bushes, he 
 sprang from one point of rock to another as light 
 of foot, and almost as light of heart, as ever ; and 
 then, on reaching the summit, there was the 
 long draught of pure mountain air, and the first 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 57 
 
 burst of the magnificent landscape spread before 
 him. 
 
 Colville threw himself on the turf that covered 
 the top of the rocky height, and, for a time, 
 drank in with rapture the extended loveliness of 
 the view. He then looked for those points to 
 which his boyish taste and memory had clung 
 with peculiar attachment, and still they seemed 
 to him worthy of the preference. In one direc- 
 tion the wooded hill, which he had just ascended, 
 lay under his eye ; the trees, in some places, still 
 in their grey garb of winter, discovering through 
 their leafless branches its rocky surface partially 
 covered with ivy and tufts of wild flowers. The 
 (^arlier trees, in their fresh young foliage, mingled 
 with those leafless trees, in beautiful variety, all 
 over the sweep of the hill. At its base stood the 
 old mansion, large and irregular, and grey with 
 years, almost embosomed in the woods which sur- 
 rounded it, and which extended far on every side. 
 The majestic Tweed rolled part of its course, 
 over its shelving or pebbly bed, amidst these 
 woods, sometimes sweeping away the trees on its 
 banks, when it came down in its winter floods. 
 Now it seemed to glide gently along, though the 
 noise of its waters reached the height from whence 
 Golville once more joyfully viewed its winding 
 course. Beyond was the village. Its old church 
 
•^^ PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 occupied that part nearest Torriswood, and Col- 
 ville perceived that it was then surrounded by sol- 
 diers. He turned from the sight with feelings of 
 indignation, and sought for objects dear to his 
 memory in another direction, that his happier 
 emotions might not be overcome by viewing those 
 instruments of oppression. Beyond the hill on 
 which he reclined, rose other hills similar in cha- 
 racter, but only partially wooded ; in other parts 
 furze mingled witli pieces of grey rock was inter- 
 spersed with spaces of soft green pasture, over 
 thin slopes, on which were some scattered sheep, 
 and their white young lambs. Other hilly ground 
 covered with pasture, formed the landscape as 
 far as the eye could reach in the direction in 
 which Colville now looked ; and a mazy little 
 stream wound through the many turnings of the 
 valley at the bottom of the hills. On the banks 
 of this " water," as it was called, scattered groupes 
 of the alder, the birch, and the willow, were com- 
 ing into leaf. Colville's attention was however 
 soon attracted from the peaceful beauty of this 
 scene, by observing that people were coming from 
 every direction across the hills, and all bending 
 their way to one point in the valley. An inter- 
 vening hill concealed the spot from him ; but he 
 well remembered its romantic loneliness ; and as 
 the people continued to wind round the foot of 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 59 
 
 the hill which led to it, the Glen and all its scenery 
 rose before him. Men with their plaids thrown 
 over one shoulder, and fastened under the oppo- 
 site arm, and their broad blue bonnets, and wo- 
 men with their many-coloured plaids, or scarfs, 
 put over their heads and fastened under the chin, 
 were coming in parties across the hills. Some, 
 both men and women, on horseback, came by 
 more circuitous paths through the Glen, or on 
 the lower ground between the hills, but all di- 
 recting their way to the same spot. While Col- 
 ville was wondering what all this might mean, 
 so early in the day, and on the Sabbath, he saw 
 issue from the wood which skirted the foot of the 
 hill on that side from which he now looked, 
 Adam Yule, mounted on a strong horse, and, 
 seated on a pillion behind him, the portly house- 
 keeper of Torriswood. His friend Andrew Scou- 
 gal, mounted in a similar manner, and also ac- 
 companied by a female, and several other couples 
 followed. Colville from the first had suspected 
 that some proscribed preacher was the attraction 
 by which all were drawn ; and he now felt certain 
 of this ; for Adam Yule would not on any other 
 errand have been riding so accompanied on the 
 Sabbath. Colville was deeply moved as he now 
 viewed the poor people winding cautiously down 
 the hills, or along the valley. 
 
60 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " And how ought I to spend my Sabbath ?'* 
 thought he. " Shall 1 disobey that plain com- 
 mand, ' Forsake not the assembling of yourselves 
 together ;' or disregard that promise, ' Where 
 two or three are gathered together in my name' 
 there am I in the midst of them to bless them 
 and to do them good.' And which assembly 
 most evidently bears the character of those met 
 together in the name of Christ ; — that which 
 meets to obey his command, and seek his promised 
 blessing at the risk of the loss of all things ; or 
 that which meets at the command of their earthly 
 Prince, to bend their bodies, and utter prayers, 
 and listen to instructions, all according to the 
 model he prescribes, and is determined to pre- 
 scribe at the point of the bayonet ?" It was not 
 difficult to decide on this point ; and, looking for 
 an instant with feelinojs of warm affection towards 
 the people, who, in picturesque groups continued 
 to appear on the hills, and wind down into the 
 glen, and then casting a look towards the church 
 surrounded by soldiers, to which no worshipper 
 seemed to be approaching, he turned indignantly 
 away, and after lightly descending the precipitous 
 crags which overhung the path, rapidly retraced 
 his steps down the hill. 
 
 On the path that crossed the bottom of the 
 hill, a few people were passing along, who seem- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 61 
 
 ed rather startled on seeing Colville, and just on 
 his reaching it, an elderly woman, and a young 
 girl approached. The girl seemed alarmed, and 
 to hesitate whether to advance or return. The 
 elder woman put her hand on the girl's arm, and 
 seemed to be encouraging her. Colville ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 " Why are so many people going towards the 
 Abbot's glen to-day, my good woman ?" asked 
 he. 
 
 The girl's alarm seemed to increase, " Ye hae 
 walkitfar enough Granny, ye had better turnback 
 now," said she in evident terror, and drawing 
 away her Grandmother. The old woman looked 
 earnestly at Colville, regardless of the girl. 
 
 " What are you afraid of?" asked Colville. 
 
 The girl looked timidly at him. " Naething 
 Sir," replied she appearing somewhat assured by 
 his looks, but still attempting to draw away her 
 grandmother. " Annie, that's nae Mochrum," 
 said the old woman, still gazing earnestly at Col- 
 ville. " Forgie me. Sir, but surely I ance kent 
 that face. But a' things are sae sair changed wi' 
 me, 1 can never mind now, when or where, I saw 
 or kent any thing pleasant." 
 
 Colville examined the old woman in his turn. 
 She was pale and thin, and there was a slight 
 wandering of mind in the expression of her dark 
 
62 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 keen eyes, still the countenance was not unknown 
 to him. 
 
 " Janet Broome !" exclaimed he at last. 
 
 " Mr. Philip !" returned she, instantly recol- 
 lecting his voice and his looks on his naming her. 
 He held out his hand to her, and she grasped 
 and kissed it, and pressed her cheek upon it, 
 with a good deal of wildness in her manner. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Philip, is it indeed you ! And 
 are ye come to stand by the Laird ? Take 
 care o' yoursel, Mr. Philip. Take awa the 
 Laird o' Torriswood. Take awa thae dear 
 bairns. What for should a' that's brave and 
 noble, and a' that's sweet and bonny, and a' that's 
 gude and holy in the land come to ruin ? O 
 Mr. Philip, Mr. Philip, what a country this is 
 now !" 
 
 " Remember who still rules over all, Janet," 
 said Colville, in a mild calm tone of voice, wish- 
 ing to recall poor Janet to herself. His words 
 had the desired effect. 
 
 " Aye, Sir, — aye. He cannot err !" said she 
 recollectedly, then looking with tears in her eyes 
 at Colville, " and O how sweetly it comes oure 
 my heart to hear your voice, Mr. Philip, put me 
 in mind o' that ! Prayer has been heard for 
 you, Mr. Philip. Weel," added she thought- 
 fully, " surely I can praise Him for that, though 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 63 
 
 my poor Allan — but I manna think o' him this 
 day, — at least no till Mr. Wellwood prays for 
 the lost sheep, and then I may think o' mine." • 
 
 " Yes," said Colville gently, on observing the 
 wandering expression returning to poor Janet's 
 countenance, " we shall remember him then. But 
 tell me, Janet, is it in the Abbot's Glen Mr. 
 Wellwood is to preach to-day ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir. He has preached there before. 
 Its a place no easy for the soldiers to come at, 
 and there's many a way amang the hills for the 
 folk to get out o' danger, that nane kens about 
 but them here awa." 
 
 " And what time does the service begin ?" 
 
 " Just about the time the hireling is to begin 
 in the kirk. Mr. Wellwood and the elders 
 thought the soldiers wad be sae busy maintainin' 
 him in his post, that we might hope to hae a 
 peaceful meeting." 
 
 " It is two hours from that time," said Col- 
 ville. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, but its a gude bit to the Glen for 
 auld folk ; and we like to be slippin' awa to the 
 place at ony time we think we'el be least no- 
 ticed.^' 
 
 " Well, Janet, I shall also go to hear Mr. 
 Wellwood," said Colville. 
 
64 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " But, Mr. Philip, do ye ken a' ye may bring 
 upon yoursel by doin' sae ?" asked Janet anxi- 
 ously. 
 
 " Yes, Janet ; and I know also what I should 
 feel if I staid away from the dread of human 
 threats." He then shook hands again with poor 
 old Janet, and passed on towards the house. 
 She looked after him till he was out of sight, re- 
 peatedly and earnestly praying God to bless him, 
 and then pursued her way to join her fellow-wor- 
 shippers in the Abbot's Glen. 
 
 On returning to the house, Colville found all 
 the party assembling to breakfast, excepting Or- 
 mistoun. He (as Eric informed him) had set off 
 early in the morning for Meldrum. " I suppose,'' 
 said Eric, " that he may go with them, and show 
 his submission to the King's authority as head 
 of the church, in the Mochrum's splendid new 
 seat." 
 
 On Colville's mentioning his intention to join 
 the people he had seen going to worship in the 
 Abbot's Glen, Florence exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh ! I rejoice to hear it !" with such appa- 
 rent delight, that Colville involuntarily stopt and 
 looked at her. She blushed deeply, and attempt- 
 ed an explanation, 
 
 " So many gentlemen hesitate about going 
 now," then glancing at Lindsay, who was amongst 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 65 
 
 those who hesitated on the subject. — " There are 
 so many different opinions — people find it so dif- 
 ficult to decide." She stopt in confusion. 
 
 " I think yours is a hasty determination, Mr. 
 Colville," said Lindsay, with much seriousness 
 of manner. " There is more involved in going 
 to such meetings than you are probably aware 
 of.^' 
 
 " Lindsay is right, Colville," said Torriswood. 
 " I intreat you may not expose your character 
 to be so decidedly marked till you have had time 
 to know and think more of the matter." 
 
 " I do not find this point so difficult to decide 
 upon," said Colville. " I always observe," add- 
 ed he smiling, " that sage and learned men find 
 depths of difficulties in many subjects, where 
 })lain men, such as I am, can find none." 
 
 " I shall with pleasure spend this forenoon in 
 enlightening you,'' replied Lindsay goodnatured- 
 
 ly. 
 
 " Not this forenoon," said Colville, " any 
 other I shall with gratitude listen to you. But 
 I have a short way of forming conclusions on 
 every point of right and wrong, which I have hi- 
 therto found it safest to follow ; and before I saw 
 you this morning, Mr. Lindsay, I had arrived at 
 the conclusion that I ought to join the people 
 who worship in the Glen to-day. Consequences 
 
66 . PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 I think ought to be left in other hands when we 
 are deciding on a question of plain duty." 
 
 Lindsay seemed ratlier hurt and disappointed, 
 but said no more. 
 
 " Do come with us, Mr. Lindsay," said Olive. 
 
 A look of displeasure from her father, brought 
 a deep blush to poor Olive's cheek. 
 
 Lindsay shook his head. " If I thought it 
 right I assuredly would ; but you know. Miss 
 Olive, I do not on this point think as your fa- 
 ther does.'' Then turning to Colville, " I can- 
 not see why a government may not dictate re- 
 garding the external forms of worship to the 
 church it supports." 
 
 " I think I could mention a thousand reasons," 
 replied Colville, " but we have not time now, 
 only, do not suppose I acquiesce in the notion 
 that it is the government which supports the 
 church, even such as it would make it. In no 
 sense whatever can it be said to do so but by its 
 authority. In every substantial sense the church 
 must be supported by the people. I hope, how- 
 ever, we shall have other opportunities to talk 
 over this matter." 
 
 Colville soon discovered that Torriswood, his 
 two daughters, and Eric, were going to the Glen. 
 Lindsay, with that stiffness which it is natural 
 to assume when one is determined to act in a 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. * . 67 
 
 manner which it is known will be disapproved 
 of, declared his intention of going to the parish 
 church. 
 
 Eric looked delighted, " I hope, Mr. Lindsay, 
 you will return to us afterwards," said he coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 Lindsay promised to do so, his manner in- 
 stantly unbending before the boy's kindness. In 
 a short time the party set out on their different 
 destinations. 
 
 The Abbot's Glen, when approached through 
 the windings of the valley, was nearly two miles 
 from the house. The Glen itself was formed by 
 the approach of several hills to each other in an 
 irregular circle. The bases of these hills to the 
 north and east were so precipitous as to form an 
 impassable barrier on those sides of the Glen ; on 
 the south and west the hills rose more gradually, 
 and many little valleys wound in amongst them, 
 which served as outlets for the people who as- 
 sembled in the Glen, to make an easy retreat on 
 the first alarm. Natural wood grew where there 
 was any soil in the precipitous cliffs, and was al- 
 so scattered in picturesque irregularity over the 
 lower parts of the neighbouring hills. The Glen 
 was covered with the softest turf, intermingled 
 with pieces of rock which seemed in former times 
 to have fallen from the cliffs above, but were now 
 
68 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 half buried in turf and moss. During the week, 
 this sunny, sheltered glen was the favourite re- 
 sort of the shepherds, but on this day they had 
 driven their flocks to the higher ground, and 
 themselves, at least such of them as it was ne- 
 cessary, should remain with the sheep, kept 
 watch to give the alarm should any soldiers ap- 
 pear. This alarm they gave by signals under- 
 stood by those among the people who acted as 
 watchmen in the glen. 
 
 When our party arrived they found a numer- 
 ous assembly already collected in the glen. Tor- 
 riswood, as he approached, was instantly recog- 
 nised, and received with the most marked regard. 
 He alighted from his horse, and lifted Olive from 
 hers. Florence had already been assisted by 
 Colville. They then left their horses with a 
 groom beside many others, at a short distance 
 from that part of the glen occupied by the people; 
 and Torriswood, after seeing Colville and his 
 children seated among the other worshippers, 
 himself, treading softly, and with an expression 
 of lowly reverence on his countenance, as if con- 
 scious of being on holy ground, passed among 
 the people till he reached that part where they 
 were most closely gathered together. It was 
 near the base of one of those precipitous hills 
 which inclosed that side of the glen. Many frag- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 69 
 
 ments of rocks served as seats for the people, 
 and on some, rather elevated above the others, 
 and nearest to the cliff, were seated, with their 
 faces turned towards the people, a party of ve- 
 nerable looking men, who seemed the fathers of 
 the assembly. Some appeared to be gentlemen, 
 others yeomen or farmers. Torriswood joined 
 these elders, to whose number he belonged, and 
 after cordially shaking hands with each, seated 
 himself on one of the rocks amongst them, — look- 
 ed for a few moments with affectionate regard 
 upon the people, then taking a Bible from his 
 pocket, and bending forward, he shaded his fore- 
 head with his hand, and began to read. His 
 example was immediately followed by a great 
 part of the people. It seemed to have recalled 
 to their remembrance the duties of the day. Col- 
 ville, however, though Florence on one side, and 
 Olive on the other, and even Eric, seemed in a 
 few minutes occupied with what they read, could 
 not resist his inclination to examine the assembly 
 which surrounded him. It seemed, in general, 
 to be composed of stout looking farmers, and 
 their labourers, with their wives, mothers, and 
 young -people. There were many who appeared 
 too old and frail to undertake a service so ha- 
 zardous. Colville also recognised a good many 
 of the neighbouring country gentlemen, and a 
 
70 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Still greater number of ladies. Seated amongst 
 these were many young people of the different 
 families, some grown out of his remembrance, 
 others by their looks now recognising him, as he 
 also did them, with apparent pleasure. All, 
 however, maintained the same reverential man- 
 ner they would have done in a place of worship, 
 recalling forcibly to Colville's thoughts, as the 
 holy calm and silence of so large an assembly 
 began to solemnize his own feelings, that the 
 heart is the temple in which God is alone truly 
 worshipped, — and then he too was soon engaged, 
 as most of those around him seemed to be, in the 
 recesses of that living temple, into which so much 
 is allowed to enter which appears polluting and 
 sinful in the light of holy thoughts. 
 
 This stillness was at last broken by the voice 
 of the preacher. Every ey^e was instantly fixed 
 upon him, as he began in a clear, strong voice, 
 to read a Psalm. He stood on a piece of rock 
 which projected from the cliff, just behind where 
 the elders sat. His person was tall and muscular ; 
 his countenance strong and marked, but pale; 
 his forehead high and finely formed, and the up- 
 per part of his head quite bald, while the lower 
 part was thickly shaded by black curling hair. 
 His countenance and figure, as he stood with his 
 head uncovered, were striking and commanding 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 71 
 
 in the extreme. While he read, Colville remark- 
 ed the change that six years of anxiety, and per- 
 secution, and suffering had made on his whole 
 appearance. From his recollection of him, he 
 knew that this pale, bald-headed covenanter, 
 could be little more than thirty. He had been 
 tutor in Torriswood's family, and was called to 
 the church just before Colville went abroad. He 
 was then quite a young man, highly valued by 
 Torriswood for his talents and learning, and for 
 the purity of his principles and mildness of his 
 temper. In society, however, he had been par- 
 ticularly remarkable for the extreme bashfulness 
 of his manners, and the painful diffidence with 
 which he performed his duties as chaplain in the 
 family. The anxieties which seemed to have 
 given a premature appearance of age to his per- 
 son, appeared in an equally striking degree to 
 have produced firmness and courage in his mind ; 
 and as he concluded the part of the Psalm he 
 had read, with these words : — 
 
 " For God is our defence, and He 
 To us doth safety bring, 
 The holy one of Israel, 
 Is our Almighty King." 
 
 He did not seem as if a feeling of timidity from 
 any thing earthly had ever daunted his soul. 
 1 
 
72 PHILIP COLVILLE, 
 
 When he had finished readmg the Psalm, the 
 people began to sing. Poor Olive's eyes were 
 then turned with fearful anxiety to the shepherd's 
 who kept watch on the heights. The people sung 
 louder than perhaps was usual in the church ; 
 from the very feeling, that as this part of their 
 service was the most frequent means of betraying 
 their place of meeting, they must not on that ac- 
 count less boldly join in performing it. Florence's 
 sweet full notes joined with Colville's low and 
 manly voice, and Eric's clear, free song of praise, 
 in heart elevating harmony, rose with those 
 around ; but Olive could only watch in dread for 
 some signal from the shepherds. They, how- 
 ever, continued to recline in peace on the hills, 
 listening apparently to the hymn that rose from 
 the glen. When the voices ceased, the notes 
 were continued in softer melody by the echoes 
 among the chffs, till at last they died away in the 
 distance. Mr. Wellwood rose when the Psalm 
 was finished by the people, but stood in silence, 
 listening to the echoes till they passed away, an 
 expression of softness and tenderness stealing 
 over his countenance, which recalled to Colville's 
 memory his looks in his younger and more peace- 
 ful days. The people now stood also, the men 
 uncovered, while Mr. Wellwood poured forth a 
 prayer of perhaps more impassioned earnestness 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 73 
 
 than might suit times of peace and security, but 
 which so perfectly expressed the feelings of his 
 people as to excite irrepressible emotions amongst 
 them all. Colville struggled without eflPectto main- 
 tain his composure. Every new sentence touched 
 upon some subject of deep and immediate interest, 
 and when brought, as it were, to the footstool of the 
 Almighty as their only, but all-powerful friend, in 
 language of elevated confidence and love, had the 
 most subduing eifect on the feelings. When the 
 prayer was concluded, the people again seated 
 themselves, the men drawing their hats over their 
 faces, the women, less anxious about concealing 
 their emotions, still yielding to them. The sermon 
 was in the same strain of impassioned energy, 
 and calculated to inspire the people with the 
 most devoted determination to sacrifice all — even 
 life, rather than give obedience to any lawgiver 
 in matters of religion, except to God himself, as 
 he had revealed his will in the Bible. 
 
 When the singing of the last psalm had nearly 
 concluded, one of the Shepherds on the heights 
 made a signal to those in the Glen. A few of the 
 younger females observed it, and rose in alarm. 
 The people, in general, however, did not move. 
 The watchman in the glen nearest to Mr. Well- 
 wood, approached, and whispered to him. He 
 did not rise, and the people concluded the psalm. 
 
74 - PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Mr. Wellwood then solemnly pronounced the 
 blessing, and after a pause, said, " The people, 
 my dear friends, have left the church." The 
 soldiers are now also drawing away from it, and 
 may come in search of us. Fare you all well, 
 till the only head of the true church again gives 
 us an opportunity of meeting. Another signal 
 was now made by the shepherds, and being in- 
 stantly explained to Mr. Wellwood, he said 
 calmly, " The soldiers are coming in this direc- 
 tion ; lose no time, my friends, and God be with 
 you." 
 
 The people immediately began in an orderly 
 manner to leave the Glen, and take their way to 
 the many valleys that ran in amongst the hills, 
 looking anxiously back, as they went, to see 
 whether Mr. Wellwood was attending to his own 
 safety* 
 
 During this time, Olive, in terror, clung to 
 Colville, " Why does not my father come to 
 us ?" exclaimed she. " Do let us go to him, 
 Colville, and entreat him to come away."*' 
 
 Colville saw that Torriswood was then in ear- 
 nest conversation with Mr. Wellwood, and some 
 of the elders. He advised Olive and Florence to 
 mount their horses, and be ready to depart when 
 their father joined them. Olive immediately as- 
 sented, but Florence hesitated. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 75 
 
 " We are going to Edinburgh to-morrow," said 
 she, " we may not return soon. I wish I could 
 take leave of Mr. Wellwood." 
 
 " And I too must do so," said Eric. 
 
 " Olive, who had been placed on her horse by 
 Colville, would not be left, though some gentle- 
 men who had also mounted near where she was, 
 courteously offered to conduct her home, or re- 
 main with her till joined by her father. Poor 
 Olive, scarcely knowing what she did, was again 
 lifted from her horse by Colville, and clinging to 
 him, followed Florence and Eric, who were has- 
 tening towards their father and Mr. Wellwood. 
 Eric, who had been born while Mr. Wellwood 
 was tutor to his brothers, threw himself upon his 
 breast, and was received with equal warmth of 
 affection. Florence he received with respectful 
 tenderness, while she, on her part, could not 
 listen to the few words of affectionate advice he 
 addressed to her, on her taking leave of him, 
 without tears. 
 
 The elders were now anxious for Mr. Well- 
 wood's departure ; and he just waited to shake 
 hands with Colville, and to say to Olive, " I fear, 
 my dear Miss Olive, you have forgot what you 
 promised to pray for the last time we met." 
 Olive blushed deeply, and Mr. Wellwood, after 
 speaking aside for a few moments to Torriswood, 
 
76 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 mounted the horse that was waitmg for him, and 
 looking to the heights, received a signal from a 
 shepherd in what direction to proceed. He again 
 looked with an expression of sadness at Torris- 
 wood and his children — then turning an angle 
 of the cliff, was immediately out of sight. 
 
 " Where is he to be to-night?" asked Florence. 
 
 " He knows not," replied her father. " Last 
 night he spent in this Glen. The house in which 
 he was concealed was searched after ours. The 
 approach of the soldiers was made known to him, 
 and he escaped to this place, and slept, he said, 
 profoundly, wrapped in a plaid, brought to him 
 by a shepherd." 
 
 " Why did lie not come with us now ?" asked 
 Florence. 
 
 " Nothing would persuade him to do so," re- 
 plied her father. " I see he is prevented by the 
 idea of exposing us to further danger of ruin. 
 To-day he preaches again about seven miles from 
 hence, in the opposite extremity of his parish, if 
 he can reach the place without being observed." 
 
 In a short time our party were again safe on 
 the grounds of Torriswood ; and, on Colville's 
 expressing his desire to know whether the people 
 had been met by the soldiers, they left their horses, 
 and, by another and easier path than his favourite 
 one, reached the top of the hill, which had been 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 77 
 
 visited by Colville in the morning. From thence 
 they saw the people still winding homew^ards 
 amonff the hills. The church was now deserted 
 by the soldiers, and there seemed to be no person 
 of any description near it. Some soldiers were 
 seen in the public road in the direction towards 
 the Glen ; but the hills rose so as to conceal its 
 entrance from their view, and they were moving 
 at that careless pace which showed that they were 
 merely on their way to some other quarters. 
 
 " The curate has made out his one task of ser- 
 vice in peace to-day, I think," said Torriswood. 
 
 " Perhaps not in peace," observed Florence, 
 looking at Eric, and smiling. 
 
 " It is all so soon over," remarked Colville to 
 Florence, and then looking at Eric, " that I fear 
 somebody has not been a successful carpenter." , 
 
 " Ah, I shall hope better things !" replied Flo- 
 rence; with whose manner to himself on this 
 day Colville had been more satisfied, and whose 
 character every moment opened on him more and 
 more attractively. 
 
 " Lindsay must have returned from the church," 
 observed Eric. " Do not you think. Sir," ad- 
 dressing his father, " that we ought to return to 
 him ?" 
 
 " Certainly, my boy," replied Torriswood, 
 whose thoughts seemed painfully to have follow- 
 
78 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ed his own last words, and who did not appear to 
 have heard what passed afterwards. 
 
 On reaching the house, the party found Lind- 
 say waiting their return. 
 
 " Well," said Eric, " how did the curate 
 preach ?'* 
 
 " Not well," answered Lindsay; but said no 
 more. 
 
 " Was the church full ?" asked Eric. 
 
 " There might be about thirty people in it, be- 
 sides the soldiers." 
 
 " Were the soldiers in the church as listeners ?" 
 asked Torriswood. 
 
 " Not exactly as listeners. Their assistance 
 was required." 
 
 Eric's eyes sparkled with delight, and Florence's 
 not much less. Colville smiled, — 
 
 " In what was their assistance required ?" ask- 
 ed he. 
 
 " You know the people do not wish for the 
 services of the curate," replied Lindsay rather 
 drily, " and they attempt to prevent his preach- 
 ing." 
 
 " Surely thirty people would not venture to do 
 any thing, and all those soldiers there !" said Eric, 
 approaching eagerly, and standing before Lind- 
 say to hear his answer, with an arch expression 
 on his delighted countenance. 
 
PHILIP COLVLILE. 79 
 
 Lindsay looked at him for an instant, then col- 
 laring him — " I arrest you. Sir, in the name of 
 the King, as being art and part in an attempt to 
 prevent the execution of his royal will, in the ap- 
 pointment of Mr. Ambleton to the cure of Tor- 
 riswood." 
 
 Eric looked uncertainly for an instant at Lind- 
 say ; then, seeing a smile forcing itself into his 
 countenance, he threw himself upon him, " Don't 
 be so stiff now, Lindsay," said he coaxingly, 
 " but just tell us all about it." 
 
 " I never in my life witnessed so ridiculous a 
 scene," said Lindsay, now laughing heartily, and 
 apparently irresistibly at the recollection of it. 
 
 " Well, do tell us," said Eric impatiently. 
 
 Torriswood also seemed anxious to hear what 
 had happened, as he leant forward on the arm of 
 his chair to listen. 
 
 " Well," began Lindsay, " you knov/ I went 
 in a loyal manner to the parish church. On ar- 
 riving there, I seated myself in the large pew be- 
 longing to the family at whose house I was a vi- 
 sitor, and which I had entirely to myself. One 
 or two people were scattered here and there 
 through the church."" 
 
 " Did you not know any of them ?" asked Eric. 
 " Were not all the Mochrums there?" 
 
 " Not when I went. I did, however, know most 
 
80 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 of the people, and shall tell you who they were. 
 I think, from his jolly appearance, and ruby nose, 
 that it was mine host of the ' Red Lion,' who sat 
 in the pew nearest the pulpit, with his portly wife, 
 and tawdrily fine daughters, and a muster of bar- 
 maids and horse-cleaners, in their holiday garbs, 
 filling the pew. Then there were the peace-loving 
 Bannermans, all excepting the Lady herself." 
 
 " I observed her in the Glen," remarked Flo- 
 rence smiling. 
 
 Torriswood shook his head. " These family 
 disunions are amongst the miseries of the times,'* 
 said he. " But in what state is the church it- 
 self?" 
 
 " You know," replied Lindsay, " it was, while 
 in the possession of the Papists, one of the most 
 highly ornamented of our country churches, and 
 how utterly all those ornaments were demolished 
 by the Presbyterians. You will remember, that 
 the place where the Popish idolatrous altar, as 
 our reformers considered it, once stood, had been 
 built up, and the wall made level with that 
 end of the church. It has again been opened; 
 and not a communion-table, but an altar after 
 Laud's model, placed on the very spot where the 
 Popish altar stood, and where it is well known 
 to all the people to have stood. Round this altar 
 is a railing, and cushions for the people to kneel 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 81 
 
 on, — the very abomination of the Presbyterians, 
 as they must naturally associate with this prepara- 
 tion the idea of worshipping that which is to be 
 received in the posture of w^orship. I was much 
 amused by a conversation I overheard in the pew 
 behind me on this subject. An elderly man and 
 woman were seated in it when I got into yours. 
 
 " ' I canna stay,' said the woman. 
 
 " ' Just stay a wee,' answered the man ; ' what 
 ill can it do you just to see for ance the new way?' 
 
 " ' I've seen enough,' replied the woman. — 
 ' Wha can be sae simple as believe, after they hae 
 seen that,' (pointing to the altar,) 'that Popery's 
 no at hand ? I telt ye, Simon, that we wad hae 
 to stop somewhere; and if ye dinna mean to sell 
 your saul for this warld's gear, and turn Papist a' 
 thegither, ye had better stop now.' 
 
 " Tut Eppy," rejoined her companion, " wait 
 till ye see what the^^ do at it." 
 
 " I canna wait, Simon. Tve dune oure muckle 
 to please you already," replied Eppy, in a deter- 
 mined tone of voice. 
 
 The man's rejoinder was so low I did not hear 
 it, but it seemed to overcome Eppy's scruples, 
 for she answered, " It's oure true, but I needna 
 look. Oh Simon, nae gude can come o' a' this 
 conforming against the voice o' conscience." 
 
 " That would be Simon Lauder and Eppy, the 
 
82 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Mochrums' old gamekeeper and his wife," said 
 Eric. 
 
 " Are there any other changes made in the 
 church ?" asked Florence. 
 
 " A good many pictures are placed above the 
 altar," resumed Lindsay, " which Eppy took 
 equal umbrage at ; and to be sure such a collec- 
 tion of monstrous daubs I never saw.' There are 
 the twelve Apostles, about half the size of life, 
 standing in one piece, as if so many dwarfs, dress- 
 ed in all the colours of the rainbow, had stood to 
 have their likenesses taken. Then there are 
 others, which, from their subjects, are absolutely 
 blasphemous. I confess, the sight of those pic- 
 tures, and the trumpery little embroidered cross 
 which was placed on the altar, has very much 
 staggered my opinions respecting the power of 
 a government to impose forms of religion on a 
 people. How absurd to suppose that such su- 
 perstitious unmeaning trifling will be endured in 
 this country !" 
 
 Torriswood smiled, and held out his hand to 
 Lindsay. " Take care," said he, " such opinions 
 are ruinous in these days. But is all this new to 
 you ? Are the churches in Edinburgh less 
 changed ?" 
 
 " In the church which I attend in Edinburgh," 
 replied Lindsay, <* scarcely any change at all has 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 83 
 
 taken place. Many of my profession attend there. 
 They have no form of prayers. I believe, how- 
 ever, that some of the other churches are very 
 different, and that the one I have mentioned has 
 hitherto been winked at. Indeed, if the com- 
 munity would submit to the prelates, and allow 
 them peaceably to settle a hierarchy over the 
 Scotch Church, I rather think they would be 
 willing to come to an accommodation about 
 forms ; at least as it is, their form of prayer is to 
 this day scarcely known in Scotland ; not more 
 than the mass book, which indeed the people 
 generally conceive it to be." 
 
 " But tell us about the curate," said Eric. 
 
 " Well then, about the curate," proceeded 
 Lindsay, " The church was surrounded by sol- 
 diers to secure his entrance, and some stood in- 
 side the only door which was suffered to be open- 
 ed. After I had been some time in church, the 
 Mochrums — father and two sons, the lady and 
 three daughters, and Ormistoun, entered their 
 splendid pew, all newly done up in scarlet. I 
 confess I did not think it well judged in these 
 times to choose that Babylonish colour. They 
 all recognised me most graciously. Immediate- 
 ly after them entered the curate, preceded by 
 that hard-favoured, covetous old sinner, Saun- 
 ders Gibb." 
 
84 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " And the poor curate," said Olive, " did he 
 not seem ashamed to be forced into his church 
 by soldiers ?" 
 
 " Ashamed ! not he. He walked in with the 
 most self-satisfied air imaginable, and took pos- 
 session of the precentor's desk, which to be sure 
 seemed scarcely large enough to hold him ; then 
 looking round on his congregation, shook back 
 his flowing curls with a gentle motion of his head, 
 and presented his broad, most unmeaning, but 
 smiling face, more fully to us ; then lifting a lap 
 of his surplice, he spread it over it, and knelt 
 down to offer his devotions. 
 
 " Thats awfu' !" I heard Eppy say, " makin' 
 prayers to be seen o' men ! — After this private 
 act oi public devotion, the curate rose with a stu- 
 died grace, and began to read some parts of the 
 service, from scraps of paper, for he had no book 
 of prayers, and no one knew what they ought to 
 do except himself, and a person who had accom- 
 panied him, and who sat just under the desk. 
 Every one, however, appeared willing to learn, 
 and tried to kneel, and rise as the man under the 
 desk did, and as they had been informed that 
 they ought to do all he did, they repeated every 
 thing they could catch. The man, on whom all 
 eyes we^'e fixed, seemed to exert himself the 
 more, and knelt, and rose, and caught the words 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 8^ 
 
 the curate was repeating before they were half 
 out of his mouth, and I could not help thinking- 
 there was some truth in the remark Eppy made 
 close at the back of my head, one time T stood 
 up, in the hope I was doing right, as the curate 
 himself was standing. ' It really puts me in 
 mind o' the confusion at Babel,' said Eppy. The 
 Mochrums did not seem more at ease than their 
 neighbours at this part of the service. When it 
 was finished, the person who had accompanied 
 the curate, told us what Psalm to sing, and then 
 the few people seemed rejoiced to hear of any 
 thing in which they could join. The few words 
 read by the man were however quite different 
 from those in the books of the congregation. 
 Notwithstanding this, they began to sing, and 
 during this inharmonious ceremony, the curate 
 retired, and in a short time reappeared, having 
 exchanged his white gown for a black one. 
 
 " What does that change mean, I wonder?" 
 said Eppy. " Are we a' to be condemned now?" 
 
 " Whisht,'' said Simon. 
 
 Saunders Gibb ascended the pulpit steps be- 
 fore the curate, and opened the pulpit about, 
 perhaps a foot, or more. There it stopt, and no 
 effort of Saunders's could open it one inch far- 
 ther." 
 
S6 PHILIP COLVLLE. 
 
 " Delightful !" exclaimed Eric, clapping his 
 hands, and laughing most joyously. 
 
 Torriswood put his hand softly on the boy's 
 shoulder, " Remember the day, Eric. I can hard- 
 ly approve of all this.'' 
 
 Eric was grave in a moment. " Could it be 
 wrong Sir, to prevent that hireling from preach- 
 ing in Mr. Wellwood's pulpit ?" 
 
 " Has he been prevented, Eric !" 
 
 " Did he get in, Mr. Lindsay ?" asked Eric. 
 
 " Not by the opening that was left. On seeing 
 that it was impossible to get the door any further 
 open, he presented his side, and attempted to 
 squeeze himself through, but in vain. He then 
 presented his other side, turning his back to the 
 people, and making a desperate effort. 
 
 " ' He'll stick,' said my neighbour Eppy. And 
 she seemed right, for at that moment, he had to 
 make a struggle to get back, and turning round 
 his most good-natured face, now red with exertion, 
 he cast a most pitiably hopeless look to the sol- 
 diers, who, led by young Mochrum, were now 
 entering the church. Meldrum himself had left 
 his pew, and joined the unlucky curate. A con- 
 fabulation between them ensued, in which, I sus- 
 pect, his reverence protested against being lifted 
 into the pulpit. Meldrum seemed to be persuad- 
 ing him, and at last made his point good, by him- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 87 
 
 self turning to the people, and saying, ' My 
 friends, this second wicked and disloyal attempt 
 of rebellious Covenanters to prevent an appointed 
 servant of the King from doing duty here, shall 
 not succeed.' The poor curate was then obliged 
 to submit, while some soldiers got into the pulpit, 
 and others on the outside, assisted in hoisting 
 him into his place. He looked most rueful, as he 
 stood panting for a minute or two to recover 
 breath, and to let the soldiers clank out of the 
 church, its emptiness leaving room for a resound- 
 ing echo as they retired. I am sure he was wish- 
 ing himself safe out of this refractory country. 
 
 "By this time the congregation, excepting the 
 Mochrums, had lost every appearance of respect 
 for the place they were in. The younger part of 
 the audience were in fits of laughter. Some of 
 the people had left their seats, and were stopt at 
 the door by the soldiers, who w^ould not suffer 
 them to pass till the service was over. Such was 
 the state of his hearers when the curate began his 
 sermon." 
 
 " What kind of a sermon was it ?" asked Tor- 
 riswood. 
 
 " A short, elaborate essay, full of bad Latin, 
 to prove the divine right of kings. It lasted 
 about a quarter of an hour ; and then the poor 
 curate was hoisted out again ; — the handful of 
 
88 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 people suffered to disperse, and the church closed 
 till next Sunday." 
 
 " And for the remainder of the day," said Tor- 
 riswood indignantly, " our governors would deem 
 the nation loyal and praise-worthy if they were 
 guided by ' The book of Sports.' " 
 
 " I wish you had been with us in the Glen, Mr. 
 Lindsay, " observed Colville, " you would have 
 been able to judge whether it was in the power 
 of an earthly government to dictate to intelligent 
 men on the subject of religion." 
 
 " I wish I had," replied Lindsay. " I should 
 have better spent my Sabbath." 
 
 " Torriswood, after the early dinner of those 
 times, assembled his whole household, and him- 
 self acted as their priest. In the evening he re- 
 tired with his children to give them more parti- 
 cular and individual instruction. Lindsay got 
 deeply engaged in the library, and Colville again 
 went out to enjoy the loveliness of the scenery. 
 After wandering about for some time, he found 
 himself in a path that led to a few scattered cot- 
 tages, in one of which Roger Broome, Janet his 
 wife, and their handsome boy Allan used to re- 
 side. Roger had been one of Torriswood's fo- 
 resters. Colville walked on past the cottages. 
 The doors of most of them were shut, and from 
 
 some he heard the evening Psalm. On coming 
 
 1 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 89 
 
 to Roger Broome's, he found the door a little 
 open, and on gently opening it a little further, 
 perceived Janet seated, her forehead leaning on 
 her hand, while her grand daughter, whose face 
 was turned from him, read aloud from a large 
 Bible. Colville entered, and Janet, raising her 
 head, received him with the greatest pleasure. 
 Annie set a chair for him, and herself slipped 
 out to the little garden behind the cottage. 
 
 " I must leave this to-morrow, Janet," said 
 Colville, " and 1 wished to see you again before 
 I went." 
 
 " To see me, Mr. Philip ! That's like yoursel. 
 Ye thought I was in sorrow, Mr. Philip, and that 
 ye would find out some way to relieve me. That's 
 no in human power. Sir, — and yet seeing you this 
 day, and the words ye spak to me hae dune 
 me gude. My mind has felt less labourin' 
 labourin' a' this day. There has been something 
 like rest in it." 
 
 " Janet,*' said Colville, calmly, " Where is 
 Allan ?" 
 
 " He's a soldier, Sir," replied she quickly, and 
 as if restraining her feelings. 
 
 " There are many Christian soldiers Janet." 
 
 " Ay, Sir, but no in the service he is in." 
 
 Colville now told Janet what Adam Yule had 
 mentioned to him. 
 
90 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " And did he say that Adam might say what 
 he liket to him ? Did he say that, Mr. Philip ?" 
 
 " He did indeed, and Adam is gone this very 
 evening to find him, and endeavour to discover 
 what he is about. Poor Adam seems to have 
 loved him as a son of his own." 
 
 " Blessings on him ! Blessings on him ! Ay, 
 he is of those who will show kindness to the dead 
 in regard for his children. Blessings on you, 
 dear Mr. Philip !" 
 
 " Does he come to see you Janet ?" 
 
 " No. Not for this long time. I couldna do 
 as I should hae done whan he cam. I said oure 
 muckle. He wadna bear it : but his father had 
 left a message for him, and I couldna but tell 
 him it. Ye heard o' Roger, Mr. Philip ?" asked 
 she hurriedly. 
 
 " I heard that you were now a widow, Janet," 
 replied Colville, gently. 
 
 Janet burst into tears, " Ay, Mr. Philip, a 
 widow in the most desolate meaning o' the 
 
 o 
 
 word." 
 
 " You have a grand-daughter with you, I 
 think, Janet." 
 
 " Ay, Sir, my auldest son John's lassie. She 
 likes to be wi' me poor thing." 
 
 " And have you no regard for her, Janet?*" 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 91 
 
 Janet looked surprised, "Nae regard for Annie, 
 Sir ? The bairn that leaves a' the merry young 
 things at hame, to cume and stay wi** her auld 
 broken-hearted Granny. Did ye ask that Mr. 
 Philip?" 
 
 " Has your son John many children ?"■* asked 
 Colville. 
 
 " He has nine sweet pleasant bairns." 
 
 " And do you see them often T 
 
 " Ay, very often.'' 
 
 " And John himself?" 
 
 " Oh ay, Sir, I wish I could requite John for 
 the hundredth part o' his kindness to me.'' 
 
 " And yet you say you are desolate, Janet. Is 
 that a grateful return to a kinder friend than 
 John ?" 
 
 Janet again melted into tears, " Oh Mr. Phi- 
 lip how sweetly ye reprove, and how justly." 
 
 " It is easy, Janet, for those who are not suffer- 
 ing to see the failings of those who do : yet it is 
 true, that those failings only add to their suffer- 
 ings." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Philip, and Oh, what a healin' 
 balm it is to the troubled mind when it can find 
 itsel pleased with His dispensations, ' Who doetli 
 all thinks right."' But ye manna think the worse 
 o' His way, or his people on my account, Mr. 
 Philip. Oh, I often fear that I am a dishonour 
 
92 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 to His cause. But Vm no mysel, Sir, a' body 
 hereawa kens that. But I'm no sae ill as I was. 
 I ken Roger is now whar his heart lang was afor 
 he left me." 
 
 " I think that consideration ought to take away 
 all bitterness from your grief, Janet." 
 
 " And so it does, Sir. Oh ! I'll never forget 
 the first time after he was gone, when I sat 
 watchin' his face, and the wildness and change 
 had left it, and though it was sae pale and still, 
 it was himsel. Oh, Mr. Philip, may ye never, 
 never, ken what it is to see a face ye hae been 
 used to look at as the light o' day, wi' even the 
 light o"* reason fled !'' 
 
 The wandering expression returned to Janet's 
 countenance as she said this, and the cause of her 
 extreme grief, which in her, pious, mild, and 
 quiet as he recollected her to have been, had sur- 
 prised Colville, now flashed upon his mind. He 
 also recollected Eric's wild lausrh of the evening 
 before, and looking at Janet with an expression 
 of deep compassion, he said that he now for the 
 first time understood that the cause of her grief 
 had been one of the most afflicting kind. 
 
 " Did ye no ken about Roger, Sir, or what 
 brought it on ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, Janet, or I should not have 
 been so cruel as to speak as I have done." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE, 93 
 
 " You cruel ! dear Mr. Philip, I think I am 
 better since I hae seen you than I hae been this 
 mony a day. It may be because ye hae brought 
 back thoughts o' days when a' was happy around 
 me. Just when Annie was readin', my thoughts 
 were wandering back to the time when Roger 
 and me used to be tellin' one another our thoughts 
 about you and the young gentlemen, and its won- 
 derful what a right notion he had o' young folk ; 
 and how they turn out just as he thought they 
 would — a' but Allan — there he was wrang." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Colville, " he may be a 
 blessing to you yet." 
 
 Janet shook her head, " He has acted against 
 light and counsel, and brought his father wdth 
 sorrow to the grave." 
 
 Did he enlist contrary to his father's wishes ?" 
 
 " I miiun tell ye how it was, Mr. Philip ; ye 
 ken. Sir, there were many ways tried lang afore 
 ye left the country to entice the young men to 
 list; for the prelates saw that as long as the 
 whole nation were against them, they, could ne- 
 ver get themsel's settled down upon the folk ; so 
 they set the rulers to hire awa the flower o' every 
 family to be soldiers ; and for that purpose they 
 began their weapon-shaws, as they ca'ed them, 
 and sic ither fulery that ensnares the natural 
 heart; and when the pride o' ony family was 
 
94 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ta'en awa, it brake the spirit o' the rest, and put 
 them frae the thought o' rising to fight against 
 their ain flesh and bluid. Allan was keepit out 
 o' the way o' the weapon-shaws, and ither non- 
 sense, till about twa years ago when thae wild 
 young Mochrums got about him, and some ither 
 young lads, and got them awa to try their skill 
 at thae shaws ; and ye ken, Sir, what a gallant 
 boy Allan was, sae active, and sae light o' foot, 
 and sae dauntless. He wan their prizes ; and 
 they flattered him, and made sae muckle o' him, 
 that he grew wearied like o' hame, and his father 
 was vexed wi' him, and though Allan was oure 
 gude to do just what he kent wad break our 
 hearts, yet when his father changed his way to 
 him, he lookit condemned like, and didna speak, 
 and was nae mair the blythe joyful lad he had 
 been afore. At last the Mochrums found out 
 the cause that Allan wadna list; and they watch- 
 ed his father till they found out something to say 
 against him, " concerning the law of his God ;" 
 for weel they kent they wad find nae ither cause 
 to accuse him. I maun tell ye, Mr. Philip, that 
 Roger could never think Mr. Wellwood right in 
 accepting the indulgence, so he didna gang to 
 hear him in the kirk, but followed Mr. War- 
 dour, the minister of Eldershaws ; and at last 
 the Mochrums proved that he had been hearin' 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 95 
 
 him in the fields, and that he had hidden him one 
 night in his house. For this Roger was put like 
 ony thief or murderer into the jail at Jedburgh, 
 and keepit there, and no let see a friend he had 
 for six weeks. At last that auld Mochrum him- 
 sel' cam here, and afore my very face, told Allan, 
 that if he wad list in his son's company, he would 
 get Roger set free. I tel'd him, that I was sure 
 Roger wad suffer mair in soul to hear that Allan 
 had joined the enemies o' the right cause, than 
 they could make him suffer in body, and that 
 they had power only over that. When the auld 
 apostate heard me say sae, he gaed out, but made 
 a sign to Allan to gang after him. I held Allan, 
 and he staid then, but when I thought I had 
 gotten his promise, and after he said he kent his 
 father would rather die in jail than that he should 
 list, after a he gaed amang them, and they per- 
 suaded him, and the first word I heard o't was, 
 when Roofer was brought back to his ain house ; 
 
 never, never mair to be himsel' again. They 
 had told him the price o' his liberty, and, wasted 
 and worn out in captivity, and langin' to see 
 nane sae muckle as this idol, the tidings were 
 heavier than he could bear, and never again did 
 
 1 see his face, the face o' Roger Broome, till it 
 was cauld in death. After a month or twa he 
 took to wanderin' about the country, and it was 
 
96 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 aye seekin' for Allan ; and if he met wi' ony o' 
 the Mochrums, he wad gie sic a laugh, as wad 
 hae made them gang miles about rather than 
 meet him ; and my waesome wark was to watch 
 his wanderings, and sometimes for a minute or 
 twa I could think he was himsel', but then a' 
 was dark again, till just afore the last, when he 
 said, ' Tell Allan, I charge him to meet me at 
 His right hand on that day He comes to judge,' 
 and then he was wandering again, till he was at 
 peace." 
 
 " Poor Allan!" said Colville ; " He could 
 not foresee such fatal consequences from what he 
 did. We must try to do something for him." 
 
 " Ye think he wasna sae bad. Sir," said Janet, 
 gratified to hear Allan spoken kindly of. 
 
 " No, indeed, Janet ; I think he acted very 
 excusably." " I forgot to tell you, too. Sir, that 
 they had said Roger was to be sent to the planta- 
 tions, and mony a ane that was in the jail at 
 the time was condemned to that ; and it was weel 
 kent, that them that had been sent afore had a' 
 perished in the useless ships they were embarked 
 in." 
 
 Colville again spoke kindly of Allan. " I dare 
 say he has suffered amidst all his apparent care- 
 lessness," said he, " it is not easy to lay a well- 
 informed conscience asleep." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 97 
 
 "Ay, Sir, he has suffered; but I canna tell 
 that his conscience has been awake — that nane 
 kens but himsel' in this world, I am maist sure ; 
 but he has suffered whar he least lookit for it, 
 and I believe he now does a' he can baith to for- 
 get what he has lost in this world, and may fear 
 in anither. Do ye mind the bit sweet orphan 
 lassie, Beattie Fairley, Mr. Philip, that lived wi' 
 her uncle at Thorny-dykes, the auld farmer. 
 Robert Fairley ?" 
 
 " Yes, I remember her perfectly. She was to 
 heir Robert's property; and he was so proud ol" 
 her, he always made out before one had spoke to 
 him five minutes, to tell something about his " bit 
 niece, Beattie." ^ 
 
 " Ay, Ay, Mr. Philip, just that. Weel, but 
 Beattie deserved it a', for sic anither young thing 
 I never saw, — sae duce and thoughtful and as 
 she grew up sae bonny, and sic a winning way, 
 and then sae clever at learnin' any thing. When 
 the Minister cam to catechise the young folk, 
 nane answered amans the lasses like Beattie 
 Fairley, and amang the laddies, Mr. Philip, nane 
 answered like my poor lost Allan, and a' body 
 said they were made for ane anither. But wi' 
 Beattie it was a' heart work, and wi' poor Allan 
 only head learning. Beattie couldna' ken that. 
 
98 . PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 and she gied her young heart to Allan, and as a' 
 thhig had aye prospered wi' him, and his liking 
 had been aye returned double by a' body else, 
 he little thought o' Beattie's forsaking him ; but 
 the day after he had enlisted, she let him ken 
 that he and Beattie Fairley would meet no more 
 but as strangers, — and a' his fleechin', and a' his 
 anger, and a' his despair, moved her not; and 
 though she grew like a ghaist, she never changed 
 her purpose. She watched her uncle on his death- 
 bed, and then left this part, and gaed to the west 
 country to a friend there. She cam and sav/ me 
 afore she left the place, and it was a sair parting 
 Mr. Philip, for I doated on the lassie, and she 
 regarded me wi' that kind o' moving affection that 
 a motherless bairn taks for ane she can look to 
 as a mother. But I could only strengthen her in 
 doin' right ; and that's ane o' the causes o"* 
 Allan's no comin' to see me ; for he says ae word 
 frae me wou'd hae made Beattie forgie him." 
 
 Colville again expressed his sympathy for poor 
 Allan, and after some further kind inquiries 
 respecting various other matters, left the cottage, 
 Janet blessing him, and assuring him that she 
 was a different creature since she had seen him. 
 
 Colville, having sent other attendants forward 
 to Edinburgh, now determined to leave Adam 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 99 
 
 Yule to manage what he had planned respecting 
 Allan, while he should proceed to fulfil other 
 duties entrusted to him. 
 
 As all the party were to proceed next day to 
 Edinburgh, Colville found, on his returning to 
 the house, that in prospect of this intended 
 journey, Tor ris wood was still engaged with his 
 family. When again all were assembled to wor- 
 ship together before retiring to rest, an expression 
 of sorrow was on every countenance ; and Torris- 
 wood, in the tone of his voice — in the solemnity 
 with which he warned and advised, and in the 
 warm kindness of his expressions, seemed to be 
 taking a long farewell of his household, and his 
 home. 
 
100 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was late on the following day when our party 
 came within sight of Edinburgh. The sun was 
 low in the sky, and its setting promised to be 
 glorious. As it continued to descend amongst 
 clouds brightly illumined by its parting beams, 
 its orlowino- light reddened the rocks on Arthur's 
 Seat, and the bold front of Salisbury Crags, 
 while the town, dark and irregular, lay beneath, 
 or on some of its highest spires and buildings, 
 still caught the bright departing rays. The 
 Castle was between our travellers and its setting 
 splendour, and rose darkly on its massy rocks, 
 with its towers and turrets marked in giant out- 
 line against the glowing sky. The evening was 
 calm and soft, and the people in the neighbour- 
 hood of the town seemed to enjoy its beauty. — 
 They were sauntering about the fields, or stand- 
 ing in cheerful groups near their houses. On ap- 
 proaching the city w^all, however, there were evi- 
 dent marks of the tyranny and jealousy* of the 
 
PHILIP COL-VILLE. 101 
 
 times. The gate at which our party entered was 
 strongly guarded. This entrance was called St. 
 Mary Wynd Port, and here our travellers were 
 required to give their names — the part of the 
 town to which they were bound — and the very 
 house in which they intended to lodge. Colville 
 looked at Torriswood with surprise when such 
 demands were made ; but Torriswood in the full- 
 est manner complied with them all, repressing 
 Colville's evident disposition to express his dis- 
 pleasure, by saying aside to him, " Do not ex- 
 cite observation here." 
 
 Colville obeyed ; and our party were permitted 
 to proceed. They passed on, and through ano- 
 ther Port, which divided the High street from the 
 Canongate, and were soon at the house of the 
 Lady Dalcluden, Torriswood's sister. This lady, 
 the widow of Leslie of Dalcluden, now resided in 
 Edinburgh for the education of her children. 
 Like her brother, she had dared to maintain her 
 religious principles in the face of an host of proud 
 and scornful relations, both of her own family 
 and of her husband's, who had embraced the opi- 
 nions of the prevailing party. Continually ex- 
 posed to the displeasure, or contempt, or advice, 
 of those who considered themselves entitled to 
 interfere, she had steadily continued to pursue 
 the path approved by her conscience, and having 
 
10^ PHILiP COLVILLE. 
 
 been left, together with Torriswood, sole guard- 
 ians to her children, she had educated them in 
 the very strictest principles of the Covenanters, 
 It was impossible to do so, without being exposed 
 to the displeasure and persecution of the opposite 
 party, and the Lady Dalcluden had not escaped. 
 When sheltered by her powerful relatives, their 
 reproaches, and animadversions on the ruin she 
 was bringing on her family, were themselves a 
 bitter species of persecution. Still she had re- 
 mained firm to her principles, though her cha- 
 racter had gradually acquired an austerity not 
 natural to her, but produced by the continual re- 
 pression of those softer feelings which might 
 have led her to yield, and the constant recurrence 
 of those with which it was necessary to meet con- 
 tempt and opposition with firmness. With Tor- 
 riswood and his family, she could freely indulge 
 her kinder feelings, and on their arrival, she received 
 them with the most overflowing affection. Colville 
 was included in this warm reception, and it was 
 soon settled, that while he remained at Edinburgh, 
 it would be unkind in him to seek another home. 
 Colville was easily persuaded. He could will- 
 ingly have consented to spend his life in the society 
 then in Lady Dalcluden's house. Torriswood, 
 however, had scarcely time to make some inqui- 
 ries respecting those subjects most interesting to 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 103 
 
 his sister and himself, before the hour arrived at 
 which he and Colville had promised to meet Lind- 
 say. 
 
 " How long must you remain with Mr. Lind- 
 say?" asked Florence, as Colville still lingered 
 near her, while Mrs. Leslie detained her father. 
 " I know not," replied Colville, " I shall 
 come away the moment I can make my escape." 
 " You will not leave my father ?" 
 " He may have business with Mr. Lindsay 
 at which my presence may rather be an intru- 
 sion." 
 
 " Oh no. He expects no private conversation 
 with him this evening. You are to meet other 
 gentlemen, friends to our cause. I wish you 
 would make me a promise, Colville." 
 
 " I will, Florence. Whatever you ask, I pro- 
 mise to fulfil if I possibly can." 
 
 " It is this, Colville — not to say a word of my 
 father going to London, until you have proposed 
 it to the other gentlemen you named. 
 
 " I promise, dear Florence. I shall oppose his 
 going if it is proposed ; yet I believe firmly, your 
 fears are groundless on that point." 
 
 " Perhaps so — but — you will laugh at me, 
 Colville — but I had, before you came, a strange, — 
 a horrid dream on that subject." 
 
 Colville did smile. " A dream, Florence ?" 
 
104 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Yes, a dream. You laugh, Colville, but who 
 sends dreams ?" 
 
 "A busy imagination," replied Colville. "When 
 awake, it conjures up vivid and painful images, 
 and when reason sleeps, those are still too powerful 
 to be at rest, and assume forms which reason would 
 not allow were it awake." 
 
 "Is that the theory of dreams taught at Utrecht?" 
 asked Florence smiling. 
 
 " If it was, should you believe it just ?" 
 
 " No; for then reason would only need to 
 wake to bring all to peace again." 
 
 "And it would be so, Florence, if superstition, — 
 I mean by that, a belief in supernatural interfer- 
 ence, where we have no good grounds for such 
 belief, did not prevent us yielding to the dictates 
 of reason." - 
 
 " So then you think it mere superstition to be- 
 lieve in dreams." 
 
 " I should think it so in myself" 
 
 " We must really go, Colville," said Torris- 
 wood. 
 
 " Remember your promise," said Florence, 
 emphatically to Colville. 
 
 " I assuredly will, and may I entreat that you 
 will endeavour to bring pleasant subjects before 
 your imagination during this evening, and watch 
 the event in your dreams ?" 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 105 
 
 " I will endeavour."" 
 
 A numerous party of gentlemen were assem- 
 bled at Lindsay's, when Torriswood and Colville 
 arrived there, and were, on their entrance, ear- 
 nestly engaged in conversation ; some standing, 
 others seated near a table, on which lay. a long 
 paper, over which one of the party bent, appa- 
 rently absorbed in deep and painful thought. 
 Torriswood was w^armly welcomed by all ; and 
 Colville, on being introduced by him, was imme- 
 diately recognised by some of the elder gentle- 
 men, as the son of an esteemed and lamented 
 friend ; and by several of the younger, as an ac- 
 quaintance whom they remembered. Amongst 
 the latter number, the young Rowallan seemed 
 particularly gratified in the renewal of the ac- 
 quaintance. He and Colville had been compa- 
 nions as boys. The elder Rowallan was also 
 present, and twelve or fourteen other gentlemen. 
 The elder Rowallan drew Torriswood aside, and 
 in a low tone of voice informed him of the na- 
 ture of the conversation in which he and his 
 friends had been engaged, and into which several 
 of the other gentlemen were again entering. Tor- 
 riswood's countenance darkened as Rowallan 
 spoke, and, after listening for a time, he ap- 
 proached the table where the same person still 
 sat in gloomy thought over the scroll which lay 
 before him. Torriswood stooped over it. 
 
106 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " I think even you, Torriswood, will be con- 
 vinced at last that we must defend ourselves with 
 other weapons than petitions and declarations," 
 said the gloomy stranger, pushing the scroll to- 
 wards him. 
 
 Torriswood made no answer, but began to 
 read. 
 
 " Who is that gloomy looking person ?" asked 
 Colville, aside, as he stood a little apart with 
 young Rowallan. 
 
 " Hackstoun of Rathillet," replied Rowallan. 
 " He is an advocate for open resistance to the 
 cruel laws now in force against the people." 
 
 " And what is the purport of that paper ?" 
 asked Colville. " It seems to darken every brow 
 that bends over it," added he, as he looked at 
 Torriswood, whose countenance, as he read, be- 
 trayed feelings of indignation. 
 
 " It is the copy of a proclamation about to 
 be issued by the Council, making the military 
 the judges and executors of the laws against 
 our party," replied young Rowallan ; " the 
 Council have received the king's letter approving 
 of it." 
 
 Rathillet watched Torriswood's countenance as 
 he read the scroll. Rowallan also stood near, 
 waiting in thoughtful mood till he had perused 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 107 
 
 " Horrible !" exclaimed Torriswood, on finish- 
 ing the paper. " This must be a prelude to even 
 greater enormities than have yet been committed. 
 Do you think the proclamation will be issued in 
 this foi'm, Lindsay ?'** 
 
 " I believe exactly in those words," replied 
 Lindsay, " and the Primate is now in Edinburgh 
 to hasten the tardy Council in issuing it." 
 
 " And they will give up the people like sheep 
 to the power of wolves, without one of those who 
 ought to do it risking a hair in their defence," 
 observed Rathillet, indignantly. 
 
 Colville approached nearer to Rathillet ; 
 " What do you think ought to be done. Sir ?" 
 
 Rathillet eyed him for a moment, " What 
 v;o\\\diyou do, Arrondale, if you saw soldiers let 
 loose upon your house, — to drag your wife to pri- 
 son for hearing the gospel preached, — torture 
 your little ones to make them betray their pa- 
 rents, — and do yet more horrible things before 
 your eyes ? Would you stand a submissive wit- 
 ness because you had once sworn allegiance to 
 a prince, supposing he would govern according 
 to the laws, who has broken faith with your coun- 
 try — tramples on her laws — massacres her people, 
 — and delegates his authority to corrupt ministers, 
 and perjured priests, while he riots in debauch, 
 and knows not, — cares not, were all Scotland 
 steeped in blood !" 
 
108 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Rathillet would have you at once become a 
 rebel, Arrondale," said the elder Rowallan ; 
 " he would have us, separated as we are, — scat- 
 tered all over the country, — watched and harass- 
 ed, — spoiled of our fortunes, and destitute of re- 
 sources, commence a civil war, in which we could 
 have no rational prospect of success ; and by 
 which we should justify our enemies in every ca- 
 lumny they have repeated against us ; and prove 
 that we have been struggling, — not for liberty of 
 conscience, but for civil power." 
 
 " And Rowallan will teach you these submis- 
 sive doctrines, Arrondale, which have brought 
 Scotland to what it is," rejoined Rathillet; " but 
 let it be so ; the people will soon find leaders 
 among themselves, and leave us to bear the 
 blame, to suffer and to die ignobly, as we well 
 deserve." 
 
 " And sooner would I die a thousand deaths 
 than be a leader in a civil war !" exclaimed Row- 
 allan. 
 
 '* And when a house is divided against itself, 
 that house must fall," said Torriswood, looking 
 with concern at the haughty and angry counte- 
 nances of his two friends. 
 
 " Tell us then, Torriswood, what we are to 
 tutor ourselves to submit to next?" asked , Ra- 
 thillet, attempting to be calm. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 109 
 
 " To the will of God, RathiUet;' 
 
 " And which of us can pretend to decide what 
 that will is ?'' demanded Rathillet. 
 
 " It does not appear to me so difficult to decide, 
 Rathillet," replied Torriswood, calmly. " We 
 all know, that the party ready for open rebellion 
 in this country, who possess any influence, are 
 hopelessly small '' 
 
 " Too surely I know it," interrupted Rathillet 
 violently. " Men have been bewildered and be- 
 trayed by the tame reasonings of those who ought 
 to have employed their influence to deliver, not 
 to involve their country, by their unmanly sub- 
 missions, deeper and deeper, and more and more 
 hopelessly under the yoke of tyranny." 
 
 " Hear me,'' Rathillet, said Torriswood, still 
 calmly, though Rathillet's reproaches were parti- 
 cularly pointed at him : " We are all attempting 
 to act to our consciences. It may not be long, 
 Rathillet, before some of us are called to our last 
 account. We have all suffered in this cause ; but, 
 as yet, we have been the cause of no suffering to 
 others. Think you, Rathillet, we shall approach 
 that bar the less willingly on that account ?*" 
 
 Rathillet turned gloomily away. — " So have 
 you argued, Torriswood, for the last ten years, 
 and matters have become everv day worse with 
 
no PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 those who have been guided by you," said he, and 
 then joined the other gentlemen, who were now 
 discussing the state of feeling in England. 
 
 " Depend upon it, if we only can have patience 
 a little longer," said Lindsay earnestly, " govern- 
 ment will be forced, by the voice of the people of 
 England, joined to that of Scotland, to do us jus- 
 tice." 
 
 " Patience !" repeated Rathillet ironically. 
 
 " There is already great opposition made in 
 the House of Peers to Lauderdale's administra- 
 tion in Scotland," continued Lindsay. " One 
 Peer, in a recent debate on the subject, declared, 
 ' That there could be no reason of state found out 
 for what he and his coadjutors had done; but 
 that they had designed to promote a rebellion at 
 any rate, which, as they managed it, was only pre- 
 vented by the miraculous hand of God.' He add- 
 ed, ' My Lords, I am forced to speak this the 
 plainer, because till the pressure be fully and 
 clearly taken off from Scotland, it is not possible 
 for me, or any thinking man, to believe that good 
 is meant us here.' " 
 
 " I trust the miraculous hand of God will still 
 prevent a rebellion," observed Rowallan, glancing 
 at Rathillet. 
 
 " A miracle is not needed to prevent it, Row- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. Ill 
 
 allan," said Rathillet sarcastically ; " unless, in- 
 deed, the miracle is, that Scotchmen can be 
 trampled on so tamely." 
 
 Torriswood again saw the rising storm gather- 
 ing on Rathillet's brow, and, to divert it, called 
 on Colville to mention the wishes of those Eng- 
 lishmen with whom he had communicated respect- 
 ing Scotland. Colville, when he began to do so, 
 had his promise to Florence so strongly present 
 to his mind, that, during a long and sometimes 
 warm conversation which followed, he cautiously 
 avoided any allusion to the subject of her fears. 
 Torriswood himself, however, declared his deter- 
 mination, should no other gentleman offer, to pro- 
 ceed immediately to London, and urged his 
 friends, calmly and dispassionately, to prepare 
 their several opinions respecting the various sub- 
 jects they had been discussing. He then pro- 
 posed another meeting before his departure. 
 
 Colville was distressed, and eloquently pleaded 
 many reasons against Torriswood's leaving Scot- 
 land at a crisis so important; but in vain. Inch- 
 carran, the childless gentleman on whom Flo- 
 rence had fixed as the most proper person to un- 
 dertake the mission, was present; but though he 
 might have stated his views forcibly in writing, 
 as Colville understood him to have done, he was 
 no suitable envoy on such a mission. He was a 
 
112 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 little elderly shy man, with a countenance express- 
 ing thought and acuteness, when only a silent 
 listener, but when attempting to express his sen- 
 timents, awkward, embarrassed, and ineloquent to 
 the last degree. He shrunk from Colville's pro- 
 posal that he should undertake the mission, de- 
 claring himself utterly incompetent to fulfil it. 
 Rowalian, to whom Colville also applied, had 
 only been released from prison a few days before, 
 on giving his bond to pay an immense fine. 
 
 "I know not how, or where, to raise the money," 
 said Rowalian, "but I do not think myself at liberty 
 to leave the country while the business is unsettled. 
 Lord Cardross, another of those mentioned, was 
 in jail for attending field conventicles, the same 
 crime for which Rowalian had also been imprison- 
 ed. The Balfours had joined Rathillet in his opi- 
 nion, that allegiance was no longer due to the 
 Government : — and before the party broke up, 
 it was decided by all, .that Torriswood was the 
 person most fitted to perform the mission, not 
 only from present circumstances, but from his 
 command of temper, from his knowledge of bu- 
 siness, from the confidence which all his own 
 party reposed in him, and from the openness and 
 integrity of his whole conduct; which had hither- 
 to put it out of the power of his many enemies 
 among the ruling party, to attach the slightest 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 113 
 
 blame to him, except in the one point of non- 
 conformity in religion. All his friends, however, 
 seemed fully aware of the danger to which such 
 a mission exposed him ; and even Rathillet's man- 
 ner was softened into kindness before they 
 ]:)arted. 
 
 It was late when the party separated; and CoU 
 ville, returning in saddened mood, was not sorry 
 to find that all the family, excepting the Lady 
 Dalcluden herself, had retired to rest, and that 
 he w^ould not on that night be obliged to inform 
 Florence of his ineffectual attempts to fulfil her 
 wishes. 
 
114 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The arrangements in the Lady Dalcluden's fa- 
 mily were conducted in the most strict subser- 
 viency to her religious principles. From the 
 early hour at which she thought it right that the 
 business of the day should begin with every mem- 
 ber of her family, till the hour they retired to 
 rest, she had so managed that nothing inconsist- 
 ent with those principles should be permitted. 
 It was the fashion of the times to affect show and 
 splendour in decorations, furniture, equipages, 
 and attendants, to an excess equalled perhaps only 
 by the bad taste with which it was still mingled 
 with the remains of former and more barbarous 
 times. In none of this show and splendour did 
 the Lady Dalcluden indulge. An air of sobriety 
 and gravity reigned in every department of her 
 establishment, animate and inanimate, from the 
 garret to the kitchen, and from the old steward 
 down to the sandy-haired stable boy, whose edu- 
 cation and morals were as narrowly looked after 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 115 
 
 as those of her own sons ; and who as regularly 
 every day got by heart two questions in the As- 
 sembly's Catechism, as the young gentlemen did 
 a portion of the Greek Testament. Mrs. Les- 
 lie's two eldest sons had been sent to finish their 
 studies at Leyden. Two younger sons and two 
 girls were still under her own eye. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock in the morning, two 
 hours after the family had been at their different 
 occupations — and after Torriswood had taken 
 the place of the young chaplain to lead the w^or- 
 ship of his sister's family, that Colville, seated 
 next Florence at the breakfast table, first found 
 himself obliged to answer her respecting what 
 had passed the night before. 
 
 " Did you remember your promise ?" asked 
 she. 
 
 " I did. And now may I ask, did you remem- 
 ber yours ?" 
 
 '' I did so far. My aunt and I had some con- 
 versation, in which I consulted her on the sub- 
 ject of dreams. Her opinions are the same as 
 yours, and she gave me the same advice you had 
 done, then herself led me to speak on many 
 agreeable subjects." 
 
 " And what was the result ? Did you dream 
 at all?" 
 
116 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Oh yes, I dreamt. Olive and I have never 
 for months past escaped unpleasant dreams ; but 
 I confess they were mingled with some pleasing 
 images last night." 
 
 " Then will you now believe my theory cor- 
 rect ?" 
 
 " Not quite yet. — I had seen so many things 
 
 yesterday, — Edinburgh, with its dark old Castle, 
 and surrounding hills, glowing in the setting- 
 sun, filled my imagination, — and still whatever I 
 dreamt of, they formed a part of my dream." 
 
 " How strongly that proves my theory to be 
 just," observed Colville, smihng. 
 
 " Well perhaps it may, but after you left us 
 last night, we had visitors who supplied me with 
 materials for the darker parts of my dream." 
 
 " Visitors ? Who were they ?" 
 
 " My uncle and aunt Osborne, and my cousins 
 George and Mary — all as ftdl of displeasure at us 
 as ever, and yet determined to dictate to us in 
 every point. How strangely people imagine that 
 worldly prosperity, however attained, ought to 
 entitle them to be considered wiser than those on 
 whom the world frowns, for whatever holy or 
 noble cause !" 
 
 " True indeed, and they really do possess more 
 of this world's wisdom. Your cousin George 
 has, I believe, just returned from his travels?" 
 
 o 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 117 
 
 " Yes — at least about three months ago, which 
 three months he has spent in London, and a good 
 deal about court, to the great delight of Aunt 
 Osborne. You never saw any thing more ridi- 
 culous than George has become in his manners 
 and appearance," continued Florence, laughing. 
 
 " But w^hat supplied materials for the dark 
 parts of your dreams?" asked Colville. 
 
 '' Their open disapprobation of my father," 
 replied Florence. " I suffered it as long as I 
 could, but at last rose to leave the room, and 
 Eric was following me, when my uncle command- 
 ed us to stop, in a voice of such authority that I 
 did stop short; Eric, however, had more pre- 
 sence of mind, and taking my hand he put it 
 within his arm, as if he had been my eldest bro- 
 ther Hugh, and, beckoning to Olive to go with 
 us, he said, with one of my father's own looks, 
 ' No authority. Sir, shall oblige us to listen to 
 such opinions respecting the person on eartli 
 whom we most love and venerate.' We then left 
 the room, and did not return till my cousin came 
 to promise, in my uncle's name, that no more 
 should be said to give us pain." 
 
 While Florence thus talked with Colville, her 
 father w^as conversing in a low tone of voice with 
 his sister, and the younger part of the family, 
 who were allowed to be longer present than 
 
118 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 usual, on account of their visitors, were, notwith- 
 standing the frequent mild admonitions of the 
 young chaplain, becoming rather loud and lo- 
 quacious in their mirth, in which Olive joined 
 apparently with her whole heart. Florence had 
 spoken in a low tone of voice to Colville, till the 
 louder voices of the younger party had made her 
 raise hers to be heard, and her last words had 
 caught her father's ear. 
 
 " What uncle are you talking of, Florence ?" 
 asked he. 
 
 Florence reddened, " My uncle Osborne." 
 " When did you receive the message from him 
 you speak of?" 
 
 " Last night. Sir." 
 
 " Last night ! Has he discovered that I am 
 in Edinburgh ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear Father. Some of his people 
 had seen our arrival, and informed him of it." 
 " And did any one mention where I was ?" 
 " No one," replied his sister. *' I merely said 
 you had an engagement you were obliged to keep. 
 I saw your children immediately took the hint 
 from me, and though both Walter and his wife 
 did all they could to discover where you were, 
 they did not make it out. I was, however, oblig- 
 ed to promise for you, and for us all, that we 
 should spend this evening at his house." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 119 
 
 " That promise provided many dark images 
 for my dreams,'' said Florence to Colville, as 
 her father and aunt again entered into conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " May I ask why so ?" 
 
 " You are most particularly invited to accom- 
 pany us, replied Florence. Will you come and 
 judge whether what we meet with there is not 
 calculated to sadden us all ? Yet there is no ne- 
 cessity for your going, Colville, and you would 
 not spend your time agreeably in my uncle's 
 house," added she. 
 
 " I must spend my time agreeably wherever so 
 many of my friends are," answered Colville ; and 
 Florence's artless smile of pleasure on hearing 
 his reply, conveyed to him the enchanting assur- 
 ance that his presence would not be unwelcome 
 to her. 
 
 It was the habitual custom in the Lady Dal- 
 cluden's family, to have a portion of Scripture 
 read at the close of every meal, followed by a short 
 invocation of blessing on the family, while pursu- 
 ing their different occupations apart from each 
 other. In this the lady conceived she was fol- 
 lowing the inspired direction, " Ye shall lay up 
 these my words in your heart — and ye shall 
 teach them your children — speaking of them 
 when thou sittest in the house, and when thou 
 
120 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 walkest by the way, when thou liest down, and 
 when thou risest up," &c. This was now per- 
 formed in a* solemn and feeling manner by the 
 chaplain, a slight delicate looking youth, whose 
 jiiild grave manners seemed to inspire more de- 
 ference in his light-hearted pupils than could 
 have been expected in a preceptor so young. 
 When this service was concluded, the party se- 
 parated ; Torriswood accompanied by Colville, 
 to visit some of his dearest friends then confined 
 in the jails of the city, and the others to their 
 different occupations. 
 
 It had been ajrreed that if Torriswood should 
 be detained by his friends, Mrs. Leslie should, in 
 the evening, accompany her nieces to Sir Walter 
 Osborne's, where Torriswood and Colville should 
 join them. 
 
 The day passed on, and the evening approach- 
 ed, and Torriswood did not return. 
 
 It was necessary to make some preparation for 
 the unpleasant visit. " My sister-in-lav/ assured 
 me we should only meet relatives," said Mrs. 
 Leslie, but no evening now passes in Walter's 
 house without a revel. Besides, she takes pleasure 
 in thus deceiving those of our sober habits. She 
 wishes to overpower us with the glare and dazzle 
 of what she herself has found irresistible. But 
 remember, my dear girls, the reality of things. 
 
PHILIP COLVLILE. 121 
 
 Remember you are the daughters of Walter's 
 elder brother ; and though now regarded perhaps 
 as the children of a man hastening to ruin, and 
 honoured by the countenance of this more pros- 
 perous brother; yet remember that the judgment 
 of this world is in exact opposition to the judg- 
 ment of Him for whom your father has sacrific- 
 ed this world's favour." 
 
 Florence shrunk from the idea of a revel. 
 
 " You know, my dear aunt, my father disap- 
 proves of such follies, quite as much as you 
 do; and at my uncle's we shall only meet the 
 enemies of our cause. I have no spirits for such 
 scenes at present," added she, her eyes filling 
 with tears : " The gaiety of my young cousins 
 even here last ni^jht made me sad. How can we 
 join in revels with those who have forced my 
 mother into exile — have made Mr. Wellwood a 
 wanderer without a house to shelter him, — and 
 who fill the prisons with our dearest friends !" 
 
 " What can we do, my dear ? we have pro- 
 mised, and your father expects to meet us there. 
 You know also that it has ever been your fa- 
 ther's wish to keep on as good terms, as he in 
 conscience could, with those relations who have 
 been tempted from the straight and narrow way, 
 in the hope that times may change, and they may 
 
 G 
 
122 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 then regard him as a friend ready to welcome 
 their return to it." 
 
 Florence could object no further, and went, 
 sad at heart, to her toilet. 
 
 In nothing were the two parties into which the 
 country was divided more opposite at those times 
 than in dress. The Lady Dalcluden and her 
 nieces conformed entirely to the prevailing opi- 
 nion of the party to which they belonged on this 
 point. All embroidery and ornaments were 
 avoided, and though in materials their dress was 
 suited to their rank, in colours and in modesty, 
 it was such as they conceived suitable to be worn 
 by " women professing godliness." The toilet, 
 therefore, was soon finished, thus obeying ano- 
 ther precept " to redeem the time." 
 
 With depressed spirits our party at last set 
 out to join a revel. 
 
 On arriving at Sir Walter Osborne's, the bustle 
 in the court confirmed the truth of Mrs. Leslie's 
 forebodings. Just on their entering it, a running 
 footman passed her coach, calling out in an inso- 
 lent tone of voice, " the Archbishop." This 
 announcement, which was intended to make her 
 servants give place, had the directly contrary 
 effect. Her coachman instantly pushed on, and 
 was first at the house, and then her footman in 
 a leisurely manner opened the coach door, and 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 123 
 
 carefully and composedly let down the steps, 
 while the menials in the court vociferated, vvith 
 looks of impatience and loud voices, " the Arch- 
 bishop's coach ;" " Make way for the Arch- 
 bishop." Mrs. Leslie^s servant was not however 
 to be moved in the smallest degree from his 
 steady composure, and the coachman sat firm, 
 till his fellow had in a deliberate manner again 
 put up the steps, and carefully closed the door. 
 
 " This is a studied plan, I perceive," said the 
 Lady Dalcluden aside to Florence, on entering 
 the hall, "but my brother will know how to meet 
 it ; and do you, my dear, recollect that you are 
 his daughter." 
 
 Florence did not, at this moment, require to 
 be reminded of any thing to increase her indig- 
 nant feelings. The very idea of the Archbishop 
 was associated in her mind with the unhappi- 
 ness and sufferings of all she held most dear on 
 earth. 
 
 " Ought ice to remain where Sharpe is ?" asked 
 she, drawing back from the door of the apart- 
 ment now thrown open for their entrance. 
 
 " We must, my love. Your father must find 
 some friends here." This was enough. 
 
 The Lady Dalcluden now entered the large 
 apartment in which the family and many others 
 were assembled, with an air even more than usu- 
 
124 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ally reserved and dignified : and Florence's lovely 
 head, raised so as to be even thrown a little back, 
 gave her dark eyes the appearance of looking 
 down upon whatever they rested on. Olive 
 shrunk, blushing from the observation their en- 
 trance immediately excited. The Osbornes ap- 
 proached to welcome our party with profuse ex- 
 pressions of kindness, which were received very 
 coldly by Lady Dalcluden. 
 
 " I thought we were only to meet relations, 
 Walter." 
 
 " Only relations, and a very few friends, I as- 
 sure you," replied her brother. 
 
 " Friends /" repeated Mrs. Leslie. " I think 
 you might have spared us the pleasure of meet- 
 ing some friends of yours who will soon be here. 
 Torriswood will find it difficult, before so many 
 witnesses, to express his gratitude for the many 
 favours they have bestowed on him." 
 
 " We wish to do away those unhappy differ- 
 ences," said Lady Osborne. " The Archbishop 
 has actually expressed his anxiety to be on ami- 
 cable terms with your brother. It is not Christ- 
 ian, sister, to keep up those feuds about trifles." 
 
 " Trifles ! Madam," repeated Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " I must indeed call them trifles, my dear sis- 
 ter," said Lady Osborne. " Surely it would be 
 more Christian," added she, putting on one of 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 125 
 
 her most winning expressions, as she turned as if 
 to appeal to Florence, " surely it would be more 
 Christian to accommodate ourselves a little to 
 each other's notions, and spend our time sociably 
 and happily, than to be so gloomily determined 
 to resist every attempt at reconciliation." 
 
 Florence felt bewildered by this speech, which 
 was particularly addressed to her, but was saved 
 making any reply by the entrance of the Archbi- 
 shop, accompanied by his daughter. Lady Os- 
 borne hurried to meet them, and expressed her 
 pleasure at seeing them in language of the most 
 fulsome flattery. 
 
 " I scarcely hoped your Grace could have be- 
 stowed your precious time on us. I know the 
 motive which has induced you. I do trust your 
 Grace's most Christian spirit will be imitated by 
 us all. Allow me to introduce my two nieces to 
 your Grace. The Lady Dalcluden is, I believe, 
 not unknown to your Grace." The Archbishop 
 smilingly approached, holding out his hand to 
 Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " Nothing gives me so much pleasure," said 
 he, " as to meet the friends of my younger years. 
 I once presumed to include Mrs. Leslie amongst 
 that number, and feel peculiarly happy in having 
 those times brought back to my remembrance." 
 
126 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie looked him full in the face, and 
 then said in a calm, but severe tone of voice : 
 
 " The last time 1 met Mr. Sharpe, was on that 
 day he left Edinburgh, a minister of the Church 
 of Scotland, and trusted and deputed by that 
 Church, to watch over her interests at the Eng- 
 lish Court. If his pleasures consist in having 
 those times brought to his remembrance, I wish 
 not to penetrate into the nature of his sorrows." 
 
 She then turned from him, and leaning on Flo- 
 rence's arm, walked to a distant part of the 
 room. 
 
 The Archbishop looked round on those near 
 him, and attempted to smile ; but the smile was 
 checked by an expression of wretchedness, and 
 a momentary paleness, as if a ghost had crossed 
 his memory — but it was only for an instant, — and 
 again he was all smiles and courtesy. 
 
 " We must learn to bear all things," said he. 
 
 " I am extremely sorry that your Grace should 
 have met, in this house, with such a return for 
 your Grace's condescension," said Lady Osborne, 
 when her sister was out of hearing. " Had I fore- 
 seen such a result, I should really have ventured 
 to differ from your Grace, and have entreated 
 you not to throw away your most Christian at- 
 tempts on such ungrateful feelings„" 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 127 
 
 " You see," said the Archbishop, addressing 
 the circle who had gathered round him, "how 
 impossible it is to soften those people. Can it be 
 credited that a nation would be happy with such 
 a religion ?" 
 
 " Impossible," said every one. 
 
 " It is most painful," resumed the Archbishop, 
 " to see men of family and fortune continue to 
 use their influence in supporting such a gloomy 
 system. They compel us to use measures repug- 
 nant to our feelings. We do so in love to them. 
 We desire their real happiness in our efforts to 
 rescue them from such perverted notions ; and, 
 like kind parents, when our children will not 
 yield to kindness, we must for their sakes use 
 those measures that are painful to us." 
 
 " Certainly," said one. " Assuredly," said 
 another. 
 
 The younger members of the circle, however, 
 gradually retired, the conversation assuming a 
 character not interesting to them. 
 
 Mary Osborne had followed her aunt and cou- 
 sins, and tried to make excuses for her parents. 
 
 " I do assure you, my dear aunt," said she ear- 
 nestly, " it was the Archbishop's wish to be here 
 this evening. He proposed it to my father. He 
 had heard my uncle was in town, and wished to 
 meet him." 
 
12S PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Well, Mary," said Mrs. Leslie, " he will 
 have his wish. Do not disturb yourself, my 
 dear." 
 
 " But," said Mary, " if you thought my uncle 
 would like to know he was here before he came, 
 I could send to him wherever he is, or make 
 some one watch his arrival, and prepare him." 
 
 " Prepare him ! What preparation think you, 
 Mary, does your uncle require to meet one whose 
 character he so thoroughly knows and appre- 
 ciates as he does that of Sharpe ? He has been so 
 unfortunate also as to meet him but too often. 
 He knows that he can smile and fawn upon his 
 victims. This is not the first of many attempts 
 he has made to lead the people to believe, that 
 your uncle is acting a double part, and that in 
 reality he is not on bad terms with those in po- 
 wer. The whole town and neighbourhood will, 
 ere to-morrow is over, know of the meeting that 
 takes place here this evening. This is the colour 
 the ruling party wish to give, to account for that 
 blameless mildness of conduct, and that yielding 
 to every human law which does not interfere with 
 his duty to God, which has been so uniformly 
 maintained by your uncle ; and which has put it 
 out of their power to complete his ruin, and 
 blacken his character as they wish ; and I tell 
 you all this, my dear, that you may inform your 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 129 
 
 friends how perfectly we see through the system 
 to which they are lending themselves." 
 
 " You are not just to us, my dear aunt," re- 
 plied Mary, her countenance glowing as she 
 spoke. " My father's only wish is, to reconcile 
 my uncle and his friends to each other." 
 
 " Mary, I do not mean to dispute this with 
 you," replied her aunt. " You meet with enough 
 to bewilder your sense of right and wrong ; and 
 I will not add to it by entering on a subject, on 
 which, if I spoke truth, I must severely blame 
 those whom it is your duty to honour." 
 
 During this conversation, Florence's whole 
 attention had been engrossed by the Archbishop. 
 She had never before seen him, excepting as he 
 passed her aunt's windows, in splendid state, on 
 his way to the palace. She had at those times 
 regarded him with a mixed feeling of awe and 
 compassion, as one who had bartered his soul for 
 that worldly pomp by which he was surrounded, 
 and amidst which she scarcely had seen him dis- 
 tinctly. Now she felt bewildered as she watched 
 the expression of his countenance, and the rather 
 dignified and graceful manner with which he ad- 
 dressed those near him. His countenance was 
 prepossessing — his hair quite grey, giving a mild- 
 ness to its expression, which was rather increased 
 by the steady calmness of his eyes, as he fixed 
 
130 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 them on the person he addressed. His voice too, 
 when it reached her ear, was pleasing, and Flor- 
 ence was thinking, as she looked in vain for any 
 expression which indicated the false, and cruel, 
 persecuting spirit which reigned within, how 
 profound that hypocrisy must be which could 
 animate the countenance with expressions so 
 opposite to the real character, when her cousin 
 George interrupted her thoughts, and suddenly 
 arrested her attention, by asking her permission 
 to introduce to her his friend Captain Hare- 
 wood. 
 
 Florence, who had made up her mind to meet 
 only with the enemies of all she loved at her 
 uncle's, received George's friend very coldly. 
 Besides, as it necessarily was the employment of 
 the military at that time to enforce the persecut- 
 ing laws of the government, they were regarded 
 with distrust by the suffering party, as either 
 personally their enemies, or prejudiced against 
 their cause. 
 
 " We are going to dance in the next room," 
 said George ; " but as Harewood has discovered 
 within the last five minutes that he does not like 
 dancing, perhaps you will allow him to remain 
 with you, as I know, Florence, you will not join 
 us, and he is sick of listening to the Archbishop's 
 sophistry, as he calls it." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 131 
 
 " I have heard so much of that species of 
 arguing," said the young officer, looking at 
 Lady Dalcluden, and then at Florence and Olive, 
 as if asking their indulgence as he spoke, " that I 
 dare no longer listen to it, lest its false glosses 
 should compel me to think myself wrong in not 
 becoming a puritan. They, at least, are honest, 
 if they are mad." 
 
 " What species of arguing do you allude to ?" 
 asked Mrs. Leslie. " You know we have put 
 ourselves out of the reach of hearing what is said 
 by the oracle of yonder circle." 
 
 " I mean, Madam, that species of arguing 
 which would make the King's will, which, after 
 all, is not his will, but the will of the faction who 
 perhaps deceive him, the law, not only in secular, 
 but also in spiritual matters." 
 
 " I supposed your profession obliged you to 
 be of the opinions you have mentioned," observed 
 the Lady Dalcluden. 
 
 " I hope not. Madam," replied Harewood, 
 " but though I detest hearing arguments on the 
 subject, and always feel satisfied when I do, that 
 those who give up all, rather than offend, as they 
 suppose, an unseen King whose rewards are on 
 the other side of time, however mad they may 
 be, are still more honest than they who profess 
 their allegiance to that same unseen Being, and 
 
132 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 always forget it when any earthly good comes in 
 their way ; yet I have never had patience to ex- 
 amine the subjects which are the grand causes of 
 dispute." 
 
 George, while his friend was suiting his con- 
 versation, in some degree, to those with whom 
 he conversed, was, in a low^ tone of voice, attempt- 
 ing to persuade Olive to join in the dance, but 
 Olive would not be persuaded, and Mary too de- 
 clined. 
 
 " Nay, that is too much," said George, " if 
 both you and Harewood are to desert us." Mary, 
 however, was firm, and George had to go without 
 her. There seemed, however, to be little disposi- 
 tion among the younger members of the company 
 to join the dance. They had gathered into 
 parties, and were apparently unwilling to leave 
 the room in which they were, and seemed as if 
 they waited in expectation of some event. 
 
 As soon as George appeared to be engaged 
 with one of those parties, young Harewood said 
 in a low tone of voice to Florence, " I have been 
 anxious to be introduced to you, Miss Osborne, 
 that I might tell you I had the pleasure of seeing 
 Mrs. Osborne about ten days ago, at my uncle 
 Sir Ralph Harewood's, in Devonshire." 
 
 " My mother !" exclaimed Florence. 
 
 1 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 133 
 
 " Yes, and I was commissioned by her, if I 
 met her daughters, to inform them that I had seen 
 her well." 
 
 " Did she not write?" 
 
 " No. My stay in Devonshire was only for 
 one day and a half. Mrs. Osborne resides very 
 near my uncle's, and arrived at his house on a 
 visit just as 1 was taking leave.'' 
 
 Florence and Olive had now a thousand ques- 
 tions to ask, which young Harewood most frank- 
 ly answered, giving a turn of gallantry and plea- 
 santry to all he said ; and representing the situa- 
 tion of Mrs. Osborne and her family, as so plea- 
 sant as to greatly revive the spirits of his two (at 
 first rather melancholy) listeners. 
 
 " I assure you," said he, " Mrs. Osborne is 
 idolized at my uncle's. He, and my aunt, and 
 my nine cousins, sons and daughters, are the 
 most rigid puritans you can imagine. Your bro- 
 thers are making love to my cousins in their own 
 way ; and my uncle was quite delighted to see 
 one of them, who used to look as if she could 
 laugh, and join me, when I yawned at the chap- 
 lain's long exhortations, receive me very stiffly. 
 I saw the old gentleman looked pleased when I 
 looked blank, I suppose, at Hester's prim recep- 
 tion, but I did not care for above half an hour ; 
 and my cousin Ralph did not know when he af- 
 
134 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 terwards answered all my questions with his puri- 
 tanical simplicity, that he gave me to understand 
 that young Mr. Osborne was my rival ; and that 
 he sat as grave during all the chaplain's fifty 
 heads, as any ejected minister in England could 
 do." 
 
 Olive laughed, " Which of my brothers ?" 
 asked she. 
 
 " I think Ralph called him only by his sir- 
 name ; but we met him as I left my uncle's ; 
 your mother'*s residence is very near, and as 
 Ralph and I rode across the park, we observed 
 him approaching towards us. He marched with 
 a dignified and portly air to a gate which inter- 
 vened, and finding that it did not open easily, 
 vaulted over it, much more in the style of a ca- 
 valier than of a puritan, and came up to us. 
 When we separated, two questions got from 
 Ralph, that I had seen my rival." 
 
 " It would be Hugh. Was he tall, with strik- 
 ing dark eyes ?" asked Olive. 
 
 " Yes — tall — with dark eyes — too striking to 
 please a rival. More like Miss Osborne than 
 Miss Olive," added Harewood, looking as if 
 pleased to have an excuse for doing so, first at 
 one and then the other. 
 
 " And now, Miss Olive, that I have told you 
 so m^ny things, will you reward me by looking 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 135 
 
 along the room to the right of us, and tell me 
 who that gentleman is who is attempting to con- 
 verse with the lady in the blue dress, so stiff with 
 gold ? — for he eyes us in a very alarming man- 
 ner/' 
 
 Olive and Florence looked as Harewood di- 
 rected, while he turned his eyes away, and saw 
 Ormistoun attempting^ as he had said, to converse 
 with Miss Sharpe, but with his eyes turning away 
 from him every second word, to where Florence 
 sat. 
 
 " That is Mr. Ormistoun,'' said Olive. 
 
 " A lawyer, I perceive," observed Harewood. 
 " Now I shall tell you his character. He is only 
 half any thing. Look at his dress. He dare not 
 show any lace, but pulled out in a tuft here and 
 there : and his embroidery and sword ornaments 
 are all smuggled as much out of sight as he can 
 get them. Because the ruling party have these 
 gay things, he dare not be without them, but be- 
 cause, the Covenanters, you call them in Scot- 
 land, despise such vain ornaments, he would 
 make them believe that he only suffers them ; 
 and see how uneasily he sometimes casts a look 
 at himself, after having gazed at this part of the 
 room. What an oddity !" continued Harewood, 
 laughing. 
 
136 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Florence and Olive could not help joining in 
 the laugh, as they heard their gay companion so 
 exactly describe poor Ormistoun's character. 
 
 " Ha ! but who is this ?" resumed Harewood, 
 as the door was thrown open to admit Torris- 
 wood and Colville, and every eye was instantly 
 turned towards them. " I had been thinking 
 that the chief guests were still to come. But 
 now, — I feel at fault, — the elder gentleman — Ha ! 
 see how the archbishop quails before his haughty 
 eye !" 
 
 " Haughty !" repeated Florence. " It is not 
 haughty." 
 
 " No. You are right Miss Osborne. It is not 
 haughty; yet I would not that look had been 
 cast on me. It conveyed a world of stern re- 
 proof. I see he belongs not to the court party. 
 The deference paid to him makes all look crest- 
 fallen who pay it. They who expect to grow by 
 stooping look big when the stoop is over. The 
 young gentleman, I perceive, has studied at 
 Utrecht ; and has also been at the Court of the 
 Prince of Orange." 
 
 " How on earth can you know that?" asked 
 Olive, laughing. 
 
 " I will tell you," replied he. " Look at his 
 hair — the exact separation on the top of the head 
 — the high forehead so completely displayed. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 137 
 
 while the thick locks seem as if they retired of 
 themselves to join the clustering curls at the back 
 of the head — that is the grave style in which the 
 puritan students at Utrecht have their hair arrang- 
 ed. — Then the dark dress, fuller at the neck than 
 our present fashion, which looks as if a man had 
 prepared himself to be beheaded, — and less full 
 at the pockets, — which with us look, from the en- 
 ormous laps we put on to secure them, as if we 
 were a nation of pick-pockets — and the very 
 little embroidery, that is the fashion of the Prince's 
 Court." 
 
 Florence had only in part attended to Hare- 
 wood's last remarks. Her attention was divided 
 between them, and her father and Colville. The 
 latter on entering had glanced round the room 
 to discover where his friends sat, and now both 
 gentlemen approached, but were stopt in their 
 progress, by the apparently delighted friends 
 who welcomed Torriswood, and seemed eager to 
 be introduced to his companion, whose import- 
 ance as a young man of large fortune and influ- 
 ence, still free to attach himself to either party, 
 was fully appreciated by the elder members of 
 the company, while his appearance and manners 
 seemed soon to be equally so by the younger. 
 
 " My father looks unusually grave I think," 
 said Florence, aside to her aunt. 
 
138 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Has he not cause, my love ?" 
 
 " He has, but the expression excited by his 
 observing the presence of Sharpe, has passed 
 away, — and still he looks very grave." Then turn- 
 ing to Harewood, " You will allow us. Captain 
 Harewood, to introduce you and my father to 
 each other?" 
 
 " I shall feel much honoured by such an intro- 
 duction," replied he feelingly. 
 
 " But I must request of you not to mention 
 my mother to him here. We shall, if you will 
 allow us, reserve that pleasure for him till we 
 leave this." 
 
 " Assuredly I will do whatever you wish," re- 
 plied Harewood, his lively laughing countenance 
 softening into something of a sad and serious ex- 
 pression, on seeing the melancholy earnestness 
 with which Florence sought to spare her father's 
 feelings. 
 
 " You are right, my love," said the Lady Dal- 
 cluden. " I think you are also right in what you 
 said of your father. He does look unusually 
 grave." 
 
 Colville now joined our little party, and was 
 immediately asked by Mrs. Leslie whether any 
 thing had happened to distress her brother. 
 
 " He has just been much shocked," answered 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 139 
 
 Colville, " by hearing that the Duke of Rothes is 
 just dying in great horror of mind." 
 
 " Rothes dying !" exclaimed the Lady Dal- 
 chiden. 
 
 The Archbishop, who, with Sir Walter Os- 
 borne, had approached unobserved, and stood 
 near our party, now stept forward. 
 
 " Did you say the Duke of Rothes was consi- 
 dered to be dying ?" asked he, addressing Col- 
 ville, with a cautious, but anxious expression of 
 countenance. 
 
 " I did,'' replied Colville. 
 
 The Archbishop looked extremely uneasy, but 
 said, " I think, Mr. Colville, you must have been 
 misinformed. I called at his apartments in the pa- 
 lace this forenoon, and was informed he was no 
 worse. Had he been so, I certainly should have 
 attended him, — and with equal certainty I should 
 have been informed." 
 
 " He has two clergymen with him at this mo- 
 ment," said Torriswood, who now joined his sis- 
 ter's party. 
 
 Sharpe seemed more uneasy. " I shall im- 
 mediately go to him." 
 
 " You will not be required," observed Torris- 
 wood, dryly. " Rothes at last feels he has a con- 
 science, and now calls for his Lady's ministers, 
 
140 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 two of whom have been searched for in their 
 hiding places, and brought to him." 
 
 " Then none of his own friends are near him," 
 said the Archbishop. " This is the work of the 
 Dutchess. It is easy to say any thing in the 
 name of a dying man," added he, with a sneer. 
 
 " There are half a score of your clergy in at- 
 tendance on the Duke," replied Torriswood, 
 " who, I hope, may learn how real servants of 
 God minister to a dying soul. He is surround- 
 ed by those you call his own friends, but dying 
 is a solemn thing, Mr. Sharpe, and they as well 
 as he have discovered, and told your brethren, 
 that clergymen of their kind do well enough to 
 live, but not to die with." Torriswood then turn- 
 ed from Sharpe, and proposed that his family 
 should return home, to which they joyfully agreed, 
 though urged by Lady Osborne and many others 
 to prolong their stay. When the door of the 
 apartment closed on them. Lady Osborne ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Thank heaven, this duty is over ! What a 
 gloom the presence of those people casts over 
 every thing. I hope your Grace will not credit 
 all that Mr. Colville said at least" — for she perceiv- 
 ed that Torriswood was too well known by all 
 toproceed in that strain — "the gloomypersonwho 
 informed him may have been mistaken. George, 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 141 
 
 Mary, Captain Harewood, do, I entreat you, or- 
 der music, and prevail on these young people to 
 dance, or amuse themselves. I protest I never 
 saw a Covenanter at a party who did not make it 
 seem a meeting at a funeral. Death, death. Con- 
 science, conscience. How intolerable !" 
 
142 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The day for Torriswood's leaving Edinburgh for 
 London was now fixed, and after, on their part, 
 several melancholy and foreboding conversations 
 with his sister and his children, he at last in some 
 degree succeeded in reconciling them to his de- 
 parture. 
 
 Two days previous to his setting out, Torris- 
 wood had engaged himself to meet several of the 
 gentlemen of Fife. This meeting was to take 
 place in the neighbourhood of St. Andrews. 
 Some of these gentlemen were so obnoxious to 
 the ruling party, particularly to Sharpe, that their 
 movements were watched, and their meeting at 
 any house in Edinburgh would have been imme- 
 diately known, and have excited dangerous sus- 
 picions. Colville had also been invited to this 
 meeting. 
 
 It was on the evening of a beautiful day that 
 Torriswood and Colville crossed the Frith, and 
 were landed among other passengers at St. An- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 143 
 
 drews. They then proceeded across the links, 
 or common, near the town, to the place of meet- 
 ing. This was in a wood near the house of one 
 of the gentlemen. All those who met were to 
 come separately, and unattended to the spot ; for 
 so rigorous was the search made at that time by 
 the soldiers quartered in Fife for those among 
 the people who still ventured to attend at field- 
 conventicles, as they were called, that it would 
 have excited suspicion to have been seen in num- 
 bers. 
 
 The soldiers at this period, instigated by the 
 creatures of the Archbishop, particularly by his 
 principal agent Carmichael, and also by having 
 their plundering and excesses winked at, scoured 
 the country night and day, in search of those 
 whom they might convict and plunder ; or to ha- 
 rass the people, and force them to give informa- 
 tion respecting them. 
 
 When Torriswood and Colville arrived at the 
 place of meeting, they found several gentlemen 
 already there ; also a good many respectable 
 looking men, apparently farmers, and a few who 
 seemed not of a higher class than cottagers. Most 
 of the party had gathered close round one of 
 their number, who was haranguing them in a re- 
 pressed tone of voice. A few of the people, in 
 earnest conversation, stood apart, and others were 
 
144 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 stationed in every direction to watch. On a nearer 
 approach, Torriswood said, 
 
 " It is RathiJlet who is the speaker. I fear 
 our views will be found too peaceful and accom- 
 modating for this meeting, and I entreat you, 
 Colville, be on your guard. Beware how you 
 commit yourself." 
 
 Colville promised, and they drew near, Tor- 
 riswood motioning to Rathillet to proceed, which, 
 after the gentlemen had welcomed their newly 
 arrived friends, he did. 
 
 " How strange that it should be necessary to 
 use words to urge such men as those who now 
 surround me to rise in defence of liberty, — of 
 life, — of the truth ! How long shall these be tram- 
 pled under foot by a handful of ruffians, while the 
 hearts of the nation are thirsting, panting for 
 leaders who will unite their strength, and suffer 
 them to meet their enemies like men ? . But I 
 speak to rocks. A deadness — an apathy, that 
 seems like a judgment for our sins, have bound in 
 frost the common feelings of our nature. Oh ! 
 when the scourge visits our own dwellings as it 
 has done those of some who now stand amonff 
 us, — and visit us it will, — and worthy have we 
 made ourselves to meet it — then perhaps we shall 
 learn to feel. Listen for a moment to what they 
 can tell you who have tasted of its visitation." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 145 
 
 He then beckoned to a man who stood at a little 
 distance. He slowly approached, carrying in his 
 arms a little fair-haired girl, whose face was hid 
 upon his bosom. On coming near, she raised 
 her head for a moment, and looked wildly at those 
 around her. The little face was beautiful, but 
 evidently without intelligence ; and she scream- 
 ed, with seeming terror, and clung to her father. 
 
 The man, who seemed to be a farmer, was 
 young, and of a strong make, but pale and thin, 
 and apparently bent down with sorrow. He 
 soothed his child upon his breast with an expres- 
 sion of suppressed misery on his countenance, 
 irresistibly moving. 
 
 " She would not leave me," began he, looking 
 down on his child, " or I should not have trou- 
 bled you, gentlemen, by bringing her here. I had 
 taught her to look upon me as all the parent she 
 had when she lost her mother ." 
 
 The man stopt, for the last words stuck in his 
 throat. 
 
 " She is all 1 have," resumed he. " About two 
 months ago, our minister, Mr. Hamilton, took 
 shelter one night in my house. Before he rose 
 next morning, I heard that the soldiers were 
 coming in search of him. He got out, and I went 
 with him to see him safe out of their reach. 
 When I was away, the soldiers came and search- 
 
 H 
 
146 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ed my house. They found only my mother and 
 little Phemy.'* The child looked up in her fa- 
 ther's face when he named her. He stopt, and 
 looked as if his heart would break at the little 
 vacant countenance, and again soothed her on 
 his breast. " My mother would give no answer 
 to the soldiers," continued he, " when they ques- 
 tioned her ; for the women now find it best to 
 say nothing. Phemy would not say a word either. 
 They at last took my child out of her little bed, 
 and carried her to the fields, one of the soldiers 
 threatening to shoot my mother when she would 
 have followed the child, and remaining to pre- 
 vent her. Some children were near the place to 
 which they took my little girl, and told me what 
 had passed. Naked and terrified as she was, they 
 bound up her eyes, and said they were going to 
 shoot her unless she told them whether Mr. Ha- 
 milton had been at our house; but all their threats 
 would not make her speak. They then made her 
 kneel down on her little bare knees, and said the 
 guns were all loaded, and that if she did not tell 
 they would blow her in pieces, but still she would 
 not say a word to them, but the children heard 
 her pray to God. They then fired over her head, 
 and when they undid her eyes, she was — what 
 you see her. On my return home I found her 
 so. — She still knew my voice and ways, and is 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 147 
 
 never easy but when in my arms, or asleep. My 
 mother died of a broken heart a week after." 
 
 The man immediately retired with his sad little 
 charge, and hastened into a thicker part of the 
 wood. 
 
 " How shocking ! — How cruel ! — Most sadP — 
 exclaimed one and another of the listeners. 
 
 " Yes," said Rathillet, — " It is a mournful sto- 
 ry, but others of a darker shade are still to tell." 
 Another man now stept forward. His hat was 
 drawn down over his eyes, and he kept them fix- 
 ed upon the ground while he hurried through 
 his tale of despair. In his cottage nothing had 
 been held sacred. A meeting had been found 
 assembled in his house to hear a proscribed 
 preacher. They were at prayers when the sol- 
 diers rushed in. The preacher was caught, and 
 sent to Edinburgh. The cottage given up by 
 Carmichael to the soldiers. The story was too 
 dreadful. The man seemed to think himself ful- 
 filling a duty in forcing himself to go through 
 the agonizing recital, and then instantly retired. 
 " Why all this, Rathillet ?" asked Torriswood, 
 in a voice of painful excitement. 
 
 " Ah ! you are a husband and a father, Tor- 
 riswood, and now you feel !" replied Rathillet. 
 " But Torriswood is rich ! He can send his wife 
 
148 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 and daughters where he will ! He therefore 
 preaches patience 1^' 
 
 " Torriswood is on the eve of devoting himself 
 for his country in a service, which you believe as 
 dangerous as that to which you would urge us, 
 Rathillet ;" said Colville. 
 
 " Is your young blood so cold also," replied 
 Rathillet, " as to prefer delays and negotiations 
 to the open field ?" 
 
 " By taking the open field," resumed Colville, 
 " we should only add to the horrors and atroci- 
 ties of which we have just heard, the misery of 
 knowing that we had given that kind of sanction 
 which war always does, to such crimes. As yet 
 we only suffer, and that unjustly ; and in a cause 
 for the support of which we can with clear con- 
 sciences pray to God. If we take vengeance in- 
 to our own hands, we instantly resign the cha- 
 racter of men struggling, and persecuted in main- 
 taining the rights of conscience, and assume that 
 of champions for earthly liberty. Were the last 
 struggle lawful, of which I do not yet pretend to 
 judge, it is a struggle wholly earthly; and without 
 such means as common earthly prudence points 
 out to be necessary, it would be madness to be- 
 gin it." 
 
 Colville spoke with calmness, and firmness, and 
 Torriswood immediately added, " The great ma- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 149 
 
 jorlty of our friends have decided that they do 
 not feel at liberty, when in their calmest moments 
 they place this subject before them, to engage in 
 open arms. They still regard it as rebellion ; 
 and, agreeing as T do with them, I must leave this 
 meeting if open war is the only subject of which 
 I am to hear." 
 
 " Farewell, then, Torriswood," said Rathillet, 
 holding out his hand. " If our efforts succeed, 
 we shall rejoice in having found liberty for you ; 
 if not, we feel our consciences clear in defending 
 this cause to blood and death." 
 
 " Think— think deeply — think on your knees, 
 Rathillet, ere you take this last — this irretriev- 
 able step. Think for yourself and all you guide," 
 said Torriswood solemnly, and holding Rathillefs 
 hand grasped in his. 
 
 " Think you that is still to do?" replied Rathil- 
 let, breaking away — then turning again to him, 
 " Farewell, Torriswood, till we meet in liberty, 
 either in this land or elsewhere," waving his hand 
 towards heaven. He then beckoned to some of 
 the gentlemen, who retired with him further in- 
 to the wood, and Torriswood turned to leave the 
 spot. 
 
 At that moment a tall stern-looking man ap- 
 proached, and requested Torriswood to listen to 
 him for a few moments. Torriswood immediate- 
 
150 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ly stopt. Colville would have walked on, but the 
 man entreated him also to stop. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " I have had many 
 thoughts about the good that it would do our 
 cause to rise in arms, but I cannot make up my 
 mind on the point. There is, however, another 
 point on which some of us have sworn, and we 
 cannot go back ; yet it would be a satisfaction to 
 us to know that you thought us right. You have 
 heard the sufferings of two fathers and their fa- 
 milies. You might have heard of many more ; — 
 and the cup may pass round to us all. There is 
 no law to save us. We in vain plead for justice. 
 Ought he who is the vile instigator, and mover 
 of all this misery — ought that wretch who is his 
 willing agent — that blood-hound Carmichael — 
 ought they to go unpunished ? We wish not 
 those who have already suffered to do the deed ; 
 but those who have not yet suffered — would it 
 not in them be only the executing of that judg- 
 ment which God commands upon the murder- 
 
 " Stop, my friend," interrupted Torriswood, " I 
 perceive your meaning, but I cannot think you 
 right. You know to whom vengeance belongs. 
 Think better before " 
 
 " You need say no more. Sir. It is too late. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 151 
 
 I will only say, Sir, that in this Rathillet refuses 
 to be our leader." 
 
 The man then hastened away. 
 
 Torriswood looked after him, and towards the 
 party he had left, for some minutes; he then turn- 
 ed slowly away, and, leaning on Colville, walked 
 for a time in silence, and apparently in most 
 painful thought. 
 
 " We shall soon hear of some guilty soul sent 
 to a sudden account," said he at last. 
 
 " And if we should," replied Colville, " I 
 could not call it murder. I never could agree 
 with those who consider the judgment executed 
 on that persecuting bloody Cardinal, who loung- 
 ed in his window, in that town, (pointing to St. 
 Andrews,) to view the dying agonies of our mar- 
 tyrs, as a murder ; and this Carmichael seems to 
 follow the Cardinal's example as far as he dare." 
 
 " It is a most difficult subject to decide upon," 
 replied Torriswood. " The day, I trust, will 
 come, when men shall see more clearly than we 
 do on this point. For myself, there is something 
 very horrible to me in the idea of assassination ; 
 nor could I feel as a friend for the man who 
 could bring himself to join in such a deed ; yet 
 in some cases, such as Cardinal Beaton's, for in- 
 stance, I could not regard him as a murderer." 
 
152 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 The moon had risen before Torriswood and 
 Colville reached the beach, along which they 
 thought it safest to return to St. Andrews. On 
 reaching it, they observed a boat at some dis- 
 tance, which, from its size, and the sail it carried, 
 they guessed to be a barge belonging to some one 
 of the neighbouring gentry, returning from an ex- 
 cursion of pleasure. Torriswood did not wish 
 to be recognised, and he and Colville determined 
 to wait till this barge should land its party be- 
 fore they proceeded to the place at which they 
 had appointed their little bark to wait for them. 
 Retiring amongst some high rocks upon the 
 beach, they seated themselves under their deep 
 shadow, and from thence watched the approach 
 of the barge to a landing place near where they 
 sat. It was so perfectly calm, that though every 
 sail was set to catch the least breath of wind, yet 
 many oars were seen flashing in the moonbeams, 
 as they rose in measured time from the water. 
 Music too was soon heard, first at intervals in 
 the light breeze, then more distinctly, till at length 
 the air struck familiarly on the ear, and was recog- 
 nised as one of those merry cadences used in the 
 dance. Some fishermen passed along the beach 
 near the place where Torriswood and Colville re- 
 mained concealed in the deep shadows of the 
 rocks. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 153 
 
 " It is the Archbishop's barge,'' said one. 
 " Ay," replied the other, " and since he's 
 going to land here, he'll be on the way to a ca- 
 rouse at " 
 
 " Be ready to dofF your cap. Jack, or some o' 
 that fed up scornfu' crew that follow him, may 
 help it off for ye, as they did to half a dozen o' 
 us the other day." 
 
 " I should like to see them try that," said the 
 other. 
 
 " And what could ye do ?" Torriswood 
 
 and his companion heard no more. 
 
 "Ay, what could you do, poor fellow?'' repeat- 
 Torriswood. " Can we be in error, Colville, in 
 refusing, at the risk of all things, to receive such 
 men as our spiritual guides ? In what one fea- 
 ture of that man's character can we trace a re- 
 semblance to Him, whose minister he presumes 
 to call himself?" 
 
 A number of the Archbishop's people were 
 now seen descending to the beach, carrying flam- 
 beaux, and escorting the coach which was to re- 
 ceive his Grace on landing, and convey him to 
 
 the house of , a creature of his own, with 
 
 whom it was said by the Covenanters he used to 
 spend his time in lower revelry than was altoge- 
 ther suitable with that worldly eminence for 
 
154 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 which he had sacrificed his character and better 
 hopes. 
 
 The boat drew near, gliding majestically on 
 the smooth full tide. On its approaching the 
 landing place, a rich crimson foot-cloth was laid 
 for the Archbishop to tread upon from the side 
 of the boat to his coach. The menials called out, 
 " Off hats," to a few sailors and fishermen who 
 were near the place. An inferior clergyman, of 
 some description, first stepped out of the boat, 
 and waited in obsequious posture, till his Grace, 
 passing from his cushioned seat, under a superb 
 awning, amidst the sailors, who stood with their 
 oars raised, put his hand on his arm, and thus 
 supported, stept delicately to his coach, the min- 
 strels playing a light air as he proceeded. His 
 daughter and her attendants followed. 
 
 " Well, Colville," said Torriswood, " what 
 think you of all that ?'' 
 
 " I think," replied Colville, *« that I see a 
 leader in that apostate church, which is described 
 as being arrayed in purple and scarlet, and deck- 
 ed with gold." 
 
 " And whose intoxication from success," added 
 Torriswood, " in subjecting to her domination the 
 souls of men, and seducing them to their destruc- 
 tion by her allurements, and her skill and cun- 
 ning in betraying and destroying the true ser- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 155 
 
 vants of God, is described under the horrible 
 ipiage, ' An harlot drunk with blood/" 
 
 The parade and bustle of the Archbishop's 
 landing was soon over ; — his coach and attend- 
 ants, with their noise, and lights, and music, pass- 
 ed away. The boat was moored — all again lay 
 calm and still under the moonlifrht : and Torris- 
 wood and Colville proceeded on their way. 
 
 " I believe the man we have just seen," said 
 Torriswood, as they walked, " would grasp at a 
 Cardinal's hat, if it was the reward offered for 
 restoring Popery to his country." 
 
 " I doubt it not," said Colville, " but the 
 Church he now professes to belong to, is, I trust, 
 too far reformed, subjected as it is to earthly 
 power, to leave room for him to form such 
 hopes." 
 
 " It is," answered Torriswood. 
 
 " We ought not to forget," said Colville, " how 
 many of that Church have sealed their testimony 
 to the truth with their blood. That recollection, 
 I confess, sometimes staggers my resolution to 
 resist to blood the introduction of her creed and 
 forms into this country." 
 
 " You must make up your mind on that point, 
 Colville," replied Torriswood with great serious- 
 ness. " To join in a cause involving consequen- 
 ces so momentous, both to yourself and others, 
 
156 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 from no better than party motives, would in you 
 be highly criminal." 
 
 " But how, my dear Sir, do you account for 
 men such as these, dying in defence of truth, and 
 yet remaining in, and supporting that very sys- 
 tem which you regard it as justifiable to resist 
 even to death?" 
 
 " I pretend not to account for any inconsistency 
 in man, my dear Colville. Light dawned on Eng- 
 land very gradually. Perhaps a little reflection 
 on the difference of the means by which the re- 
 formation of the two countries was brought 
 about, might assist us in solving this difficulty. 
 In England, the Reformation was commenced by 
 a tyrant, who merely wished to have all power in 
 his own hands ; and while it continued gradually 
 to proceed among the people, the clergy, under 
 succeeding sovereigns, in less than thirty years, 
 changed their faith four times, very few of them, 
 comparatively, choosing to leave their benefices 
 rather than their opinions. Amongst those few 
 were the excellent men you have mentioned. If 
 I recollect aright, however, all those who in any 
 way suffered from the persecutions of the cruel 
 Mary were not calculated to exceed seven hun- 
 dred, including clergy and people ; — but mark 
 the difference as light advanced. When our pre- 
 sent king returned to England, and insisted that 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 157 
 
 his will should dictate in such matters — of cler- 
 gymen, two thousand in one day, preferred ruin, 
 poverty, and exile, rather than submit to the tri- 
 fling ceremonies and fooleries he sought to sub- 
 stitute in the place of solid instruction in the re- 
 ligion of the Bible. Of the people who suffered 
 for this non-conformity in England, I suppose 
 no attempt has been made to calculate their num- 
 bers. Those of them who have chosen exile, 
 have gone to people a new world. The English, 
 however, have been accustomed to receive their 
 religion from their rulers. Not so the Scotch. 
 With us, the Reformation began amongst the 
 people. Its first preachers were martyrs in the 
 cause. It was carried on by the people in the 
 face of a Popish Government. It continued to 
 proceed till all classes of the nation became Pro- 
 testant, excepting the Sovereign, and those 
 around the throne. From its commencement, 
 and in every stage of its progress, it has had to 
 struggle with the Government. Always advancing 
 in light, the clergy and the people have steadily 
 refused to retrace one step into darkness. And 
 shall we now give up the struggle ?" 
 
 " No, never !" replied Colville. " All I wish 
 is a more defined object than our party usually 
 describe that to be for which we struggle." 
 
 " These are the objects, Colville, for which we 
 
158 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 struggle. The word of God to be our only rule 
 in whatever pertains to his service, and that word 
 as it is understood by ourselves and our teachers, 
 not by an ignorant licentious king, and worldly 
 statesmen. A useful scriptural clergy, totally 
 devoted to the instruction of the people, and en- 
 tirely separated from worldly matters : not a cum- 
 brous hierarchy, living in luxury and idleness, 
 loaded with worldliness, and taking a share in 
 the temporal government of the nation ; — we 
 cannot read the New Testament, and receive such 
 a clergy. Neither can we submit to receive in- 
 struction from the dependent underling clergy, 
 who alone do any labour in this system." 
 
 " Enough, my dear Sir," replied Colville, " I 
 am ready for the struggle." 
 
 Torriswood and Colville had now reached the 
 place where they had appointed their boat to 
 wait for them. A light cool breeze had sprung 
 up, and now passed along the surface of the wa- 
 ter, ruffling its glassy smoothness, but favouring 
 their return. The fishermen put up their one 
 sail, and soon the light skiff cut rapidly through 
 the waters. Torriswood and Colville seated them- 
 selves on one of the little cross benches, with 
 their faces towards St. Andrews, which now lay 
 before them under a bright moon. The ruins of 
 the cathedral arrested Colville's attention, as the 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 159 
 
 soft light slept on its broken arches and crum- 
 bling walls. 
 
 " I was not aware," remarked he, " when here 
 as a boy, of the extent of those ruins." 
 
 " The cathedral was one of the largest, some 
 say the largest in Europe," replied Torriswood. 
 " A proof of the devotion of this poor people ac- 
 cording to the light they then had." 
 
 " Surely it was rather barbarous to destroy it 
 so completely," observed Colville. 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Torriswood, " but it 
 was done in that spirit of indignation which is 
 natural when men's eyes are opened to perceive 
 that they have been held in delusion to enrich 
 those who deceived them. Besides, they dread- 
 ed a return of Popery, with its attendant dark- 
 ness and delusion. Had a rude people spared 
 those haunts of men who had spoiled them to 
 rear such edifices, and live themselves in useless 
 idleness, it would certainly have been a greater 
 proof of remaining superstition than of taste." 
 
 The breeze continued to increase ; and soon 
 St. Andrews and its massy ruins became indis- 
 tinct in the distance, and after a very rapid 
 passage, Torriswood and Colville were landed at 
 Leith. 
 
160 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 All the first half of next day was spent by Tor- 
 riswood at Lindsay's, where he was again met 
 by several of the leaders of the Covenanters. At 
 this meeting those instructions were finally agreed 
 on with which he was to proceed to London. 
 Next day his friends were to meet him at his 
 sister's, to take leave in that manner in which 
 those of his party usually softened the pain of se- 
 paration, when all were in continual expectation 
 of dangers which might prevent them ever again 
 meeting ; and which they felt were most easily 
 anticipated by a complete surrender of all that 
 was before them to the will of God. Torriswood, 
 in the mean time, returned to his family. 
 
 They were all met together awaiting his return — 
 an expression of dejection on every countenance. 
 Even Colville in vain attempted to assume a more 
 cheerful manner on Torriswood's entrance; and 
 Florence, who approached to meet her father 
 with a smile on her pale countenance, on his first 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 161 
 
 word of kindness, was obliged to turn away to 
 conceal her tears. Torriswood seated himself 
 with his children close around him. 
 
 " I have now arranged every thing with my 
 friends," said he. " We must now arrange our 
 own plans more decidedly than we have yet done. 
 I am going to speak quite plainly, my dear girls," 
 addressino his daughters. " Your aunt has con- 
 sented to retire with you to Dalcluden. There 
 I trust you will remain undisturbed, and in al- 
 most complete seclusion : and the lesson you 
 must set yourselves to learn is this, — that God 
 reigns ; and that whatever He appoints is altoge- 
 ther wise and good, however distressing or pain- 
 ful His dispensations may appear to us, who can- 
 not comprehend His ways. You, my dear Olive, 
 are of a nature too soft and timid for such times ; 
 but it is possible, my child, to strengthen a weak 
 nature ; and I say this before so many witnesses, 
 because I wish every one to understand as well 
 as you, that should your aunt find it necessary 
 to impose a more severe course of study and 
 thought on you, than is altogether suited to your 
 natural taste, she does so at my request, and for 
 your future happiness.'' Torriswood concluded 
 this address to Olive by folding her tenderly to 
 his heart. Poor Olive attempted to suppress her 
 
162 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 feelings, but without success, and wept upon her 
 father's breast. 
 
 " As for you, my love," resumed Torriswood, 
 turning to Florence, " do not attempt too much, 
 — at least not in your own strength. You under- 
 stand me. Thank God, I feel secure of this. 
 Seek to know more of that higher strength to 
 which I allude. Fear not to exceed in trusting 
 to it. I shall say no more, my love" — nearly over- 
 come himself as he looked at Florence, who lis- 
 tened without suffering herself to be overcome, 
 but as pale as marble. Torriswood sighed deep- 
 ly, and paused for a moment. He then looked 
 towards Eric, but his glance blanched the poor 
 boy''s cheek to such paleness, while he made an 
 effort to suppress his tears, that his father seemed 
 unable to proceed. 
 
 " Colville, I wish your family had been nearer 
 my sisters," said Torriswood, after a moment's 
 silence. 
 
 " I have determined to ask my mother and my 
 brother to remove for a time to Erinlaw, my small 
 place near Dalcluden," replied Colville. " I 
 wish, for a short period, to live as retiredly as 
 possible, in order to become better acquainted 
 with the state of matters in this country, before I 
 take a more active part." Colville did not say 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 163 
 
 this with his usual unrestrained manner, but he- 
 sitated and reddened as he spoke. 
 
 Torriswood looked earnestly at him. " Will 
 you in seclusion learn what you wish, think you, 
 Colville r asked he. 
 
 " If I find I cannot, I shall then leave it," re- 
 plied he, more firmly. 
 
 '* 1 have been so used to consider myself en- 
 titled to advise you, Colville, that I may perhaps 
 forget when to stop ; but if you mean to take the 
 part you profess yourself determined to take, be- 
 lieve me, in these times, the first place in your 
 earthly thoughts must be given to your country; 
 and I would not be your friend, Colville, if I 
 suffered you, unwarned, to meet the difficult and 
 ensnaring circumstances you will inevitably be 
 exposed to, with thoughts and feelings distracted 
 and entangled by any other pursuit." 
 
 Colville made no reply, but looked grave, and 
 rather hurt. 
 
 " My dear father," said Florence, earnestly, 
 " Colville has this day signed the Covenant. How 
 can he more decidedly prove his devotedness to 
 his country ?" 
 
 " You have signed the Covenant, Colville V 
 exclaimed Torriswood. 
 
 " I have," replied Colville. 
 
164. PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Where did you sign it, and who knows of 
 your having done so ?" asked Torriswood anxi- 
 ously. 
 
 " I scarcely know where," answered Colville. 
 " Young Rowallan told me he meant to sign it 
 before he left Edinburgh, and on my declaring 
 my intention to do so also, he offered to conduct 
 me to a house where a parchment, containing many 
 of the names of those who from the first had been 
 most zealous in the cause, was still kept in se- 
 crecy ; and where those now resorted who ven- 
 tured to add their names to the proscribed 
 bond." 
 
 " I know well where you were," observed the 
 Lady Dalcluden. " You reached the house by 
 a lane leading from the Castle Hill." 
 
 " We did, but not until we had passed through 
 many narrow streets and by-ways. The house 
 is at the out-skirts of the town. Behind it is a 
 large garden, and beyond are fields. 
 
 " Exactly," replied Mrs. Leslie, " and its mas- 
 ter is at this present time in the Canongate jail ; 
 and his lady and family banished from Edin- 
 burgh, all for having heard the gospel preached 
 in private by one of those very ministers whom 
 the Duke of Rothes desired to see on his death- 
 bed." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 165 
 
 " Who witnessed your signing the Covenant, 
 Colville?" asked Torriswood, again, with much 
 anxiety. " Whom did you find in poor Ardwal- 
 lan's house?" 
 
 " We were received by an old servant who 
 knew Rowallan, and on my friend's saying some- 
 thing aside to him respecting me, he immediately 
 admitted us both ; and after carefully closing the 
 door at which we had entered, asked us to follow 
 him. He then preceded us across a large dark 
 hall, every wdndow-shutter in the house being 
 closed, and up several pairs of stairs, on the land- 
 ing place at the top of which he begged us to 
 stop for an instant. He then entered a room, 
 the door of which he closed after him, and we 
 immediately heard voices within. In a few mo- 
 ments the door again opened, and a gentleman 
 approached to meet us, who was joyfully recog- 
 nised by Rowallan, and who invited us to enter. 
 We did so, and found ourselves in a large apart- 
 ment, lighted from the low roof, and furnished 
 with only a table and a few chairs. Six or seven 
 other gentlemen had been seated near this table, 
 who now rose on our entrance. The person who 
 had received us at the door w^as introduced to me 
 by my friend, Mr. Gabriel Blair, a suffering 
 
166 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Mr. Blair ! I know him well," said Torris- 
 wood, apparently relieved on hearing his name. 
 " He is not a man of rash counsels." 
 
 " All the others," resumed Colville, " were 
 also clergymen, Mr. Semple, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. 
 Primrose ; I do not recollect the names of the 
 others; — but never shall I forget the countenances 
 of any of them, so animated, so ardent their ex- 
 pression, yet so thin, so little of earth in their 
 looks. I felt as if I had seen before me a party 
 of confessors preparing for martyrdom. We 
 were soon - seated dmongst them, and while Row- 
 allan explained the nature of our intrusion, I 
 glanced round the apartment. There was no 
 fire, and the Uare walls and floor looked cold and 
 comfortless. On the table were several Bibles 
 open, most of them Greek, and near them papers 
 containing notes, the result of their studies. It 
 was still early, and the ministers seemed to have 
 been breakfasting as they studied. Some pieces 
 of oat cakes lay near where they had been writ- 
 ing. A pitcher of water stood beside them, and 
 a single cup was on the table, which seemed to 
 have passed amongst them to wash down their 
 dry cheer. Mr. Hamilton, who sat next to me, 
 had watched my looks as I examined the apart- 
 ment, and when, after resting on the bread and 
 water, the sight of which somehow moved me 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 16T 
 
 more than such trifles ought to move a man, I 
 raised them, and met his, he smiled cheerfully, 
 and said — 
 
 " 'You see, Sir, the fulfilment of all that is pro- 
 mised to the servants of the Lord with regard to 
 the sustenance of the perishing body : ' Their 
 bread shall be given, and their water shall be 
 sure.' " 
 
 " ' Yes,' replied I ; ' but surely they for whose 
 soul's sakes you suffer the loss of all things, ought 
 to supply you more liberally with their earthly 
 things. Does this house belong to one who ven- 
 tures to admit you, and yet so poorly accommo- 
 dates you in all things ?' 
 
 " ' Call you this poor accommodation. Sir?' 
 asked Mr. Hamilton, ' and thinking it so, are 
 you come to sign the Covenant ? Pause, Sir, ere 
 you proceed further. — It is no light matter to 
 break a bond with the Almighty.' I felt asham- 
 ed, and assured him that I thought not of myself, 
 but was not yet accustomed to see men of his 
 peaceful profession exposed to such hardships. 
 
 " He smiled, and looked to heaven. ' A bed on 
 the turf, resumed he, ' a pillow of stone, a meal 
 when God sends it — and threatened death on every 
 side, are the accommodations now to be looked 
 for in Scotland, by those who proclaim the gos- 
 pel of everlasting truth to her children ; and by 
 
168 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 those who dai'e to stand up in defence of liberty 
 of conscience.' 
 
 " ' Be it so,' said I, ' as long as God permits, 
 still it is the cause for which I am prepared to 
 live or die.' 
 
 " ' Yes, be it so,' repeated he exultingly. « He 
 who reigns over all will appoint it otherwise when 
 his ever wise, — ever holy, — ever best purposes are 
 fulfilled. — But still, truly do they need to know 
 Him who enter on this warfare.' 
 
 " I fully agreed to this, and then asked some 
 questions which led him to tell me, that he and 
 his friends had met late the night before to con- 
 sult respecting new divisions which had taken 
 place among those presbyterian ministers who 
 had been forced long ago to leave their parishes, 
 regarding the conduct they ought to maintain 
 towards some of their brethren, who had con- 
 tinued in their parishes by what many con- 
 sidered sinful acceptances of the continually 
 changing terms of indulgence. He told me also, 
 that the house in which they were, was sup- 
 posed to be uninhabited, excepting by the old 
 servant who had admitted us, and that to his 
 scanty means they were indebted for whatever 
 comfort they had enjoyed. * These indulgences,' 
 continued Mr. Hamilton, ' are most artfully 
 framed to ruin our cause, and have already been 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 169 
 
 fatally successful in creating divisions amongst 
 us. It is, therefore, absolutely necessary that 
 we should attempt to meet and understand each 
 other. Each of those who are here will convey 
 the result of our consultations to others, who by 
 this time have also had meetings with our bre- 
 thren. We have for a part of the night, and till 
 now, been studying the subject regarding which we 
 met. Still we are not all agreed as to wliat duty 
 is. We have prayed for light and guidance — we 
 have studied every passage of scripture which 
 appeared to us to bear upon the points of diffi- 
 culty ; and though we are much nearer being of 
 one mind than when we met, there are yet some 
 points on which we do not all see clearly.' While 
 Mr. Hamilton was talking to me, Mr. Blair left 
 the apartment by a door at the opposite end from 
 that at which we had entered, and Rowallan had 
 engaged in conversation with Mr. Semple. The 
 other clergymen were again so intently engaged 
 as to have apparently forgot our presence, and I 
 begged Mr. Hamilton also to proceed, and take 
 no charge of me ; but he assured me that his 
 mind was quite made up upon the subject, and 
 that before we came he had been engaged in 
 studying a sermon to preach to-morrow." 
 
 " Where ?" asked Torriswood and his sister, in 
 
 one breath. 
 
 I 
 
170 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " In a glen at Kinneii," answered Colville. 
 
 Torris^vood looked disappointed, " 'Tis too far 
 off for to-morrow," said he, then added — " and 
 Blair, where does he preach ?'** 
 
 " Amongst the Pentland Hills. Each of his 
 friends, Mr. Hamilton told me, were to preach 
 somewhere ; and they were to reach their differ- 
 ent destinations during the night — some thirty 
 miles off." 
 
 " Can we wonder," observed Torriswood, 
 " that men who set no value on a preached gos- 
 pel, should believe that such ardour must be in- 
 spired by motives they can comprehend ? Trea- 
 son, or any other which involves deep earthly 
 interests. 
 
 " And the Covenant," said Eric, who now 
 stood leaning on Colville's shoulder. " Were 
 there many names attached to the one you saw ? 
 What was it like ?" 
 
 " The Covenant," resumed Colville, " was 
 soon brought by Mr. Blair. It was a long roll 
 of parchment, in which the Solemn League was 
 first written; and beneath it were several columns 
 filled with names." 
 
 " Did you see Montrose's there ?" asked Eric. 
 
 " No, not on the copy I signed." 
 
 " Well, but tell us about it." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 171 
 
 " Well, when Mr. Blair had spread out the 
 scroll upon the table, and I had taken a pen 
 to subscribe, he laid his hand on mine, and said 
 solemnly, " Signing this bond was once consider- 
 ed no light matter. But look, Arrondale, ere you 
 proceed, at this list of names, and see how many 
 who once raised their hands to heaven, and swore 
 to keep it, now persecute to death those who 
 dare to perform the vow." He then pointed to 
 the signature of Lauderdale, and some others." 
 
 " My brother Walter's was there," said the 
 Lady Dalcluden. 
 
 " It was," replied Colville, " but a little fur- 
 ther down was that of my father, and I pointed 
 it out to Mr. Blair. He was moved, and put the 
 scroll towards me to sign. I however continu- 
 ed to read the names. I saw yours. Sir," address- 
 ing Torriswood, " and many others which I 
 pointed to, Rathillet, Burleigh, Gilston, the 
 wretch Carmichael; many Fife names. Mr. 
 Hamilton directed my observation to one part of 
 the roll where most of the names in one column 
 were marked off from the others. " Look," said 
 Mr. Hamilton. " I remember this piece of va- 
 nity. All those names were added to the Cove- 
 nant at the request of one busy agent, who thus 
 marked his success to prove his zeal to those he 
 then wished to please. His own name is at the 
 
172 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 top. I looked and saw the signature in a large 
 hand, 'James Sharpe, minister of the Presbyterian 
 Church of Scotland.' " 
 
 " Why do they leave his vile name there ?" 
 asked Eric indignantly. " Did you sign your 
 name on the same parchment with his ?" 
 
 ••' My own father's name was there, Eric, and 
 your father's, and Rowallan found his father's, 
 and many many more names were there, with whom 
 I shall wish to find mine associated, when that day 
 comes when we shall give our account of the 
 manner in which we have kept this Covenant." 
 
 " Well," said Eric, leaning closer to Colville, 
 " and did you sign ?" 
 
 " Mochrum of Meldrum's name was also there," 
 said Colville, smiling in Eric's face. 
 
 " Old wretch !" exclaimed Eric, " but you 
 signed the Covenant." 
 
 " We did. Rowallan and I raised our right 
 hand to heaven, and swore to live or die in keep- 
 ing it. And after Mr. Blair had prayed a few 
 emphatic words for grace and strength to keep 
 our vow, we signed." 
 
 At this moment a servant entered the room, 
 and approaching close to Torriswood, told him 
 in a low voice, that a sailor was in the hall, who 
 wished to speak to him on private and important 
 business.'' 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 173 
 
 " Bring him in, Lauchlan," answered Torris- 
 wood. There is no person here who may not 
 know any business a sailor is likely to be trusted 
 with." 
 
 The servant went out, and immediately return- 
 ed, conducting into the room a stout-made man, 
 who entered with a step and air rather superior 
 to the dress of a common sailor, or rather fisher- 
 man, which he wore. His hat was, however, 
 drawn close down on his face, and he continued 
 silent till the servant left the room and closed the 
 door. He then approached towards Torriswood. 
 At the first glance, on his taking off his hat, Col- 
 ville exclaimed, 
 
 « RathiUet !" 
 
 " Rathillet !" repeated Torriswood, starting 
 up in alarm — then lowering his voice — " And 
 why this disguise ? Oh !" striking his hands to- 
 gether. " Rathillet, I dread to hear the cause !" 
 
 Rathillet looked flushed and fatigued; his eyes 
 were hollow, his lips parched, and every look 
 and gesture expressed misery and anxiety. 
 
 " Shall we not be interrupted, Torriswood ? 
 We must not be interrupted. I must not be seen 
 here.'* 
 
 " I shall secure that," said Colville, hastening 
 out of the room to give the necessary orders. 
 
174 PHILTP COLVILLE. 
 
 " What have we to hear, Rathillet?" asked Tor- 
 riswood. " Are you implicated already in some 
 deed of ? 
 
 " I am implicated in nothing, Torriswood," in- 
 terrupted Rathillet. 
 
 « Thank God ! thank God !" uttered Torris- 
 wood, fervently. " In what can I serve you, my 
 friend ? Why this secrecy ?" 
 
 Rathillet seemed unwilling to speak, and look- 
 ed anxiously towards the door for Colville's re- 
 turn. He soon appeared. 
 
 " Will no one interrupt us ?" asked Rathillet 
 hastily. 
 
 " No one." 
 
 " Torriswood,"*^ said Rathillet, " you must im- 
 mediately leave Edinburgh. It is too likely that 
 your presence in Fife at our meeting last night 
 may have been observed ; and if so, it would not 
 be safe for you to be here three hours hence." 
 
 " My father !" exclaimed Florence. " He dis- 
 approved of your meeting." 
 
 " Yes," replied Rathillet, " but that would not 
 save him from suspicion. — If he values the cause 
 on which he was going, he must instantly leave 
 Edinburgh. If he does so he cannot be implicat- 
 ed in the deed — that is now past." Rathillet's voice 
 sunk as he uttered the last words. 
 
 « What deed?" asked Colville. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 175 
 
 " Leave us, my children," said Torriswood. 
 
 Florence looked beseechingly towards her fa- 
 ther. 
 
 " And you to go so soon, Sir !" 
 
 " For a few minutes, leave us, my love," re- 
 plied he, with such a look of misery, that Flo- 
 rence immediately obeyed, beckoning to Olive 
 and Eric to follow. When they were gone 
 
 " Now tell us the worst, Rathillet," said Tor- 
 riswood. " Have they sent the wretched Car- 
 michael to his account?" 
 
 " Not Carmichael." 
 
 " But some one. You are silent." 
 
 " Judas," said Rathillet, sternly ; and then re- 
 lenting, " Wretched, miserable old man ! — I had 
 not seen him of late. — I knew not that his hair 
 was so grey. — ^Oh ! the deed was horrible !" 
 
 Torriswood groaned. — " Horrible ! horrible!" 
 
 Colville looked at Mrs. Leslie. She had be- 
 come deadly pale. " Judas !" repeated he aside. 
 " Does he mean Sharpe himself?" 
 
 " He does. Too justly did his country give 
 him that name." 
 
 " Where," asked Torriswood, " did the deed 
 take place? At St. Andrews? Is rebellion to 
 begin its course there?" 
 
 " Rebellion !" repeated Rathillet, his eyes 
 flashing fire. 
 
176 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Call it what you will, Rathillet. Is this its 
 first act ?" 
 
 " I have told you, Torriswood, that I had no 
 part in this deed. Those who have sent that 
 wretched old man to answer for his crimes be- 
 lieved themselves fulfilling an awful duty. If 
 they have erred, they too will be called to give 
 their account to that same impartial Judge be- 
 fore whom he now is. They executed what they 
 deemed His judgment, on a murderer and per- 
 secutor of His Church, on the moor near Ceres.'* 
 
 " Magus Moor ?' 
 
 " The same. — The conspirators had been in- 
 formed that Carmichael meant to pass near Ceres 
 this morning. They watched for him from an 
 early hour, but he did not appear ; and they were 
 just about to separate, convinced that he had 
 changed his purpose, when a boy was sent by 
 some friend in Ceres to warn them of the ap- 
 proach of the Archbishop. He was then at 
 Ceres, but was to proceed in a short time by the 
 road near which they had posted themselves to 
 watch for Carmichael. They were all struck 
 with this unexpected intelligence; and in one 
 voice determined that they had been watching 
 for the agent, but that Heaven injustice had thus 
 directed them to the principal. One of the con- 
 spirators instantly came in search of me, and 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 177 
 
 urged me to be their leader. I rode back with 
 him. I was struck with the unlooked-for event 
 which had thus brought the true criminal into 
 the power of the executioners of justice. Yet a 
 few moments thought made me hesitate. I could 
 not see my way clearly ; and therefore told my 
 companion to proceed — that I could not join in 
 what they were about to do, but would follow, 
 and aid the conspirators should they fail, and 
 find any difficulty in effecting their escape. He 
 left me ; and I soon afterwards saw the Primate's 
 coach approaching, and was again greatly struck 
 on seeing that, contrary to his invariable custom, 
 he then travelled with very few attendants. My 
 companion galloped back. " His time is come, 
 Rathillet !" exclaimed he, pointing to the un- 
 guarded coach, and again urged me to join in ex- 
 ecuting that justice which his bleeding country 
 called for on his perjured — cruel — but I need not 
 say what he was now. — I still refused ; and my 
 friend at last galloped off to join the other con- 
 spirators. They had placed themselves behind 
 a hedge and some trees near the little village of 
 Magus. When the Archbishop had passed the 
 village, I observed one of the conspirators ride 
 after the coach, and pass it, looking in as he 
 passed. He then slackened his pace, and when 
 fallen behind, waved his arm, and immediately 
 
178 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 the others galloped forward to meet him. I 
 then observed some one lean out of the coach, 
 and make gestures with his hand and arm, and 
 the postilions immediately began to drive at a 
 rapid rate. As the conspirators gained upon the 
 coach, some of the attendants fired back upon 
 them. I then hurried on. I soon saw, however, 
 that several of the attendants were dismounted 
 and secured by a part of the conspirators, while 
 the others followed the coach. It drove furi- 
 ously. At last two got before it, and succeeded 
 in cutting the reins with their swords, and the 
 coach stopt. There were then many shots fired. 
 One of the assailants pulled open the door of the 
 coach, and they then seemed to pause, and hold 
 a parley with the person within. I was then 
 near enough to hear female screams." 
 
 " Horrible !" exclaimed Colville. " Were any 
 of his family with him ?" 
 
 " His daughter," 
 
 " And could they proceed ?" asked Torris- 
 Avood, shuddering as he spoke. 
 
 " Their purpose was not so lightly formed as 
 to be shaken by a woman's screams," replied Ra- 
 thillet; " besides, the deed once attempted, and 
 either his death or theirs must follow." 
 
 " Go on, Rathillet," said Torriswood. 
 
 " When I got to the place, the wretched man 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 179 
 
 had been dragged from his coach ; — his head 
 was bare, — and his grey hair blowing in the wind. 
 He was on his knees, imploring the conspirators 
 to spare his life, — promising, in his agony of ter- 
 ror, to secure them from all peril on account of 
 what they had already done. One said sternly, 
 " Sharpe, look you for our trusting your word ?" 
 Another said solemnly, " We take God to wit- 
 ness, that it is not from hatred to your person, 
 or for any thing that you have done, or can do 
 to us, that we now intend to execute justice on 
 you, but because you have been, and still are, 
 an avowed opposer of the Gospel, and a murderer 
 of the saints, whose blood you have shed like wa- 
 ter," This solemn address only called from 
 Sharpe, the words, " Gentlemen, spare my life, 
 and I will save yours." " You have no power 
 to save nor to kill us," said my friend : " And 
 now, — your soul is about to enter eternity. — You 
 once knew the gospel. If you can apply where 
 other murderers of the saints have found mercy, 
 we give you some minutes to pray."" " He wauld 
 not pray," continued Rathillet, the tone of his 
 voice changing as he spoke. " He thought of life 
 only ; and seeing me, implored me by name to 
 save him. 1 looked at the conspirators, and would 
 have pleaded for him, but every eye was bent up- 
 on him with solemn, but stern resolution — and I 
 
180 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 urged him to pray, as I saw there was no hope,-^ — 
 but he would not — or could not, pray — and, after 
 an awful pause, the conspirators drew close upon 
 him. — " For blood, and for your foul betraying 
 of the Church of Scotland." — " Blood calls to 
 Heaven for vengeance on the murderer." — " Re- 
 pent Judas." — "Die Judas !" Such were the words 
 with which they fell upon him. When I saw 
 the blood upon his grey hair, I tried to save him. — 
 I have no more to tell. — It was soon accomplish- 
 ed. At last all was still and silent, and the 
 bloody corpse left to his own people. The con- 
 spirators hastened I know not where. I got a 
 fisherman to exchange his dress with me, and 
 hurried hither. It is about four hours since the 
 deed was done."" 
 
 " And where go you next, Rathillet ?" asked 
 Torriswood. " You cannot remain in Edin- 
 burgh." 
 
 " I go west immediately. I hear from Ha- 
 milton of Preston, that there is hope of a rising 
 there." 
 
 Torriswood turned away, and left the room. 
 
 Florence, who had been watching for the door 
 opening, immediately joined her father. 
 
 " What is it, dear Sir ? What dreadful thing 
 has happened ?" 
 
 " Sharpe is dead, my child." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 181 
 
 • " Sharpe ? — and murdered ?" 
 
 a Yes — yes— but bring some wine, my love. — 
 Yourself bring it. We must get Rathillet away, 
 and he seems dreadfully exhausted." 
 
 " Is he a murderer ?'' asked Florence, in a 
 voice of horror. 
 
 " No, no, my love. He would have saved 
 him." 
 
 Florence instantly hastened away, and Torris- 
 wood beckoned to Eric, who stood at the door 
 of the room to which his sisters had retired, 
 
 " Eric, my boy, watch here, and on no ac- 
 count let any one enter the room in which we 
 are." Torriswood then returned to the room 
 where he had left Rathillet. 
 
 " Now I must oflP," said Rathillet, as he enter- 
 ed, " and you, Torriswood, must not delay." 
 
 " I will not, Rathillet, but where go you to- 
 night ? That dress will lead to suspicion as soon 
 as you leave the neighbourhood of the sea." 
 
 " I go to a friend a mile or two from Edin- 
 burgh. He will provide me w ith the dress of a 
 countryman, in that I will proceed to join Pres- 
 ton. God be with you, Torriswood." 
 
 Florence now entered. " Ha, yes. — Let me 
 once more pledge you in this." Rathillet eager- 
 ly swallowed the wine Florence had poured out 
 for him, — and another draught. 
 
182 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Florence entreated him to eat of some refresh- 
 ment she had also brought. 
 
 " No. — I cannot eat. — Farewell all. — Remem- 
 ber, Torriswood, I did not partake in the deed. 
 Would to heaven I had not witnessed it ! Why 
 did he call on me to save him ? — I could not save 
 him — But it is past. — Surely if his country's laws 
 had sentenced him to die, every voice would have 
 called the sentence just — and there is no law, — 
 they only did what the law ought to have done. 
 — They only acted as the avengers of blood. — 
 But again farewell, Torriswood." He then took 
 leave of all. 
 
 " Stop, Mr. Hackstoun,'* said Florence, on his 
 shaking hands with her. " These will betray 
 you," pointing to a part of the frill of his shirt, 
 which had escaped from under the sleeve of the 
 fisherman's jacket. " I will cut them off," add- 
 ed she, taking his hand in hers, and drawing 
 down the frill ; but before she had disengaged it 
 all, she dropt his hand, and started back — there 
 were several streaks of blood on the frill. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Rathillet, " I thought my 
 hand only had been smeared. It was poor Gil- 
 ston's last grasp as we parted." 
 
 " I shall take off the stained part," said Col- 
 ville, drawing Florence gently away. 
 
 Rathillet then left the house, accompanied by 
 Colville, who, seeing Torriswood's anxiety for 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 183 
 
 his safety, followed hini at a short distance, along 
 one street, and another and another, till at length 
 he saw him pass, without apparently exciting any 
 suspicion, through the West Port, and leave the 
 town. Colville then passed along another street 
 or two, lest he might have been observed, and 
 returned rapidly to set Torriswood's mind at rest 
 regarding his unhappy friend. 
 
 Colville, on his return, found Torriswood pre- 
 paring for his departure. He seemed greatly re- 
 lieved by hearing that Rathillet had left the town 
 in safety. 
 
 " Poor Rathillet !" exclaimed he ; " how 
 little does he regard his own safety. First, un- 
 necessarily present at a murder, which, though 
 he would have prevented if he had been able, will 
 give a colour of justice to whatever may hereafter 
 befall him, should he fall into the hands of his 
 enemies, and now risking that event by coming 
 to a place where so many know him, in a dis- 
 guise so imperfect, and yet so suspicious, and all 
 this to secure the safety of those who have dis- 
 regarded his opinions, and refused to be guided 
 by him. In this instance I am convinced he is 
 right, and have therefore determined to leave 
 Edinburi^h immediatelv." 
 
 Torriswood was to leave town, attended by a 
 servant, without any appearance of intention to 
 go farther than a usual ride. The servant who 
 
184 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 was to accompany him to London, it was deter- 
 mined, should follow at a later hour, in a plain 
 dress, so as to pass for a traveller of common 
 rank, carrying his necessary baggage behind 
 him. 
 
 In less than an hour, Torriswood had written 
 some necessary short intimations and instructions 
 to his friends, and arranged the few other mat- 
 ters which had been left undone, and now all 
 was ready for his departure, — and standing in 
 the midst of his children, and his sister's family, 
 he prayed fervently but shortly for protection, 
 grace, and guidance for them all — then pressing 
 his children to his heart, and embracing all the 
 others — he hurried away. Colville accompanied 
 him. They rode in silence for a time, then Tor- 
 riswood reminding Colville that it might be re- 
 marked should he return without his companion, 
 advised him to ride on before, though indeed, 
 Colville," added he, " it would be far better not 
 to accompany me at all." 
 
 Colville would not consent to this. He had 
 promised Florence not to leave her father till 
 the servant, who was to proceed with him, had 
 joined them. He, however, immediately rode 
 forward, and left the town alone, then slackened 
 his pace until he was joined by Torriswood. 
 
 Colville had other reasons also for wishing to 
 accompany Torriswood ; he longed earnestly for 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 185 
 
 a conversation with him before they parted, on a 
 subject now very near his heart ; and he hoped 
 at this time to make out his wish. Torriswood, 
 however, now seemed far absent in thought, and 
 rode on in silence. Colville made several at- 
 tempts to draw him into conversation ; but though 
 he replied with kindness of voice and manner, 
 still after a few remarks, the conversation was, 
 on his part, dropt ; and he never broke the si- 
 lence, unless from time to time to entreat Colville 
 to return. 
 
 " You will have yourself to enter the town in 
 the dark, and may find difficulties, Colville," said 
 Torriswood at last, after they had ridden about 
 fifteen miles. I do entreat you to return now," 
 added he, stopping his horse, and holding out 
 his hand to take leave. Colville looked behind, 
 and saw a man riding rapidly after them. He 
 concluded him to be the servant he looked for, 
 and felt embarrassed and at a loss. 
 
 '• Farewell, my dear Colville," said Torriswood 
 again. 
 
 " I have just one word to say. Sir," answered 
 Colville. Torriswood rode on. 
 
 " I did not quite understand you. Sir, this morn- 
 ing. I cannot rest satisfied till I know whether — " 
 Colville seemed to lose breath. 
 
 " To what do you allude, Colville ?" 
 
.186 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " To your reproof, Sir, on my saying I wished 
 to remain at Erinlaw." 
 
 " Did you tell me all your reasons, Colville, 
 for wishing to remain there?" 
 
 " No Sir, I did not. I now acknowledge what 
 I saw you guessed. Your family, Sir, are all as 
 dear to me as if they really were my own brothers 
 and sisters. I have regarded you, Sir, for many 
 years as a father, why should I hesitate to say, 
 that I wish to be your son ?" 
 
 " You have been with us one week, Colville. 
 Can you in that time have decided on a matter 
 which will give the colour to your future exist- 
 ence ? — at least to all that is domestic in it ; — and 
 you, Colville, from a boy have shown that your 
 chief enjoyments are found there." 
 
 " I have indeed been but one week with you. 
 Sir, but I knew and loved Florence before. When 
 I went abroad, parting from her was more severe 
 on me than parting even from my only parent. 
 When I was abroad, she was in every thought of 
 home, although my imagination still pictured her 
 only as the sweet child I had left. — And now I 
 find her all — more than I have spent hours in 
 supposing she one day might be." 
 
 " My dear Colville," replied Torriswood kind- 
 ly, " there is no man on earth I would sooner 
 have as a son than ypurself. I will say more. I 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 187 
 
 think Florence would be happier with you than 
 any other man I know. — I mean that I think your 
 character one suited to make her happy ; but, 
 my friend, is this a time to think of such things ? 
 Is it not even cruel in us men at such times to 
 gain the affection of young fond hearts, when we 
 must engage in such aifairs as may involve us in 
 circumstances which would break them ? You see 
 what a melancholy shade our present circum- 
 stances have brought over poor Florence's charac- 
 ter. You see how she suffers from anxiety." — 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Colville, — " and who can 
 see all this without loving such warm affections, 
 such regardlessness of self !""* 
 
 " But, Colville, warm as her affections are to- 
 wards her own family, you know the place you 
 wish to gain in them is of a nature which can ex- 
 pose her to far greater wretchedness than any 
 affection she has yet felt. You remember how 
 gay and playful she was formerly. You see how 
 she is changed. I leave you to yourself. I al- 
 ready love you as a son ; but I should rather you 
 were indeed Florence's brother, one who would 
 support, and strengthen, and cheer my poor girls, 
 than one who would soften their already weak- 
 ened natures." 
 
 " Well — be it so, my dear Sir," — replied Col- 
 ville, " and perhaps if I serve seven years so as 
 
188 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 to please you, I may hope you will give me this 
 Rachel." 
 
 " Yes, dear Colville/' 
 
 " And if I see another wish to gain the heart 
 I must not seek " 
 
 " Then you have her father's leave to win it. 
 Farewell." 
 
 The servant had now joined our travellers, and 
 Colville at last said " Farewell," and turning his 
 horse, continued to look back at intervals till 
 Torriswood was concealed by a turn in the road, 
 then spurring his horse, rode at such a rapid rate 
 as to reach Edinburgh before the glow of the 
 setting sun had left the horizon. He found no 
 difficulty in being admitted at the port; but he 
 observed a bustle in the street as he passed along. 
 There was an unusual show of soldiers, and the 
 people were crowding together in earnest talk. 
 At one house a party of soldiers guarded the 
 door, and a crowd had gathered round it so 
 thickly, that Colville had to walk his horse cau- 
 tiously through them. This he did so carefully, 
 that the people who were used in those times to 
 different treatment from young men of his ap- 
 pearance, hastened to make way for him. " Keep 
 back, Johnny," said one woman to her boy; " din- 
 na ye see how carefu' the gentleman is no to 
 hurt ye ?" 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 189 
 
 Colville stopt for an instant, and leaning to- 
 wards the woman, asked what the soldiers were 
 collected in that quarter for. 
 
 " They are searchin' Sir, for ane o' the mur- 
 derers, as they ca' them — ane o' the gentlemen 
 that gi'ed Sharpe his last meeting this mornin.' 
 But they hae found naebody yet." 
 
 " Do you know who the person is they are in 
 search of?" " Rathillet, Sir — Hackstoun of Ra~ 
 thillet. They sae he crossed frae Fife after the 
 deed, and that's the house he aye put up at in 
 this town." 
 
 Colville thanked the woman for her intelli- 
 gence, and getting through the crowd as quickly 
 as he could, hastened to Lady Dalcluden's house, 
 dreading that Rathillet's visit there might have 
 been discovered. He found all quiet, however, 
 and the rest of the evening passed on, sadly 
 enough, but without disturbance. Colville said 
 nothing to excite alarm, but continued with the 
 family, anxiously listening to every noise; and 
 after they retired to rest, sat up the earlier part 
 of the night, lest any attempt should be made to 
 enter, or to search the house. 
 
190 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CoLviLLE thought himself obliged next morning 
 to inform Mrs. Leslie of the search that had been 
 making for Rathillet. He found she made it a 
 rule that every member of her family should, in 
 some place or other, meet, to worship God on 
 his Sabbath ; and he feared the consequences, in 
 the present state of things, should an attempt be 
 made to search her house, and every member of 
 it be found absent, not one individual probably 
 of the whole, at a place of worship authorised by 
 the government. 
 
 *« My dear Colville," replied Mrs. Leslie, " I 
 am not surprised at your apprehensions regard- 
 ing us ; but the last twenty years has taught the 
 servants of God in this poor country, a nearness, 
 a closeness of dependence on His providence, 
 which produces a confidence, and peace, and 
 calmness, and sweet freedom from anxiety, while 
 pursuing the plain path of duty, which makes 
 them look back with thankfulness even on those 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 391 
 
 painful circumstances which have been the means 
 of teaching them a lesson so precious. Our duty 
 for to-day is plain. We have nothing to do but 
 simply follow it. If an hair of our heads cannot 
 fall to the ground without the permission of our 
 Father in heaven, shall we weakly dread real ca- 
 lamities, as if they also were not under His con- 
 trol ; and suppose, that if He sees meet to min- 
 gle suffering in our cup, we can avoid his will 
 by leaving the path of duty ? Do you not think, 
 my dear Colville," added Mrs. Leslie, affection- 
 ately, " that it is plainly commanded us, * not to 
 forsake the assembling of ourselves together, as 
 the manner of some is ?' " 
 " Most assuredly I do." 
 
 " Shall we then consider ourselves wiser than 
 our Lawgiver, and venture to disobey him ? You, 
 my dear Colville, saw this matter in the same 
 light last Sunday that I see it now. I confess, 
 the assassination of that wretched Sharpe has 
 greatly increased the evils of our circumstances. 
 I am perhaps more aware of this than you yet 
 can be ; but though this event will be considered 
 as the act of our whole party, we know that in 
 the sight of God, we are clear of our wishing such 
 retribution on our most cruel persecutor ; and 
 duty cannot change; nor can He change who 
 will never leave us without his support while we 
 are fulfilling his will." 
 
192 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Colville was silent. He felt convinced that 
 Mrs. Leslie was right, yet could not overcome 
 his anxious feelings. He had asked Mrs. Leslie 
 to leave the apartment where the others were, 
 that he might to her alone impart the cause of 
 his alarm, and they now returned to the break- 
 fast room. 
 
 Florence, who had not joined the family be- 
 fore they left the room, was now there. She 
 looked pale and unrested, and anxiously inquir- 
 ed, on their entrance, whether any thing distress- 
 ing had occurred ? Colville assured her that 
 nothing new whatever had happened, and then 
 asked some question which gave a different turn 
 to the conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie continued for a time thoughtful 
 and silent, she then said, " I perceive, Colville, 
 your feelings with regard to us women are like 
 those of my brother. He is always too tender of 
 us. He would bear every evil, if possible, alone, 
 and shield us even from the very knowledge of 
 its existence. I have often argued this point with 
 him. I think he errs." 
 
 " Then Colville is concealing something from 
 us," interrupted Florence. " Do not, Colville. 
 You think it kind, but indeed you will only teach 
 us to regard ourselves as additional sources of 
 anxiety and care to you, while our imaginations 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 193 
 
 are busy creating subjects of misery, probably 
 far greater than those you conceal." 
 
 " What he kindly wishes to conceal from you 
 girls," said Mrs. Leslie, " is a circumstance 
 which the least thought on our parts might have 
 led us to expect. There is a search making for 
 the assassins of Sharpe, and, as was to be looked 
 for, poor Rathillet is included in th^ num- 
 ber." 
 
 " But I trust he is out of their reach," said 
 Florence earnestly. 
 
 " I have not a shadow of doubt that he is," 
 said Colville. 
 
 " But," resumed Mrs. Leslie, " Colville fears 
 that this house may be searched ; and though 
 Rathillet may not be found here, it may be dis- 
 covered how many Conventicles my household 
 attend." 
 
 " Had we not better then — at least some of 
 the family, remain at home ?" asked Olive. 
 
 Every one smiled — and after a little more con- 
 versation, it was agreed that Mrs. Leslie should 
 take the girls with her, and that Colville and 
 Eric should take horse for the Pentland Hills, 
 while the tutor and Mrs. Leslie's sons should 
 go to the house of a friend of his, where there 
 was that day to be a meeting. 
 
 K 
 
194. PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " It is twenty years," said Mrs. Leslie to Col- 
 ville, " since I have been at a place of worship 
 authorised by government, and during these 
 twenty years I have not been absent twenty times 
 from some assembly of the Lord's people on his 
 Sabbath : and, excepting two or three fines, no- 
 thing has ever been suffered to befal me. Many, 
 many of our friends can say as much, or more, 
 yet many others have been called to suffer in 
 His cause ; and if He counts us worthy to endure 
 suffering for His sake, we know those who have 
 trod that path before us, have not been left to do 
 so in their own strength." 
 
 " Say no more, I entreat you, my dear Ma- 
 dam," said Colville. " You make me feel most 
 sensibly what a novice I am in true religion." 
 
 Colville reddened as he spoke, and Mrs. Les- 
 lie's devoted spirit seemed to inspire all who 
 heard her. Even Olive forgot her fears, and in 
 a very short time the whole family, excepting 
 one infirm old domestic, who was unable to 
 leave the house, set out on their different desti- 
 nations. 
 
 At this period Conventicles, as they were call- 
 ed, were held all over Scotland, particularly on 
 the Sabbath ; and in no part of it were they more 
 numerously attended than in Edinburgh. Acts, 
 fines, imprisonment, — almost every means - had 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 195 
 
 been tried by the ruling faction to suppress what 
 they termed those rendezvous of sedition; but 
 every attempt to suppress seemed to have the ef- 
 fect of multiplying those proscribed meetings; and, 
 despairing of success, the ruling party found 
 themselves, from time to time, obliged to wink 
 at what they found it impossible to prevent. — 
 Another cause also for at times overlooking: these 
 meetings was, that members, or relations of the 
 first families in the country were usually found 
 amongst those assembled, and not unfrequentlv 
 relations, and even members of the families of 
 the ruling party themselves. These breathing 
 times, however, were not generally of long con- 
 tinuance, and when new plans were suggested to 
 the ruling party for suppressing Conventicles, 
 new schemes were fallen upon by those who at- 
 tended such assemblies to defeat them. 
 
 It was the province of the Town Major to dis- 
 cover, and bring to justice such criminals ; but 
 finding that his most diligent efforts proved in- 
 effectual to suppress those obnoxious meetings, 
 the present officer had followed the example of 
 his superiors, and in many instances an offering 
 from the person in whose house the Conventicle 
 was to be held, secured not only its being over- 
 looked, but also the protection of the Town Ma- 
 jor. Under this protection, Mrs. Ednam, the 
 
196 PHILIP COLV^ILLE. 
 
 lady to whose house the Lady Dalcluden and her 
 young friends now proceeded, had often received 
 her fellow worshippers. On this day she had 
 again invited them to her house. On Mrs. Les- 
 lie and her party entering the hall, however, the 
 servant, after carefully closing the door at which 
 they had been admitted, softly begged Mrs. Les- 
 lie not to proceed, and then informed her that his 
 Lady wished all her friends, before they joined 
 the assembly within, to know that she had reason 
 to fear their meeting might not pass undisturbed, 
 as the Town Major had called to say he could 
 not be responsible for what might happen. The 
 Council had met. Sabbath as it was, in conse- 
 quence of the Archbishop's assassination, and 
 the Town Major had been sent for to attend its 
 orders ; and he thought likely he should receive 
 some new commission respecting Conventicles. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie looked at the girls. " Who is 
 afraid ?" 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 " You have yourself said that our duty is plain, 
 my dear aunt," said Florence. 
 
 " Yes, my love, but young, weak Christians 
 must not be urged too far. If any of you are 
 afraid I advise you to return home. Think — 
 perhaps a prison may be before us." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 197 
 
 " Wherever you are, my dear aunt, let us be,"' 
 said Olive firmly. 
 
 " Olive so courageous I" said her aunt, smiling. 
 
 The two young Leslies clung to their mother ; 
 " Whatever happens. Madam, let us join Mrs. 
 Ednam and our friends, and all meet it together," 
 said the eldest. 
 
 The old servant smiled, and proceeded to open 
 the door into the apartment where the small con- 
 gregation were assembled. There were about 
 five and twenty people already collected together 
 in this large apartment. At one end of it was a 
 chair and table, with a Bible laying on the table, 
 placed for the clergyman. Other chairs were 
 placed opposite to these for the audience. Se- 
 veral of these chairs were still unoccupied. No 
 one rose on Mrs. Leslie's entrance. Only a look 
 and smile of kind recognition passed between her 
 and her friends, and when she and her young 
 friends were seated, all returned to their former 
 serious attention to the duties of the day. 
 
 As all who were expected had not yet arrived, 
 the clergyman had not begun the service. At 
 such meetings, however, every moment was de- 
 voted to that purpose for which at so much risk 
 they were assembled together, and now each in- 
 dividual seemed engaged with some pursuit, to 
 them apparently of the deepest interest. Those 
 
198 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 seated near each other were, with their Bibles 
 open before them, conversing in low whispers, 
 evincing by their frequent reference to the sacred 
 volume that some of its doctrines, or precepts, 
 formed their subject of conversation. The cler- 
 gyman had not taken his place, but stood apart 
 from his small congregation, in earnest conver- 
 sation with one member of it, whose gestures be- 
 trayed much agitation as she talked to him, and 
 who seemed to weep without ceasing while he 
 addressed her. This lady's face was turned 
 away, and she was so completely wrapped up in 
 a large cloak, that it was impossible to recognise 
 her. The clergyman's face was also turned away, 
 but his person was slender and young. 
 
 After several other friends had joined the 
 meeting, the old servant, attended by his fellow 
 domestics, entered the apartment, and took their 
 places at its lower end. This seemed to intimate 
 to the clergyman that no more worshippers were 
 expected, and he immediately took his place at 
 the table, while the lady with whom he had been 
 conversing, after drawing her cloak closer around 
 her, and concealing her face as much as she 
 could, looked for an instant as if to choose a 
 place of concealment, and then approached the 
 place where Florence sat, and turning a chair a 
 little from her, towards the wall, placed herself 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 199 
 
 next her. Florence did not turn round, but she 
 could not help feeling a deep interest in her mys- 
 terious companion. The clergyman read a psalm 
 before it was sung, and Florence observing that 
 the lady had no Psalm-book, leant towards her 
 that she might sing from hers. The hand with 
 which the stranger accepted of this offered share 
 of Florence's Psalm-book, trembled so excessive- 
 ly that she was obliged to resign it. Florence 
 still held it before her, however, and she continued 
 to bend over it, and before the clergyman had 
 finished reading, she seemed to have recovered 
 her composure, and again held the book. When, 
 however, every voice was raised in worship, and 
 she attempted to join, she again became extreme- 
 ly agitated, and leant back in her chair, no long- 
 er attempting to join in the service. When the 
 prayer began, she turned quite away, and Flo- 
 rence was soon recalled from all other thoughts, 
 by the touching, earnest, and affectionate suppli- 
 cations of the young clergyman. Even Mr. 
 Wellwood's prayers had never more deeply af- 
 fected her ; and when he had finished, all earth- 
 ly thoughts seemed to have passed from her mind, 
 and she was prepared to listen to his instructions, 
 with the most undivided interest. These instruc- 
 tions he delivered with a gravity, and authority 
 beyond his years, for in appearance he was quite 
 
200 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 a youth — his figure slight, his countenance 
 young, and full of animation, yet already, with 
 those traces left by deep thought, by an acquaint- 
 ance with suffering, and by elevated devotion. 
 The sermon was long ; for in these times of diffi- 
 culty, Christians earnestly desired instruction, 
 and many, many were the subjects which pre- 
 sented themselves, equally interesting to the 
 preacher, and to his hearers. The meeting had 
 been assembled for three hours, and still there 
 was no appearance of fatigue on the part of the 
 preacher, nor of want of interest in his hearers, 
 when a bustle and noise in the street, and then a 
 loud knocking at the street door, forced the at- 
 tention of every one. Mrs. Ed nam immediately 
 hastened towards the young clergyman, entreat- 
 ing him to follow her. 
 
 " I hope to get you away in safety," said she. 
 " We are in no danger. You alone have any 
 thinff serious to dread." 
 
 o 
 
 He hesitated — The rest of the party were all 
 females excepting two old gentlemen, one the 
 uncle, the other the brother-in-law of Mrs. Ed- 
 nam, and the young clergyman seemed to feel as 
 a man, and unwilling to leave so many unprotect- 
 ed females. 
 
 " You can do us no good. Sir !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Ednam, putting her arm in his to hurry 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 201 
 
 him away. — It was too late — the door had been 
 burst open, — and a party of soldiers now rushed 
 into the room, led by the Town Major. He 
 seemed struck with surprise on seeing the assem- 
 bly, and stopt short for an instant, then observ- 
 ing Mrs. Ednam standing by the clergyman, he 
 addressed her in a voice of mingled anger and 
 vexation. 
 
 " Madam, I must do my duty. It is your own 
 fault. You know it is your own fault. 1 cannot 
 help it. You know I cannot help it," then turn- 
 ing to his followers — " Soldiers, seize the minis- 
 ter." 
 
 Four of the soldiers immediately threw aside 
 the chairs that stood in their way, while the fe- 
 males shrunk from side to side as they advanced, 
 and rudely seized the young preacher. 
 
 " I give myself up to you, soldiers," said he, 
 mildly, " but, remember a day is coming when 
 we shall all stand at one judgment seat, to give 
 an account of how we have spent this Lord's day.'' 
 
 " Away with him, and his preaching," exclaim- 
 ed the Town Major, in a voice of passion. " Off 
 to the Tolbooth, and let him keep his preaching 
 for the council. You will need it all to keej) 
 your young neck out of a tether. What the devil 
 pleasure can there be in hanging, and banish- 
 ment, and being stuck up in that old rock in the 
 
202 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 sea, that so many young fools are taking to it 
 
 yet." 
 
 " If you would try to know and serve God, 
 my friend," said the young clergyman, " you 
 would find out the secret." 
 
 " Off, off;" called out the Town Major, and 
 the soldiers rudely hurried their prisoner out of 
 the room. 
 
 A pause ensued. The females huddled close- 
 ly together, looked in pale and fearful suspense 
 at the rough, insolent looking soldiers, while they 
 seemed only to await the orders of their leader. 
 At last Mrs. Ednam stept forward, 
 
 " I expect, as this Conventicle has assembled 
 in my house," said she to the Town Major, " that 
 a heavy fine will be levied on me. I am ready 
 to meet it if I can. Does your commission go 
 any farther ?" 
 
 " My order says nothing of fines," replied the 
 Town Major. "• I am commanded to lodge 
 those in prison whom I find at Conventicles. I 
 cannot help it," repeated he, " it is not my fault." 
 
 " In prison !" repeated Mrs. Ednam, becom- 
 ing pale for an instant — then recovering herself, 
 '• Well, I am ready to accompany you to pri- 
 son." 
 
 Mr. Ednam now interfered, but in vain. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 203 
 
 " My orders are peremptory,'"' said the Town 
 Major, " and I have no time to lose. It is no 
 fauh of mine, and I must do my duty. All pre- 
 sent must proceed with me instantly to the Can- 
 ongate jail." 
 
 '• All ! all !" repeated every one. 
 
 " Yes, all. There is my order — " and he read 
 the order of the council. It was short and per- 
 emptory, and commanded that every person dis- 
 covered at such seditious and unlawful meetings 
 should be forthwith lodged in jail. 
 
 " What on earth shall I do !" exclaimed Flo- 
 rence's unknown companion, in a low but agitat- 
 ed tone of voice, and grasping her arm as she 
 spoke. Florence looked round, and to her as- 
 tonishment beheld her cousin, Mary Osborne. 
 
 " Mary !" 
 
 " Hush, Florence. Do not name me. What 
 can I do ? Oh ! if my mother discovers that I 
 have been here — and now she must discover.'" 
 
 " Be composed dear Mary. Wrap your cloak 
 closer around you. Colville will soon find us 
 out wherever we go, and my uncle will easily ob- 
 tain your freedom, and will, I am sure, forgive 
 you." 
 
 " You are right, dear Florence, — that is my 
 best plan. But are you sure Colvihe will search 
 for you ? Will he venture ? You do not know 
 
204 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 how dangerous it is to favour Covenanters now. 
 That dreadful murder has enraged their enemies, 
 and put them in terror. Are you sure of Col- 
 ville's missing you this day ? What if I should 
 not be released to-night ? Oh ! I should never 
 be forgiven." 
 
 " If Colville is himself at liberty, I am sure he 
 will find us out," replied Florence. 
 
 The Town Major now ordered a part of the 
 soldiers to lead the way, and informed Mrs. Ed- 
 nam and her friends that he could wait no longer. 
 
 " Come then," said the Lady Dalcluden cheer- 
 fully, " we must not shrink from suffering shame 
 in this cause. Come, my dears," turning to her 
 daughters and nieces, " prepare yourselves to 
 proceed in open day, as thieves and felons, to a 
 jail, because you have ventured to listen to His 
 gospel who suffered shame and death for you. 
 Come Olive, love, you shall lean on me, and my 
 little Annot — thou wilt be a young prisoner for 
 thy Master's sake — but it was thy own choice." 
 
 Olive and Annot clung to the Lady Dalcluden, 
 Mrs. Ednam took the other little girl under her 
 charge. Florence, with Mary clinging to her 
 arm, kept close to their two elder friends. The 
 rest of the party arranged themselves as they felt 
 disposed, the two old gentlemen escorting those 
 who were most overcome by fear. A party of 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 205 
 
 soldiers preceded the little congregation. Two 
 other files guarded them on either side ; another 
 party brought up the rear, and in this order they 
 issued from the court surrounding Mrs. Ednam's 
 house, into the open street. A crowd of idle peo- 
 ple had collected in the street on seeing the sol- 
 diers enter the court, and had continued to in- 
 crease during the time they were in the house. 
 A part of the crowd had followed the clergyman, 
 but still numbers were waiting, who received our 
 party with shouts and insults. Had it been any 
 other day than the Sabbath, the crowd on, the 
 streets would have been composed of far more 
 who would have sympathized with, than insulted 
 the prisoners ; but great pains had been taken to 
 ridicule and do away that strict regard for the 
 Sabbath, so determinately insisted on by the first 
 Scotch Reformers, and by the Covenanters ; and 
 precept and example had so far succeeded as to 
 make the Sabbath now a day of amusement and 
 disorder amongst a considerable part of the lower 
 classes, while the sober and religious part were 
 too scrupulously exact in its observance, to min- 
 gle in such a crowd as now assailed the priso- 
 ners. 
 
 Lady Dalcluden, Mrs. Ednam, and some of 
 the elder ladies, walked firmly on ; but the noise, 
 and shouts, and clamour of the crowd, terrified 
 
206 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 the younger females ; and it was with joy rather 
 than dismay, that they hastened up the narrow 
 outer stair which led to that part of the jail as- 
 signed to them, and saw its massy door unlocked 
 to shelter them. They were ushered by the 
 jailer into a small apartment. Within this was 
 one still smaller. The floors of both were of 
 stone. A table, one or two benches, and two 
 narrow beds in each room, composed the whole 
 of the furniture. The jailer, after saying he would 
 return in half an hour, left the prisoners, and 
 they heard the sound of his locks and bolts as he 
 secured the door on the outside. The noise of 
 the crowd still ascended from the street under the 
 grated windows, and, overcome by shame and ter- 
 ror, the younger females sunk half fainting on the 
 beds and benches. Florence alone was composed ; 
 and now, with a light step and cheerful voice, 
 began to seek the comfort of every one. 
 
 " Olive, Mary, Annot ! Why all this terror ? 
 Catharine Pringle, Ellen Hume, Violet Scott, do 
 you not see that you have taken all the seats ? 
 Mrs. Ednam is obliged to stand. The Lady 
 Graden, my aunt." 
 
 The girls started up. " Come, assist me," con- 
 tinued Florence, " we may have to remain here 
 for a night — perhaps nights. Dear Mrs. Ednam, 
 here is a seat for you, and you, dear aunt," and 
 
PHILIP COLVIILE. 207 
 
 then placing benches, she diirected the party as 
 she chose, to occupy them, each one regarding 
 her with looks which soon became as cheerful 
 as her own. Her young companions, though 
 still trembling, began to assist her in arranging 
 the two apartments. The low beds were drawn 
 from the corners in which they were placed, and 
 served for seats. By these exertions, most of 
 the party, which consisted of upwards of thirty, 
 were soon tolerably accommodated, and the no- 
 velty of the scene produced subjects of merri- 
 ment, not only for the younger members of the 
 party, but even for the matrons and old gentle- 
 men, — for all but poor Mary Osborne. The pri- 
 son was but dimly lighted, as the small windows 
 were covered with dust, and the seat she had 
 chosen was with her back to her aunt, and at the 
 farthest part of the room. She had thus entirely 
 escaped her observation. The time, however, as 
 it passed, seemed to her so long, that she could 
 not conceal her anxiety and alarm. She had en- 
 treated Florence not to make her known to any 
 one ; but at last, forgetting every thing but her 
 dread of remaining in the jail, she almost uncon- 
 sciously rose several times to look from the win- 
 dow, in the hope of seeing Colville approach. 
 The cloak was allowed to fall from her face, and 
 at last Mrs. Leslie, and several of the others re- 
 
208 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 cognised the daughter of Sir Walter Osborne, 
 one of the most determined enemies of the suffer- 
 ing Church of Scotland. Mrs. Leslie saw she 
 did not wish to be known, so said nothing, but 
 looked significantly at Mrs. Ednam, who waited 
 till Mary had resumed her place with her back 
 to them, then said in a whisper to Mrs. Leslie, 
 
 " Your niece is under strong religious impres- 
 sions. That is all I know. She came to me this 
 morning to entreat, that if any persecuted minis- 
 ter was to be at my house this Sunday, I would 
 suffer her to ask him a few questions. She said 
 her own friends regarded the anxiety and unhap- 
 piness she felt on the subject of religion, as mere 
 gloom, which always returned when she met her 
 uncle Torriswood and his family, and wished her 
 to engage in scenes of festivity to amuse her 
 thoughts from such frightful ideas as the Coven- 
 anters delighted to dwell upon ; but that she felt 
 wretched, and had determined to ask advice 
 from some of those, who seemed to feel the safety 
 of the immortal soul, to be above all earthly con- 
 sideration ; for to her it appeared a subject of 
 awfully fearful importance." 
 
 " Dear child !" said Mrs. Leslie, much moved. 
 
 " You saw her agitation, when speaking to 
 Mr, Aylman," resumed Mrs. Ednam. " I hope 
 he spoke to her heart, and that she may no longer 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 209 
 
 suffer from ignorance of the way of peace ; 
 but she is suffering sadly from anxiety at this mo- 
 ment." 
 
 Mrs. Leslie moved softly to the place where 
 Mary was seated, and placing herself by her, 
 laid her hand on hers, " Mary, my love." 
 
 Mary started. " My aunt ! my dear aunt ! Oh 
 how wrong you must think me !" 
 
 " Wrong, my love ! I do not think you 
 
 wrono-." 
 
 o 
 
 " Not wrong ! my dear aunt, are you serious ? 
 How often have you blamed me for my self-will, 
 and disregard of my father's wishes; and could I 
 do any thing on earth more contrary to his will, 
 than I have done this day?" 
 
 " In your father's house, my dear Mary, you 
 could scarcely commit a greater fault than to dis- 
 regard his will in earthly matters. This I have 
 seen you often do, and thought it right, as you 
 always listened to me, to tell you how wrong I 
 thought you ; but this day you have been seek- 
 ing to know the will of Him you must obey be- 
 fore an earthly father. I think, Mary, you might 
 have known that I could not consider this wrong." 
 
 " My dear aunt, I scarcely know what you 
 think, or what is right, or what is wrong on 
 almost any subject. My own first opinions, — 
 the Bible, as I understand it, are directly contra- 
 
2iO PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ry to what I am continually instructed, to consi- 
 der right and wrong. Your views on all subjects 
 I am tauffht to regard as those w^hich I ouo^ht to 
 avoid as most dangerous and gloomy, — while my 
 heart clings to you, and to my uncle and cousins, 
 whenever I see you and them, with an indescrib- 
 able feeling of esteem and affection. But now, 
 dear madam, what shall I do? You know, my 
 mother, — what can I do ?" 
 
 " Trust in God, my love. Your mother's heart, 
 — all hearts are in His hand, — all circumstances 
 are "under His control. You were in the path of 
 duty. Trust to him to deliver you out of this 
 little difficulty in the way best for you." 
 
 Mary pressed her aunt's hand in both of hers. 
 
 " Why, my love, are you so averse to being 
 known by those who are here ?" 
 
 " Oh, because 1 am not like them. They have 
 given up all for religion ; and you know,"""* added 
 she, tears filling her eyes, " I am the daughter of 
 one of their persecutors." 
 
 " And I am his sister, — and every one present 
 has near relations, for whom they do not cease 
 to pray that God would open their hearts to re- 
 ceive that truth, which would teach them the sin- 
 fulness of persecuting those who only seek to 
 serve God according to their consciences. Come 
 from this dark corner, my love. Colville will, I 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 211 
 
 make no doubt, soon be here. Let us, in the 
 mean time, spend our Sabbath in some manner 
 suited to the day." 
 
 Mrs. Leslie stood up as she said the last words, 
 and every one seemed immediately to enter into 
 her spirit. 
 
 " Catharine Pringle, Ellen Hume, make room 
 for my niece between you. Your paths through 
 this world seem strewed with the same thorns. 
 Experience alone can teach you how precious 
 (Christian friendship is in trial and in suffering.'' 
 
 The girls immediately made room for Mary 
 in the narrow seat, and received her with the 
 most cordial kindness, and she, young and frank, 
 and warm in her affections, after shedding a few 
 tears, and struggling a little for composure, en- 
 tered into confiding, and interesting conversation 
 with her two young companions. 
 
 Florence's attention, in the mean time, had been 
 attracted by the long pieces of writing on the 
 darkened walls of her prison. In some parts the 
 words were scarcely legible ; in others she could 
 discover ample proofs that sufferers in the same 
 cause had recently been confined there, and had 
 been even carried from its walls to the scaffold. 
 Sad, but deeply interested, she proceeded from 
 writing to writing, entirely occupied with the so- 
 lemn and mournful thoughts produced by the 
 
212 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 various feelings she found expressed, and left for 
 the perusal of a stranger ; and how strongly did 
 she feel at that moment, what must be the wretch- 
 edness of solitude in suffering, when it could 
 lead the soul to seek to escape from it by claim- 
 ing sympathy from fellow-beings, even in the fu- 
 ture feelings of a stranger. She looked on the 
 many friends now surrounding her, with new and 
 lively emotions of affection and thankfulness. 
 Many Bibles were open amongst them, for none 
 of the party had left these precious little volumes 
 behind them. Florence felt that perhaps she 
 was mispending her Sabbath. There were some 
 freshly written lines, however, just before her, 
 and determining to look only at these, she read 
 the following words : — 
 
 " A few hours more, and I shall no longer 
 ' see as through a glass darkly, but face to face.' 
 ' I shall put off mortality to put on immortality.' 
 These white hairs shall be dyed in blood, and 
 this head, now the poor aching abode of thought, 
 be stuck up a spectacle of humiliation, and this 
 hand with which I write, and all this earthly 
 frame, severed and dishonoured, exposed to pe- 
 rish in disgrace and shame ! Be it so. It is the 
 earthly inheritance left to those who bear witness 
 to His truth, by my glorious forerunner in suffer- 
 ing ! — Scotland — thou art clear of my blood ! 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 213 
 
 They who rule over thee are hated by thy chil- 
 dren. Their acts are not thine. They seek to 
 drown the truth in blood — but suffer on my coun- 
 try ! A glorious harvest will be the fruits." 
 
 Immediately beneath was written in a different 
 hand — 
 
 My last sun has risen, 
 
 It is far on its way ; 
 My soul quits its prison 
 
 Ere the close of the day. 
 
 Farewell hours of sorrow, 
 
 I shall know you no more ; 
 Ere day dawn to-morrow 
 
 Our long union is o'er. 
 
 A bright ray is glowing 
 
 O'er the river of death ; 
 I fear not its flowing. 
 
 With that light for my path. 
 
 Blest beam of His tracing, 
 
 O'er the gloom of that riv^er ; 
 "WTio its horrors embracing. 
 Has calmed it for ever. 
 
 " What have you found to interest you so 
 deeply, my dear Florence ?" asked Mrs. Ednam, 
 putting her arm within hers as she stood, " have 
 you not heard my uncle's proposal that we should 
 join together in singing a psalm in our prison ?" 
 
214 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Florence pointed to the writing on the walls ; 
 " These have indeed occupied me deeply, my 
 dear Madam. Let us join in what your uncle 
 wishes ; and perhaps you may afterwards be 
 able to give me some light respecting those who 
 have left so many sad, yet triumphant memorials 
 here." 
 
 The good old gentleman had chosen a psalm, 
 and himself now began a slow and solemn air. 
 Mrs. Ednam's servants, who had retired to the 
 inner room, now stood at its entrance to join in 
 this act of worship. The psalm was long, but 
 the words elevating. For a time after its close, 
 all remained in their places, entering into con- 
 versation suited to the day. Mary Osborne's 
 countenance soon began, however, again to wear 
 a very anxious expression ; and Olive observing 
 her uneasiness, interrupted her aunt to ask, whe- 
 ther she thought Colville could have returned 
 from the Pentland hills. 
 
 " Our talking on the subject, my love, will not 
 bring him," replied Mrs Leslie, " so let us try to 
 spend our day aright, and leave the rest with God. 
 Do you, my dear Olive, answer this question in 
 Bible words — ' What is the reward promised to 
 those who call the Sabbath of the Lord a delight 
 — the holy of the Lord, honourable ; and ho- 
 nour him, not doing their own ways, nor finding 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 215 
 
 their own pleasure, nor speaking their own 
 words ?' — and you, my dear Mary, answer me in 
 the same sacred words : Who must you forsake 
 rather than Christ ? — And you my little Annot — 
 Mrs. Leslie gave her also a question to answer, 
 and on seeing them engaged in searching their 
 Bibles, turned to Mrs. Ednam and Florence, and 
 said in a whisper, " I wish I may be able to prac- 
 tise as I preach. I cannot help feeling anxious 
 about Colville, and the boys." 
 
 " Well," replied Mrs. Ednam, " I have often 
 reason to thank heaven in these times, for hav- 
 ing disregarded my many importunate prayers 
 for children. I have not at this moment one feel- 
 ing of care. I never felt happier in my life ; and 
 because I suppose those you are anxious about 
 are yours, and not mine, I can almost look on 
 you as weak in faith. Can any thing happen 
 to them without His permission, who cannot err, 
 and whose nature we profess to believe is 'Love?'" 
 
 " No, dear Mrs. Ednam, certainly not ; and 
 how necessary is it for us to be brought into si- 
 tuations in which we may be taught how much 
 we fail in those very points, in which we perhaps 
 consider ourselves farthest advanced." 
 
 " And the trial will last not one moment after 
 the lesson is taught," said Mrs. Ednam affection- 
 
216 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ately, and smiling, as they now heard footsteps 
 advancing towards the door of their prison. 
 
 The door was unlocked, and all eyes turned 
 with eager expectation on him who entered. It 
 was not Colville, however, but the lawyer, Mr. 
 Lindsay. 
 
 " Mr. Lindsay !" exclaimed Olive, in delight. 
 " How I rejoice to see you ! May we leave this 
 place now ?" 
 
 " How on earth did you discover we were here, 
 Mr. Lindsay ?" asked Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " I was informed by Mr Colville," replied 
 Lindsay. " I immediately came here, while he 
 went in quest of Sir Walter Osborne, in the hope 
 of securing your immediate liberation. I fear, 
 however," continued Lindsay, looking round and 
 seeing the jailer gone, " I fear you may not be 
 at liberty till some examination has taken place, 
 and I came to warn every one present to be on 
 their guard in what they answer. Persons sent 
 by the Council, possibly some member even of 
 the Council, may assist in this examination, and 
 the subject of it will probably be regarding your 
 knowledge of those persons who are accused of 
 having assassinated the Archbishop. It is known 
 that two of those present at his death passed 
 through Edinburgh yesterday. It is also known 
 that those two gentlemen were on intimate terms 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 21 T 
 
 with many Covenanters' families in town ; and it 
 is expected that females, and children, and servants 
 may be found unprepared to conceal many cir- 
 cumstances that may lead to the detection of the 
 assassins." 
 
 Lindsay then, directing every one to leave the 
 inner room, requested to say a few words in pri- 
 vate to Lady Dalcluden. When alone he said, 
 " I know, my dear Madam, that Rathillet was 
 at your house yesterday. I met him a few miles 
 from Edinburgh, and he told me so. I must 
 warn you, however, that, should this be discover- 
 ed, your brother is not safe in any part of Bri- 
 tain. The Council is in a state of consternation. 
 This is regarded as only the first act of some 
 powerful conspiracy, and each member of it dreads 
 that his turn may be next. Orders the most ty- 
 rannical are issued in every direction for search- 
 ing any house, and arresting any person on whom 
 suspicion falls. This is one reason why such 
 strict measures have been resorted to respecting 
 conventicles. By this time the jails are crowded 
 with persons of all ranks and ages found at those 
 meetings." 
 
 Mrs. Leslie remained silent, and thoughtful for 
 a little. « What must I do, Mr Lindsay ?" ask- 
 ed she at last, " I cannot tell an untruth. I can- 
 not deny that Rathillet was not at my house yes- 
 
218 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 terday. It is perfectly well known, however, that 
 my brother has long disapproved of Rathillet's 
 rash counsels. It is known that the ruling party 
 were aware of Rathillet's disposition for open re- 
 bellion, and that his want of influence with such 
 Covenanters as my brother, arose from that very 
 cause." 
 
 " All that is nothing, my dear Madam. If it 
 can be proved that Rathillet was at your house, 
 and had communication with your brother, after 
 having assisted in the assassination of the Arch- 
 bishop, and that he was afterwards suffered to 
 leave your house at liberty — you cannot avoid 
 perceiving the consequences." 
 
 " But Rathillet did not assist in that deed." 
 
 « Why then has he fled T 
 
 " He was present, but entreated the conspira- 
 tors to save the wretched man's life. Did Ra- 
 thillet not tell you this when you met ?" 
 
 " No. I was riding, he was walking in the 
 dress of a sailor. I should not even have ob- 
 served him, had he not come before my horse, 
 and begged me to stop. He then merely said, 
 ' Lindsay, I entreat you to look after Torris- 
 wood's family. I have just been at his sister's 
 house. I thought it best to do as I have done, 
 but ere to-morrow you will know that my having 
 been there may expose them to dangerous sus- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 219 
 
 picions.' He then grasped my hand, and hurried 
 away. All passed in an instant. On my return 
 to town, I was obliged to appear in one of the 
 law courts, where I was detained for several 
 hours. Before I left it the report of the Pri- 
 mate'*s death was circulated through the court, 
 and excited the most evident consternation in one 
 party, while others, amongst whom I was, were 
 regarded with looks of suspicion to discover how 
 we felt. The court soon rose, but I did not think 
 it would tend to prevent suspicion fiilling on you, 
 if I came directly to your house. I therefore de- 
 layed till this forenoon after morning church, and 
 found no one but an old female domestic, who 
 could not tell me where you were ; and I did not 
 return till about half an hour ago, when I found 
 young Arrondale, who had just discovered what 
 had happened, and is now gone to your brother's. 
 I fear, however, that Sir Walter will be with the 
 Council." 
 
 " And what is your advice, my dear Sir ?" 
 asked Mrs. Leslie, anxiously. 
 
 " You must attempt to evade answering any 
 question which may betray Rathillet's having 
 been at your house yesterday. If you find it im- 
 possible to do so, you must , but I cannot 
 
 direct you in that event, — so many questions 
 would follow. — You must avoid answering any 
 
220 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 interrogation which would lead to that discovery. 
 You may decline answering at all such questions 
 as you can truly say you dread may involve 
 others, without further consideration, and till 
 you are certain you are obliged to do so. And 
 now, my dear Madam," continued Lindsay, 
 " what members of your family were aware of 
 Rathillefs visit?" 
 
 " My two nieces only, I believe, and their bro- 
 ther. But I shall ascertain this." 
 
 " Allow me in the mean time, to speak in pri- 
 vate with your two nieces, and on no account, my 
 dear Madam, mention a word of what I have said 
 to your friends here. Ignorance is much the best 
 security for their prudence." 
 
 Florence and Olive, were next shut up with 
 Mr. Lindsay, while Mrs. Leslie attempted to 
 discover whether her own two daughters, had 
 heard any thing of Rathillet^s visit. Happily 
 they had not. 
 
 After a short time, Florence with a counten- 
 ance full of thought and anxiety, and Olive, pale 
 from apprehension, came from their conference 
 with Lindsay ; and with his rapid business man- 
 ner, he next requested the Lady Graden to re- 
 tire with him for a few moments. 
 
 " May I interrupt you to ask one question, Mr. 
 Lindsay ?" said Mrs. Ednam earnestly. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 221 
 
 " Certainly, my dear Madam." 
 
 " Do you know any thing of the young cler- 
 gyman who was arrested at my house this morn- 
 ing ? Mr. Aylman." 
 
 " I do. He has made his escape." 
 
 " Made his escape !" exclaimed every one. 
 " How extraordinary ! How almost miraculous ! 
 How providential V 
 
 " The circumstances were indeed very singu- 
 lar," said Lindsay, smiling, " but I must proceed 
 in my present business, as 1 dread interruption. 
 I shall tell you them afterwards." He then re- 
 tired, accompanied by Lady Graden. 
 . Mrs. Ednam could not refrain from tears. 
 " Thank God ! Thank God !" exclaimed she fer- 
 vently. " That bright light is not to be quench- 
 ed in these dark times." 
 
 Lindsay had been shut up with most of the el- 
 der prisoners, and with several of the younger, 
 when the prison door was again unlocked, and 
 Colville at last appeared, accompanied by Eric. 
 
 " Oh Colville, how we have longed for you !" 
 exclaimed Olive, hastening to meet him. — " But 
 how grave you look !" Colville attempted to 
 smile as all gathered round him. He looked 
 anxiously at Florence, while his words were ad- 
 dressed to every one — 
 
222 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " What a place ! Have you all been dreadful- 
 ly terrified? you are very pale, Florence. Have 
 you had no refreshment since you were brought 
 here ? Do not be alarmed, I hope you will all 
 very soon again be in your own houses ; and it 
 will not then be a sorrowful thought, that you 
 have been called to suffer in this cause." Col- 
 ville looked round the prison, " no fire ! — and 
 you have had nothing." 
 
 " Oh we are not cold, we are not uncomfort- 
 able, Colville," said Florence, and every one join- 
 ed in saying the same, "only tell us, what do you 
 think is to be our fate ?" 
 
 " Oh Mr. Colville," exclaimed Mary O&borne, 
 " have you seen my father ?" 
 
 Colville looked at her in astonishment — " Miss 
 Osborne !" "Yes dear Colville," said Mrs, Les- 
 lie, " My niece is a sufferer with us ; or rather 
 I ought to say the only real sufferer amongst us; 
 and the very first thing we must do, with your 
 help, is to try to get her home." 
 
 Colville was silent. 
 
 *' Did you see my father ?" asked Mary again 
 in a voice of agony. 
 
 " I did, just before I came here." ' 
 
 Could I get a message, or note conveyed to 
 him?" 
 
 " He is now, I fear, with the Council." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 223 
 
 " Then I may give up all hope," said Mary, 
 in a voice of despair. " My mother must know, 
 and no more peace for me." 
 
 Colville looked anxious and perplexed, and 
 stood for an instant in deep thought, then taking 
 Mrs. Leslie aside, " It must not be known that 
 Miss Osborne is here. It would ruin her father 
 with his friends." 
 
 " How?" 
 
 "' I must not stay to tell you now, my dear 
 Madam, but, should you object to having Eric 
 shut up with you while you are here ?" 
 
 "No, I should rather ^vish to have him with me/' 
 
 " Then all is easy." Colville took Eric aside. 
 " Eric, will you assist your cousin to escape ?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Eric, joyfully, " only tell 
 me how." " Remain here in her place, you are 
 nearly as tall as she is. The jailer never would 
 discover the difference," 
 
 " And change dresses with her ? It will do de- 
 
 o 
 
 lightfully." " No, not that dress. She will 
 not like that. We shall go to Lady Dalcluden's, 
 and you shall return in a dress of Olive's — but 
 we must lose no time." 
 
 Eric immediately agreed to Colville's proposal. 
 
 " Do not be uneasy. Miss Osborne," said Col- 
 ville to Mary, " I hope we shall return with the 
 means of your escape in less than half an hour. 
 
224 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 In the mean time, I shall order refreshments, 
 and when I return, Mr. Lindsay (who at this 
 moment appeared from the inner prison) will 
 have finished his examinations." 
 
 Colville then knocked loudly on the prison 
 door, and the jailer immediately unlocked it, and 
 by the obsequiousness of his manner, showed, that 
 Colville had discovered the way to his good 
 graces. 
 
 A short time after Colville's departure, the 
 prison door was again unlocked, and the jailer 
 appeared attended by two assistants, carrying a 
 goodly variety of viands, and wines, and followed 
 by a female provided with many strange looking 
 platters and cups from which to eat and drink, 
 while two soldiers remained near the door to pre- 
 vent any attempt at escape. 
 
 " Keep up a good heart, ladies and gentlemen," 
 said the jailer, civilly ; " I soon expect an order 
 for your release now." 
 
 The various articles were placed on the table, 
 and then the woman, whom the jailer addressed 
 by the appellation, " gudewife," looking round 
 on the prisoners, said with an expression of real 
 kindness, 
 
 " Dinna refuse to tak a mouthfu** o'' some- 
 thing, ladies. Your hearts may rise against it 
 in sic a place, and served in a way sae little 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. ns 
 
 like what yeVe used to, but ye'll wonder at the 
 gude it'll do ye." 
 
 "You are quite right, my good woman," answer- 
 ed Mrs. Ednam, cheerfully, " and we are much 
 obliged to you." " Come, my dears,"' turning to 
 the young people, " this is not common prison 
 fare. Let us, Mr. Ednam, thank Him, who so 
 graciously provides for our comforts everywhere." 
 
 Mr. Ednam immediately approached the table 
 to do as he was asked. The jailer and his wife 
 stood respectfully till he had finished. The jail- 
 er then, looking not much edified, walked out of 
 the prison, glancing a look, significant of derision, 
 as he passed the soldiers. The wife's manner 
 increased in respect ; one of the soldiers turned 
 away his head, and began to whistle, while his 
 companion, leaning against the wall of the nar- 
 row passage, eyed the party with an expression 
 of countenance half insolent and half amused. 
 
 In less than the promised time, Colville return- 
 ed, accompanied by Eric, as a young lady, and 
 also by George Osborne. They were again rea- 
 dily admitted by the jailer. Poor Mary shrunk 
 back almost fainting on seeing her brother. 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed she, " they have discover- 
 ed all 1" George approached her with much more 
 gravity in his manner, than she had seen since his 
 return from his travels. 
 
226 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Oh George ! What have I to expect? Does 
 my mother know I am here. Did she send you 
 for me ?" 
 
 " No one knows of your being here, Mary, 
 but myself. I this moment met Colville, who in- 
 formed me. Both my father and mother have 
 been too busily employed to miss you ; but if it 
 is known that you were at a conventicle this 
 morning, it will hasten the ruin of us all." 
 
 " Your coming here then, George, was not a 
 very prudent step," said Lady Dalcluden. 
 
 George looked as if he had never thought of 
 the matter till reminded of it by his aunt, and now 
 impatiently hastened Mary's departure; and draw- 
 ing his hat over his face, and attempting in other 
 ways to turn his dress into a disguise, he at last 
 left the prison accompanied by Mary, who wept 
 so bitterly as quite to do away all suspicion on 
 the part of the jailer, who supposed her a rela- 
 tion of some of the prisoners. 
 
 " And now Colville," said Florence, when the 
 prison door was again shut upon them, " do tell 
 us about my uncle. What has happened ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear Florence, — but first, — is Lindsay 
 gone ?" 
 
 " He is, a few minutes before you returned." 
 
 " You all understood what he wished ?" 
 
 « Yes, perfectly." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 227 
 
 " Allow me just to remind you that you cannot 
 be too guarded in your answers. You have no 
 idea what ensnaring questions men habituated to 
 such examinations may ask. I have, myself, to- 
 day, been before the council.*" 
 
 " On the Sabbath, Colville !'' said Florence with 
 surprise, and becoming extremely pale." 
 
 " I was wrong, Florence,'' replied Colville, 
 reddening. " I ought not to have obeyed the 
 call, but I was taken by surprise, and confess that 
 I forgot the sacredness of the day." 
 
 Florence looked disappointed—" And what 
 questions were you asked, Colville ?" 
 
 " None that 1 could not answer truly without 
 involving any one : and, on its being known that 
 I had been in Scotland only one week, I was very 
 courteously treated, and immediately dismissed." 
 
 " But on what pretext were you examined ?" 
 asked Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " I must tell you my history since we parted,'' 
 said Colville. " Our sermon at the Pentland 
 Hills was short, as there was an alarm given that 
 soldiers were seen approaching. The meeting 
 dispersed, and Eric and I rode rapidly back to 
 town. We proceeded immediately to Lady Dal- 
 cluden's house. In the hall I found Mr. Lind- 
 say, and two messengers from the council, with 
 an order for the appearance before them of any 
 
2iS PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 gentleman, or male servants residing in the family 
 of Mrs. Leslie of Dalcluden. I immediately ac- 
 companied the messengers," continued Colville, 
 looking as if for Florence's forgiveness as he 
 spoke, " because I thought of nothing but the 
 messengers remaining there, and discovering, as 
 each member of the family returned, that they 
 had been attending some place of meeting ob- 
 noxious to the exasperated Council. I soon 
 found, on my arrival, however, that I was not the 
 person particularly meant to be reached by the 
 order, which was the tutor in the family. I was 
 however questioned, but chiefly with regard to 
 my connexion with Torriswood, and many other 
 questions, some of which I thought very far from 
 the point. I was at last asked if I would take 
 my oath, that as far as I knew, Torriswood was 
 not engaged in any conspiracy against the King's 
 present government in Scotland. I immediately 
 consented to do so. This ridiculous proposal 
 was not pressed. I was next asked if I knew for 
 what reason Torriswood had left Scotland so 
 suddenly." 
 
 " And what did you answer?" asked Mrs. Les- 
 lie and Florence in one breath. 
 
 " I answered that I knew several causes ; but 
 as Mr. Osborne had spoken with the same unre- 
 servedness in my presence, that he would have 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 529 
 
 (lone had his own family only been by, I did not 
 think myself at liberty to repeat any thing I had 
 heard in such circumstances. ' We merely ask,' 
 said one member, ' whether you know of any 
 cause connected with public affairs?' I begged 
 to be excused, judging as to what was connected 
 with public affairs, as, since my arrival in Scot- 
 land, every subject appeared to me to be consi- 
 dered in some way, so connected. Little more 
 was said to me. After leaving the court I went 
 to Sir Walter Osborne's. I found him at home 
 and alone. He received me very coldly indeed. 
 I said I had come to ask his interest with the 
 Council. ' I have no interest with the Council,' 
 replied he, shortly and angrily. He then added, 
 ' My brother has put an end to all the influence 
 I had there. My ruin will follow, and then he 
 will have the satisfaction of knowing that he has 
 ruined his whole family.' He walked about the 
 room in extreme agitation for a time, then asked 
 me more calmly what I wished him to do were it 
 in his power. I hesitated, for I dared scarcely 
 venture in the humour he was in, to tell my er- 
 rand." 
 
 " I dare say not," observed Mrs. Leslie. " But 
 what has my brother done to offend his party ? 
 He did not know of Torriswood's departure. 
 Poor Walter will at last find what hard' work it is 
 
230 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 to labour for a wicked government. Speak quite 
 freely, Colville. Christian friends are nearer in 
 relation than any other ; and even children must 
 learn to think, and judge, beyond their years in 
 times like these. Did you tell Walter where we 
 were ?" 
 
 " I did, and was not mistaken in the effect I 
 anticipated." 
 
 Mrs. Leslie took Colville aside, " You scruple 
 to tell me all, Colville, but I wish to know exact- 
 ly what has passed. It is better that I should. 
 I know my brother. He is violent and ambi- 
 tious ; but he is not, thank God, sufficiently un- 
 principled yet for the party to whom he has at- 
 tached himself. They but half trust him. They 
 are ever on the eve of casting him off. I wish 
 they would. His worldly ruin is the least evil 
 now before him. His wife differs from him. She 
 would go all lengths. Tell me, Colville, all that 
 passed." 
 
 " The instant I mentioned where you were," 
 resumed Colville, " Sir Walter, who had seated 
 himself by me, started up, and striking his hand 
 with extreme violence on the table, exclaimed, 
 ' The deed is done ! my ruin is complete ! that 
 mad woman has finished the blow !' He again 
 strode about the room, with such noise, and speak- 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 231 
 
 ing so loud, that first a servant looked in, and 
 then we were joined by Lady Osborne." 
 
 " Without one feature of her countenance 
 moved, I presume," said Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " Exactly so." ' My dear Sir Walter, what 
 is the matter ?' asked she. ' Mr. Colville, I am 
 very happy to see you. Bless me. Sir Weaker, 
 what has happened ?' " 
 
 " ' What has happened ?' repeated he, ' I am 
 a fool, and you are a beggar, that has happened.' — 
 ' Pray Sir Walter be composed. Why, my dear, 
 are you not with the Council ? There was a mes- 
 senger here in quest of you.' " 
 
 " ' I have been at the Council. I was asked 
 where Torriswood had gone. I did not even 
 know of his departure. I was not believed. I 
 was told the whole town knew of it ; and that 
 Rathillet and he had met yesterday. It had been 
 entrusted to me to watch my brother s move- 
 ments. You, Lady Osborne, yourself, undertook 
 this. — Every member of the CounciPs eye is 
 changed to me — and now here is Arrondale to 
 say, that my sister and all her family are in the 
 Canongate jail — all found at a Conventicle. A 
 few evenings ago, it is known they were all at my 
 house, honoured, and apparently on cordial terms 
 with us. How can I be regarded but with dis- 
 trust ? — and now I am to beg from the Council 
 
g32 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 the liberation of that mad woman and her chil- 
 dren — and Torris wood's children — well may they 
 laugh ! — even old Meldrum — There he was, 
 whispering and advising, and listened to with as 
 much attention as Lauderdale himself, — and when 
 he bowed to me, it was a condescension ! Old 
 Meldrum ! He in favour ! He a rival ! He as- 
 pire to.' Lady Osborne seemed afraid of 
 
 Sir Walter saying more, and hastily put her hand 
 on his arm. ' My dear, recollect yourself.' He 
 shook her off — ' Woman, you are the mover in 
 all this. You will never get what you aim at — 
 what we have all sold our souls for — Mochrum of 
 Torriswood ! How will it sound think you ? 
 The grounds march ! It will be Sir William 
 Mochrum — my Lord Torriswood ! and then my 
 Lady Osborne will walk again in the train of a 
 Lady Torriswood ! How will you like that, dame?' 
 " I rose to come away, and Sir Walter said, ' Tell 
 my sister that she may triumph now. Her twenty 
 years rebellion will cost her less than my twenty 
 years of waiting, cringing, labouring, dissimulat- 
 ing, — without a moment of my inward soul's ap- 
 proval.' Lady Osborne followed me to the hall. 
 « My dear Mr. Colville,' said she, with the most 
 perfect self-possession, ' you have seen Sir Wal- 
 ter in one of those unhappy moods which is too 
 often brought upon him by his too deep feelings 
 
PHILIP COLVTLLE. 233 
 
 for his suffering relations. He knows that Mel- 
 drum is attempting to secure the lands of Torris* 
 wood for himself, and really Sir Walter is not 
 master of himself when he thinks on the subject ; 
 and this imprudence of the Lady Dalcluden's at 
 such a time, will, as Sir Walter has said, greatly 
 tend to accelerate the ruin of her eldest brother. 
 I beg you will represent all this to Mrs. Leslie, 
 and use your influence with her, my dear Sir, to 
 induce her to have some consideration for her 
 brothers, and their many young people. Sir 
 Walter will immediately go to the council, but it 
 is possible he may not find it easy to procure his 
 sister's liberation. She has so very often exposed 
 herself to the displeasure of the government, 
 and been overlooked in consequence of Sir W^al- 
 ter's influence with those in power, that it is no 
 wonder he now feels it difficult and unpleasant 
 to protect her.' I came away, scarcely trusting 
 my own memory and understanding, so com- 
 pletely had Lady Osborne's manner and words 
 given a different colour to all I had just heard 
 uttered by Sir Walter ; and I was still more con- 
 fused on being overtaken, not ten minutes after- 
 wards, by Sir Walter himself, who quite calmly 
 informed me he was on his way to the Council, 
 and attempted to laugh at the madfit^ as he call- 
 ed it, in which I had seen him." 
 
234 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " Torriswood ! — so that is their aim now," said 
 Mrs. Leslie. " How heartless is ambition I If 
 you knew, Colville, all that Walter owes his bro- 
 ther—but it is not Walter. Lady Osborne has 
 indeed been the mover in all his unnatural, ill- 
 laid plans of ambition. Low-born — low-bred — she 
 could not brook the distance at which she felt 
 herself at every movement from her husband's fa- 
 mily, — in sentiment, in information, in all that 
 education gives. Envy, malice, cunning — she has 
 found the weapons against which they were un^ 
 prepared. She has lived with those who have 
 taught her to polish the surface, but the mind is 
 still as low as its origin — and the heart is — unre- 
 newed," added Mrs. Leslie, her voice softening 
 as she spoke, — " and who maketh us to differ ?" 
 
 " And what schemes can prosper without His 
 permission ?" said Colville. 
 
 " True, my dear Colville ; so now what have 
 we to do but wait His will, using those means 
 for our safety on which we can pray for His bless- 
 ing?" 
 
 At this moment the jailer entered the prison 
 to inform those within it, that Sir William Pater- 
 son, the Clerk of the Council, and two gentlemen 
 commissioned to examine the prisoners, were in 
 another part of the jail, and would very soon be 
 there. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 235 
 
 " Colville, you must leave us," said Lady Dal- 
 cluden. 
 
 He objected. — " You must, indeed, dear Col- 
 ville. You are our only stay. Why excite sus- 
 picion ? You can do us no good. You only ex- 
 pose yourself." 
 
 The jailer interfered. " You will not be al- 
 lowed to remain, Sir, during the examination. 
 All but the prisoners were dismissed from the 
 other rooms before the gentlemen entered them." 
 
 A turnkey now appeared to say, that if any 
 friends of the prisoners were present, they must 
 immediately retire. Colville still hesitated, and 
 looked anxiously at Florence. She approached. 
 "Farewell — Colville, only for to-day — I hope we 
 shall meet to-morrow free. If not, we know who 
 rules." 
 
 The expression of Florence's countenance was 
 elevated and happy, — more so than Colville had 
 observed it since his return. 
 
 " How can I leave you in a prison, Florence ? 
 
 Your father entrusted me"" At this moment 
 
 steps were heard approaching, and the jailer re- 
 quested Colville to depart. 
 
 In the narrow passage he was met by the three 
 commissioners from the Council. It was how- 
 ever too dark for any of the parties to recognise 
 each other, and on the turnkey saying, that the 
 
236 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 gentleman- liad been to visit his relations in the 
 prison, he was suffered to pass. 
 
 " Remember you are a girl, Eric," said Mrs. 
 Leslie to Eric, " beware of betraying yourself."''* 
 She turned round to receive the Council's com- 
 missioners, and, to the astonishment of all, first 
 entered the elder Meldrum, then Ormistoun, and 
 last Sir William Paterson, the Clerk of the Coun- 
 cil, followed by a young man carrying writing 
 materials, to take down the depositions of the 
 prisoners. 
 
 The Lady Dalcluden, who had felt prepared 
 to meet the deputed messengers of the Govern- 
 ment, with that respect which her party amongst 
 the Covenanters always considered due, was 
 unable to conceal her instant emotion of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " Mr. Mochrum !" exclaimed she, " and Mr. 
 Ormistoun !" She scarcely knew the other, but 
 the mean cast of his features, and the shuffling 
 ungracefulness of his gait and address, bespoke 
 liim no more worthy of respect than his com- 
 panions. 
 
 " Madam," began the elder Meldrum, looking 
 every where but at the person he addressed, " Ma- 
 dam, I am really distressed to find you in such 
 a place. The Lady Graden too : — Your son. Ma- 
 dam, pardon my saying so, has taken a wiser 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 237 
 
 part. — Mrs. Ednam, your obedient servant. I 
 fear I shall have most to say to you." 
 
 " I have been surprised, Mr. Mochrum," re- 
 plied Mrs. Ednam, " at the extreme severity of 
 the measures which have lodged so many young 
 persons and children," looking around her, " in 
 a jail for such an offence. I expected to suffer 
 if I was discovered doing what my conscience 
 told me would be approven at a higher tribunal ; 
 but these children, surely, surely that must be a 
 tottering power which fears such rebels." 
 
 Ormistoun, in the mean time, had approached 
 to where Florence had again retired among her 
 young friends. Her first look of surprise and 
 displeasure brought an expression of extreme 
 confusion into his countenance, but, endeavouring 
 to recover himself, he stammered out, " Miss Os- 
 borne, do not condemn me unheard. — May I re- 
 quest you to suffer me to say a few words apart 
 to you. Believe me, Miss Osborne,'' lowering 
 his voice, " nothing but my interest in whatever 
 concerns you — your family I mean — could have 
 induced me to — to — become, — to join myself — 
 to—'' 
 
 " To desert our cause, you would say, Mr. Or- 
 mistoun." 
 
 " Miss Osborne, you are not just to me. I en- 
 treat you to come apart with me for a moment 
 
f38 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 I wish to say a few words respecting your fa- 
 ther." 
 
 Florence hesitated — " I cannot suppose a 
 person who spends his Sabbath, in obeying the 
 commands of a Court assembled to persecute the 
 servants of God, on that holy day, a real friend 
 of my father." 
 
 Ormistoun reddened, and his eye for an instant 
 khidled, but he soon softened as he looked at 
 Florence. 
 
 " Allow me to prove the reality of my friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " you know, Mr. Ormistoun, it is one of the 
 lessons taught by the only rule of right and 
 wrong to which Covenanters yield obedience, — 
 to speak truth from the heart. — Forgive me 
 therefore if I say, that it is not to every person 
 either my father or his daughter, would choose 
 to be obliged for their friendship." 
 
 Ormistoun looked confounded for a moment. 
 " As you please, Miss Osborne," said he redden- 
 ing with anger. " I wished to serve you. I wish- 
 ed to serve your father. I think it is in my power 
 to do so. If you reject my offers, the conse- 
 quences are on your own head." 
 
 Florence became pale for a moment ; the idea 
 of rejecting any offer that might secure her fa- Ij 
 ther, staggered her. — Ormistoun saw the effects 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 239 
 
 his words had produced — " Allow me only to 
 state to you, Miss Osborne, a very few parti- 
 culars. Your answers shall be reported to the 
 Council. Had I not interposed, one who is an 
 avowed enemy to your father, would have been 
 deputed to examine the younger persons found 
 assembled at Mrs. Ednam's." 
 
 " But what, Mr. Ormistoun, has our being 
 found at Mrs. Ednam's to do with my father? 
 He left Edinburgh yesterday. He did not even 
 know our intention to go to Mrs. Ednam's. We 
 had not indeed formed the intention when he left 
 us." 
 
 Ormistoun seemed at a loss for an instant, then 
 said, " True, Miss Osborne, but these acts of re- 
 bellion on the part of his family, strengthen the 
 suspicions of the government regarding the mo- 
 tives of Tor ris wood's present journey to Lon- 
 don." 
 
 " You, Mr. Ormistoun, are acquainted with 
 the motives which induced my father to under- 
 take that journey, you assured me there was no 
 cause to apprehend danger to him from his un- 
 dertaking it. You repeatedly, and solemnly de- 
 clared to me that it was impossible there could 
 be cause while he was advised in every step by 
 you, and Mr. Lindsay. Suspicions cannot injure 
 my father, if, as you so often assured us, he has 
 
1240 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 done nothing but what is perfectly impossible to 
 construe into any breach of law.'' 
 
 At this moment, the Lady Dalcluden, raising 
 her voice, and looking towards her young peo- 
 ple, said, in reply to some question from old Mel- 
 drum, 
 
 " Sir, I shall answer no question respecting 
 my brother. I have avowed my own crime 
 against the government. I had met with those 
 around, this morning, to worship God accordhig 
 to my conscience, but contrary to its laws. I 
 avow this crime again, and I will not give my 
 promise not to repeat it. Set that down, young 
 man," turning to the clerk. 
 
 The young man looked at his employers. 
 
 " Take down the words," said Sir William Pa- 
 terson. 
 
 The young man did so, and the Lady Dalclu- 
 den, taking the pen, looked over what he had 
 written, and then signed it. 
 
 "• We shall all sign it,"*"* said Florence, rising 
 to join her aunt. Ormistoun stood before her 
 and would have caught her hand. " I entreat 
 you, Florence — do not be so rash — why this ? 
 You are not called upon." 
 
 Florence withdrew her hand, and coldly passed 
 him. Eric too was at the table. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 241 
 
 ^' My dears — you are not of age — you are chil- 
 dren — go — " glancing at Eric, and then looking 
 significantly at Florence. 
 
 " Sign if you will, Miss Osborne," said old 
 Meldrum. 
 
 Florence drew back, and taking Eric to the 
 darkest part of the room — " Dear Eric, take 
 care, you must not come forward. Ormistoun 
 will know you." She then turned from him, and 
 seeing Ormistoun entering into conversation with 
 Olive, immediately joined them. 
 
 " Remember, Olive," said she, " my aunt has 
 given us the example we ought to follow.'"* 
 
 " Oh, I understand," replied Olive. 
 
 " Oh ! you have secrets I perceive. Miss 
 Olive," said Ormistoun, looking earnestly at 
 Olive's ingenuous countenance. 
 
 " Remember, Olive," said Florence, " you see 
 Mr. Ormistoun in a new character to-day. You 
 must be on your guard. All you say is to be 
 reported to the Council." 
 
 " It is unnecessary for you to urge me, Mr. 
 Mochrum," said Mrs. Leslie again, in an elevat- 
 ed tone of voice. " I fear I have already too 
 far encroached on the holy sacredness of this day; 
 but it has been to profess my determination not 
 to abandon the assembling together with the Lord's 
 
 M 
 
242 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 people on His own day. Other matters I will 
 not enter upon this day." 
 
 Mrs. Ednam and the other elder ladies de- 
 clared the same — " Indeed," said the Lady Gra- 
 den, " I doubt much whether any acts of a Coun- 
 cil assembled on this day can be considered le- 
 gal. I know I could not own them as such." 
 
 " Madam," said Old Meldrum, " that is a mere 
 pretext to which your friends in rebellion always 
 resort. But it will not answer your purpose. 
 The Council will not be trifled with. I am com- 
 missioned to examine you on the points I have 
 mentioned. Either answer me, or abide by the 
 consequences." 
 
 " We abide by the consequences," said Mrs. 
 Ednam, Mrs. Leslie, and the Lady Graden, in 
 one breath. 
 
 " Be advised, ladies," said Sir William Pater- 
 son, " you have greatly offended the Council. 
 You can appease them by answering candidly a 
 few very simple questions." 
 
 " I will answer no questions which can involve 
 any person but myself," said Mrs. Leslie, firmly. 
 
 " Can you wish. Madam," asked Ormistoun, 
 approaching courteously on seeing Florence join 
 her aunt ; " can you wish to screen an assassin ? 
 I presume you allow the Primate's death to have 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 2*3 
 
 been a cruel assassination, a base and barbarous 
 mui'der ?" 
 
 This was an ensnaring question — but Mrs. Les- 
 lie was aware that it was so. 
 
 " I have said, Mr. Ormistoun, that I will an- 
 swer no question of this kind." 
 
 " Surely, Miss Osborne,'' said Ormistoun, ad- 
 dressing Florence, " there is no day on which 
 we may not express our abhorrence of crime — 
 of a crime so horrible as murder." 
 
 " No," replied Florence, " certainly not — nor 
 on which we may not warn people to avoid that 
 hypocrisy and double dealing, which brought the 
 wicked Sharpe to his awful end." 
 
 Ormistoun endeavoured to command himself 
 so as not to betray his feeling the point of this 
 answer. — 
 
 " True, Miss Osborne, such views of that hor- 
 rid affair may strike those who — those of your 
 party." 
 
 " So then you defend the murderers of the 
 Archbishop, Miss Florence," said old Meldrum. 
 " That leads nearer to the point. No doubt Ra- 
 thillet found a friend in you yesterday." 
 
 " I defended not those erring men," said Flo- 
 rence ; " I only drew from the death of Sharpe 
 a lesson for one who came here professing so 
 
244 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 much friendship for me, that in gratitude I owed 
 him some return."" 
 
 Mochrum looked at Ormistoun, whose eve fell 
 under his. " Have you examined all those young 
 people, Ormistoun ? We lose time here." 
 
 Ormistoun returned to his task, but could not 
 procure one syllable in answer to any question he 
 put. The young party had looked to Florence, 
 and on her laying her finger on her lips, they 
 took the hint, and neither courtesy, nor threats, 
 nor friendly entreaties, could extract a word from 
 one of the party. Eric, when addressed by Or- 
 mistoun, drew up his dress about the under part 
 of his face, and squinted with his eyes so perfect- 
 ly naturally, that Ormistoun soon passed him, 
 seeming to regard him as imbecile. 
 
 " We are indeed losing time here," said Or- 
 mistoun at last, unable longer to conceal his cha- 
 grin. He glanced at Florence, " Whatever hap- 
 pens, we have done what was in our power to — " 
 Ormistoun stopt, for he met old Meldrum's eyes 
 fixed upon him. Florence saw all that passed. 
 '" Farewell, Mr. Ormistoun," said she, smiling, 
 " you have chosen a difiicult path. Oh, — it is 
 not too late," — added she, seriously, " do not be 
 led into those crooked ways — they must end in 
 disgrace and misery." 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 245 
 
 " What means all this, Ormistoun ?" asked Mel- 
 drum, peering from under his overhanging eye- 
 brows at the confused, softened, conscience-strick- 
 en lawyer. Ormistoun retired towards the door 
 of the prison, and gave no answer. 
 
 " Ladies,'"* said Sir William Paterson, " you 
 shall know to-morrow what is the decision of 
 the Council respecting you." 
 
 " To-morrow !"" said Mrs. Ednam. " Surely, 
 Sir, the Council will not keep these children a 
 night in jail. I beg, Sir, you will represent to 
 them the ages of their prisoners." 
 
 Sir William laughed, moving his head from 
 side to side, without raising his eyes, " Madam, 
 I do not suppose you would consider an order 
 for their release a legal act on this day." 
 
 Mochrum laughed also ; and the party left the 
 jail, giving orders in the hearing of the prisoners, 
 that no person whatever should be admitted un- 
 til the decision of the Council was known. 
 
 No notice had been taken by the commission- 
 ers of the two old gentlemen, and when informed 
 that the servants belonged to Mrs. Ednam, they 
 were not examined either ; and it was evident to 
 the elder prisoners, that the pretended displea- 
 sure of the Council at the meeting of Conventi- 
 cles, was, on that day at least, a mere pretext in 
 order to discover the murderers of the Archbi- 
 
246 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 shop. It was also evident that the Council were 
 most eager to discover whether Torriswood might 
 not in some way be implicated at least in the 
 knowledge, and concealment of that act. The 
 elder prisoners continued to converse earnestly 
 on these matters, till the light gradually depart- 
 ed, and they were left with only such partial rays 
 as were cast upon the prison by a passing flam- 
 beau ; or, streaming from an opposite window, 
 penetrated the narrow, grated, dusky casement, 
 and pictured its bars in larger characters upon 
 the opposite wall. The moon, however, soon 
 was seen at intervals between the high old point- 
 ed fronts of the houses opposite the jail, and at 
 length, still and calm, and bright, it rose majes- 
 tically above them all, and silvering the edges of 
 their irregular roofs and chimnies, poured its full 
 beams upon the prison. Florence was seated be- 
 tween her two young friends, Catharine Pringle, 
 and Ellen Hume. Their arms were twined 
 around each other ; and while they talked with 
 their fair young faces almost touching, their eyes 
 were fixed upon the bright moon. Florence 
 pressed her young friends more closely to her. — 
 " Did that light ever appear so calm and beauti- 
 ful to you as it does at this moment ?" asked she. 
 " I think never," replied both. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 247 
 
 " And those light clouds, which, as they ap- 
 proach, are so softly brightened by her beams, 
 of what do they remind you ?" 
 
 " They seem like angels' wings,'' said Ellen 
 Hume, " as if an host of those blest messengers 
 who minister to ransomed heirs of heaven, were 
 hovering o'er us." 
 
 " They remind me of our faithless fears," said 
 Catharine Pringle. " At a distance those clouds 
 came darkly on as if they would have quite ob- 
 scured that glorious light ; but now they only add 
 to its soft beauty, and then they pass away. So 
 to our fears a prison seemed all gloom and ter- 
 ror ; but now we feel that light and heavenly 
 peace within our souls which dispels all gloom^ 
 and teaches us to ascribe new glory to Him, who 
 in all situations makes His grace sufficient for 
 us." 
 
 " How true, my dearest Catharine !" said Flo- 
 rence. 
 
 " And you, Florence, of what do those clouds 
 remind you ?" 
 
 " My imagination is ungovernably busy," re- 
 plied Florence. 
 
 " I often wonder at the rapidity with which it 
 creates ideas, and those of such a painful nature. 
 As I looked at those few clouds while they came 
 slowly on, and that pure light, so still, and so 
 
248 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 majestically calm, I remembered that light was 
 to reveal all things, — and then I thought of per- 
 secution, and of death — and of myself and those 
 around me, after we had passed through the dark 
 valley, approaching like those clouds, dark and 
 uncertain, to the tribunal of light ; — and then I 
 thought. Oh, if any amongst us have deceived 
 themselves, and said peace to their souls when 
 there was no peace, and that bright light will 
 reveal it — and then I watched the clouds till I 
 saw them become less and less dark as they ap- 
 proached, and at last those beams of li^Jkt pene- 
 trating every part — then as if it qiyerfid them all, 
 clothing the whole in its robe of brightness." — 
 
 A good many footsteps were now heard ap- 
 proaching the door of the prison, and the voice 
 of the jailer addressing those who accompanied 
 him, as he unlocked the massive portal. On 
 opening it, a lad entered bearing one dim candle, 
 which he set down, and which only served to 
 make "the darkness visible," the jailer in the mean 
 time remaining at the door, and still speaking, 
 but it was impossible to distinguish those whom 
 he addressed in the darkness of the passage. The 
 lad, after he had set down the light, looked nar- 
 rowly round the prison, and at last descrying old 
 Mr. Ednam, informed him that he and the other 
 old gentleman, and Mrs. Ednam's two servants. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 249 
 
 must accompany him to another part of the jail, 
 while their places were to be supplied by four 
 females. This seemed very decorous and pro- 
 per. The elder prisoners, however, suspected 
 some concealed plan under this change. It was 
 vain, however, either to object or attempt to dis- 
 cover the cause, and Mrs. Ednam was obliged 
 to see her old and infirm friends depart, she 
 knew not whether to harder treatment or not. 
 As they left the jail the female prisoners entered, 
 and the jailer immediately closed the door, and 
 locked it for the night. 
 
 One of the newly introduced prisoners, on en- 
 tering, sunk do^n on the nearest seat, and seem- 
 ed almost fainting. The others appeared only 
 to think of her. Florence instantly rose to pour 
 out some of the wine Colville had provided, to 
 offer to the stranger. In doing so, she stood near 
 the light. 
 
 " Miss Osborne !" exclaimed a young woman, 
 who seemed an attendant on the stranger. 
 
 Florence looked earnestly at her for a moment, 
 then exclaimed, " Beatrice Fairley !" 
 
 " You here, Miss Osborne ! In a prison !" 
 
 Florence held out her hand cordially to Bea- 
 trice, " Yes Beatrice, dear, good Beatrice ! But 
 let us assist the lady," added she, in a lower 
 voice; and approaching the stranger, who was 
 
250 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 now supported by an elder female, she knelt 
 down before her, and held the wine to her lips. 
 She with difficulty swallowed a part of it. Mrs. 
 Leslie directed the others to retire into the inner 
 prison, while she and Mrs. Ednam at a distance 
 watched the effects of Florence's gentle efforts to 
 restore the stranger. Florence, on her part, 
 looked with extreme interest at the sweet, pale 
 countenance before her, and as it revived, and 
 the languid eyes rested on her, it did not seem 
 that of a stranger, yet she could not recollect 
 where they had met. At last the lady was able 
 to say a few words to Florence, expressive of her 
 gratitude, and Florence felt still more that she 
 was not a stranger. When she seemed nearly 
 restored, Florence drew Beatrice a little aside. 
 " Who is this lady, Beatrice? I have surely 
 met her, yet I cannot tell where." 
 
 " Mrs. Colville, Madam. The Lady Arron- 
 dale." 
 
 " The Ladv Arrondale ! Colville's mother !" 
 Florence immediately hastened to Mrs. Leslie, 
 " My dearest aunt, it is your friend, the Lady 
 Arrondale !" 
 
 Mrs. Leslie started up.—" Softly, my dearest 
 aunt." — Florence again approached to where 
 Mrs. Colville sat. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 251 
 
 " My dear young lady," said Mrs. Colville, 
 holding out her hand to Florence, " tell me, 
 are we here for the same crime ? Have you too 
 been guilty of hearing the gospel preached." 
 
 " Yes, Madam — and all who are here, are so 
 for the same cause." 
 
 " Then I may regard you as a friend, a Christ- 
 ian friend," continued Mrs. Colville, retaining 
 Florence's hand in hers. 
 
 " Yes, dearest Madam, and you are surround- 
 ed by friends. My aunt, Mrs. Leshe of Dal- 
 
 cluden, Mrs. Ednam" 
 
 " The Lady Dalcluden !'' exclaimed Mrs. Col- 
 ville, — and the next moment was clasped to the 
 bosom of her friend, — and then to Mrs. Ednam's, 
 and the Lady Graden's — and then there was 
 nothing but joy, and wonder at such a meeting 
 of friends, and overflowing kindness amongst all 
 — and tears of thankfulness— ^and introducing of 
 young ones, and embracing, and heartfelt affec- 
 tion — and Florence and Olive kissed and em- 
 braced the sweet, modest Beatrice Fairley, who, 
 while she sought to kiss their hands, kept say- 
 ing, " Dear young ladies, you are too good, you 
 honour me too much. — To think of you in a pri- 
 son for His sake ! How wonderful ! And are 
 ye all well. Miss Florence ? All the family ?" 
 
252 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " All well, Beattie." — But Florence said nothing 
 to lead poor Beattie's thoughts to Torriswood, for 
 every one knew her sad story ; — and Beattie ask- 
 ed no question that could come near the subject. 
 
 After the feelings of joy, and wonder, and 
 thankfulness at a meeting so unexpected, had in 
 some degree subsided, Mrs. Colville informed 
 her friends, that having understood that her son 
 would be in Edinburgh about this time, she had 
 wished to meet him before he left it. — " For I 
 am sorry to say," continued she, " after hav- 
 ing been over-looked for a good many years, 
 persecution has at last been extended to our 
 retired part of the country; and several fa- 
 milies convicted of being constant attenders at 
 Conventicles, both in the fields and in neighbour- 
 ing gentlemen's houses, have been very heavily 
 fined. My youngest son and I have been parti- 
 cularly criminal orj this head, and of late also 
 have been watched as to our attendance at the 
 parish church. The part of the minister in that 
 church is now filled by a curate, and of course 
 neither my son nor I have of late ever entered it. I 
 rather wished that Philip should be prepared for 
 all this before he came to the country ; and in- 
 deed for many things he has to meet with. Every 
 means are now using to compel the country gen- 
 tlemen to show to what party they belong. The 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 253 
 
 command to join the King's Host, as it is called, 
 was the last snare which had been laid for them 
 before I left home. By this law the militia are 
 obliged to join and act with the King's troops in 
 suppressing rebellion, as they term it, in which 
 is included all field or house Conventicles ; and 
 the country gentlemen are also obliged to join 
 this host for the same purpose. Many have not 
 joined, and as yet have not been noticed, but it 
 is well known they have been marked, and their 
 time will come." Mrs. Colville also informed 
 her friends that having determined to come to 
 Edinburgh, she had done so as privately as pos- 
 sible, accompanied by her son, and attended on- 
 ly by her waiting woman, one of the females who 
 -entered the prison with her. She had arrived 
 in Edinburgh on Saturday. Beatrice Fairley 
 and her aunt had come to town before her, on 
 some business of the aunt's, who usually resided 
 in a cottage at Arrondale, and knew the time she 
 would arrive. She had been informed by them 
 of a meeting of the persecuted people, to be held 
 about half a mile out of town, and she had gone 
 there. At Arrondale she could without suffering 
 from it have gone four times as far, but when the 
 soldiers surrounded the house in which they 
 were, and when she was obliged to pass along 
 the crowded streets amongst the insulting rabble, 
 
254 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 she never could have got on, unless supported by 
 her son ; and when obliged to separate from him, 
 she had been altogether overpowered. The part 
 of the jail too in which she had for some hours 
 been confined with him, was greatly more crowd- 
 ed than that in which she now was, and the people 
 suffering much from heat and thirst, to relieve 
 which they had been most thankful before she 
 left them for a supply of water from the jailer. 
 
 It was now proposed by Mrs. Leslie that pre- 
 parations should be made for sleeping. It was 
 impossible, as there were but four small beds, 
 that more than a fourth part of the prisoners 
 could be accommodated at one time. It was 
 therefore necessary that they should attempt to 
 sleep by turns. All agreed ; and Beatrice Fair- 
 ley, assisted by Isobel, the Lady Arrondale's 
 waiting woman, immediately began to arrange 
 the four hard, and coarsely furnished pallets. 
 Florence looked on for a time, as if considering, 
 while Mrs. Leslie and Mrs. Ednam were wrap- 
 ping up the children, and the other girls, as it 
 was determined the young ones would more ea- 
 sily sleep in such circumstances than their elder 
 friends, who would take their places when com- 
 plete exhaustion might overcome the busy anxi- 
 ous thoughts which would undoubtedly prevent 
 their sleeping, at an hour more early than they 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. U5 
 
 usually retired to rest — Florence stood consider- 
 ing for a time, then said, she thought a little in- 
 genuity might accommodate the half of the pri- 
 soners at once. She then assisted Beatrice and 
 Isobel to place benches alongside the pallets, so 
 as to enable those in them to lay crossways, while 
 the laps of those who sat while they slept, should 
 serve as pillows. This arrangement, with the 
 addition of cloaks and plaids, promised fair, and 
 after all was ready, Mrs. Leslie repeated a portion 
 of scripture. The prisoners then joined in sing- 
 ing part of a Psalm known to all, for there was 
 no light to read, which concluded with these 
 lines : — 
 
 I will both lay me down in peace, 
 
 And quiet sleep will take, 
 Because thou only me to dwell 
 
 In safety, Lord, dost make. 
 
 The younger prisoners then lay down, their 
 heads resting on the laps of their elder friends. 
 The Lady Arrondale, who was now perfectly re- 
 covered, insisted on watching near Florence, who 
 on her part most earnestly entreated that she 
 might first do that office for her. In this, how- 
 ever, Florence was overruled, and though she 
 was the last to fall asleep, it was not very long 
 
%56 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 ere all the young prisoners were so profoundly 
 so, that their elder friends could talk in whispers 
 without disturbing them. Florence was the first 
 to wake, but not for several hours, nor until the 
 other prisoners were sufficiently worn out to take 
 the places now resigned to them, with thankful- 
 ness, and to follow the example of those who 
 had just occupied them, in the soundness of 
 their repose. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 257 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Next morning, the prisoners, from Florence's 
 arrangement, had enjoyed almost their usual time 
 of repose ; and, animated and refreshed, welcomed 
 the new day by that ascription of praise to their 
 Father in Heaven, and that studying of his re- 
 vealed will, which was at all times with them the 
 earliest occupation of the day. On this morning 
 their example was followed, as they supposed, 
 by prisoners in an adjoining part of the jail ; for 
 the soft clear voices of our female prisoners had 
 scarcely ceased, when the same solemn air was 
 immediately begun by the stronger and deeper 
 voices of men — brothers in captivity — in a near 
 apartment. This was both moving and cheering 
 to all — particularly to the Lady Arrondale, who 
 believed she heard the voice of her son mingled 
 with the others. 
 
 Beatrice Fairley and Isobel, after the morning 
 service was over, busied themselves in arranging 
 
258 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 the prison, and soon produced an air of order 
 and neatness even within its walls. 
 
 Amongst all the fair young faces there, none 
 was more lovely than that of Beatrice Fairley ; 
 for though Florence might be more regularly 
 beautiful, and Olive and some of the others more 
 delicately so, there was an expression in her 
 countenance which the heart within, broken to 
 all earthly things alone could give, calmed and 
 purified by constant thoughts of that spiritual 
 and immortal -home, where hope with her now 
 only rested ; and as she moved about, so lovely — 
 so sweetly seeking the comfort of every one, so 
 grave, and quiet, and lowly — it was impossible to 
 look at her unmoved, nor receive her services 
 without feeling humbler. Her aunt, Alison Gu- 
 thrie, was an elderly woman, rather hard-favour- 
 ed, of grave and distant, but respectful manners. 
 She kept apart from the ladies, but when they 
 addressed her, the answers she gave, though 
 short, were so wise and pious as to command re- 
 spect, and excite desire for further intercourse, 
 and the smile, half bitter, half sorrowful, and 
 the emphatically uttered words, " We'll see" — or 
 " we had best be prepared for the worst" — with 
 which alone she answered their appeals to her 
 experience, regarding what might be the inten- 
 tions of the Council towards them, bespoke both 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 259 
 
 her knowledge of the state of public affairs, and 
 her opinion of those who managed them. 
 
 When Beatrice and her companion had ar- 
 ranged the two apartments, they retired into the 
 small inner one, accompanied by Alison Guthrie. 
 Isobel, a young, light-hearted, country maiden, 
 stationed herself at the window to watch the, to 
 her, novel sights of a street. Some of the young- 
 er prisoners in the other room were soon em- 
 ployed in the same way ; but Beatrice and her 
 aunt had withdrawn out of sight, and again were 
 busied with their Bibles ; for Beatrice was greedy 
 of the word of life, and drank deep both of its 
 spirit, and of its holy joys ; and her aunt's man- 
 ner of studying the scriptures, verse by verse, as 
 her very charter for eternity, left her altogether 
 unsatisfied with what was read by another, how- 
 ever solemnly or feelingly. 
 
 Wlien the jailer appeared at the usual hour 
 for the prisoners receiving breakfast, Mrs. Leslie 
 and her friends, attempted, but in vain, to gather 
 some information from him respecting their fu- 
 tui'e fate. 
 
 " We shall surely be released to-day." 
 
 " I have no new orders, ladies." 
 
 " You ^ill at least admit our friends to-day." 
 
 " I cannot, without orders." 
 
260 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 " You surely will not refuse to get a few lines 
 conveyed from me to my son," said the Lady 
 Arrondale — " you shall have them open if you 
 choose." 
 
 " I must not. I was strictly enjoined to allow 
 of no communications of any kind. To disobey, 
 is as much as my life is worth." 
 
 " But how long did you ever see ladies kept 
 in a jail?" 
 
 " A long time." 
 
 " But if they paid the fines imposed?" 
 
 " That will not do always." 
 
 " No, no, indeed," said Mrs. Leslie to the 
 Lady Arrondale, who had asked these questions. 
 " The Lady Cavers has been in prison for nearly 
 two years, and her young family without a head 
 — their father gone — and their eldest brother 
 abroad." 
 
 " Aye, she is here," said the jailer. 
 
 " And well, I trust ?" asked Mrs. Ednam. 
 
 " She is a woman of a great spirit," replied 
 the jailer. " Nothing will bring it down, or she 
 might have been free long ago. Wlien they 
 send Commissioners to her from the Council, 
 they come out of her prison as if they had been 
 before the Council themselves, and threatened 
 with the boots. They once persuaded her to 
 write a petition to the Council for sake of her 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 261 
 
 children, but it was so full of reproofs, that it 
 did her more harm than good. You should 
 take warning, ladies ;" and so saying, the jailer 
 retired. 
 
 This day passed on, and another, and another, 
 and a whole week, and no change in the treat- 
 ment of the prisoners. The young people began 
 to look pale from confinement, and closeness of 
 the rooms, with so many constantly shut up in 
 them; and the elder prisoners looked ill from 
 anxiety, and want of their usual rest ; for after 
 the first night or two they could not, like the 
 young ones, sleep well, with such bad accommo- 
 dation, and without undressing. 
 
 On the tenth day of their confinement, an offi- 
 cer was sent from the Council, summoning the 
 Lady Dalcluden — the Lady Graden — Mrs. Ed- 
 nam, and her niece Catharine Pringle, to appear 
 before them on a day which would be afterwards 
 specified, and to remain in the mean time in. 
 confinement. The other prisoners were to be 
 immediately released. 
 
 " Thank heaven !" exclaimed Mrs. Leslie, 
 when the officer had retired, " you, my dear 
 Mrs. Colville, are not included in this summons. 
 You will be a mother to my young people." 
 
 " Well should I have liked to prove my 
 gratitude to Torriswood in this way on any 
 
262 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Other occasion," replied the Lady Arrondale 
 feelingly. 
 
 " We cannot choose occasions, my dear friend, 
 and now how could I have parted with all these 
 children, and Mrs. Ednam here, and the Lady 
 Graden ? Oh how mercy is mingled in every dis- 
 pensation !" 
 
 Mrs. Leslie's children were now in tears, and 
 clinffincp to their mother. 
 
 " Must we separate, my dearest aunt ?" asked 
 Florence, calmly, but as pale as marble. 
 
 " Yes, my love, but I hope not for above a day 
 or two ; and, dear Florence, let there be no yield- 
 ing to our feelings now. We profess to believe 
 that all things shall work together for our good. 
 Let us prove the sincerity of our profession by 
 receiving cheerfully whatever is sent us to bear. 
 How differently might this matter have been or- 
 dered. You leave me with dear friends. I know 
 that you are with a dear friend. — My little An- 
 not," clasping her youngest child to her breast, 
 " thou hast never been a day separated from me. 
 Wilt thou make me a promise, Annot ?" 
 
 The child could not speak from weeping and 
 sobs. 
 
 " Hush, Annot — hush, my child — those tears 
 and sobs are only proofs of the strength of thy 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 263 
 
 own will. That must be subdued, my child. An- 
 not, who sends all this ?" 
 
 " The wicked Council," sobbed out the child 
 in anger. 
 
 " But who permits it, Annot? Who reigns over 
 the Council ?" 
 
 " Satan, I am sure," answered the child in ob- 
 stinate anger and grief. 
 
 " Oh the boldness and rebellion of the natural 
 heart !" exclaimed Mrs. Leslie, " and this is 
 thy first trial, Annot. I hoped better things of 
 thee." 
 
 The child burst into a new agony of tears and 
 sobs, and disengaging herself from her mother, 
 went and buried her face in the lap of the gentle 
 Beatrice Fairley, who, during the time they had 
 been confined together, had wonderfully gained 
 her young affections, and then she wept and sob- 
 bed as if her heart would break. Beatrice leant 
 tenderly over her, and spoke in a voice soft and 
 serious. " This is sin. Miss Annot. You feel it 
 is a bitter thing. All sorrow comes from sin — 
 all partings — all grief — all pain. We must taste 
 its bitter fruit. Miss Annot, that we may the 
 more love Him, who has shown us how we 
 may escape from its misery and its punishment." 
 
 The child became calm as Beatrice spoke. 
 
 She continued, — " In what spirit. Miss Annot, 
 
264 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 did He carry our sorrows, and bear the chastise- 
 ment of our peace ?" 
 
 Annot put her face in Beatrice's bosom, and 
 the rest of their conversation was in whispers ; 
 but it ended in Annot returning with a downcast 
 countenance to ask forgiveness. This was easily 
 obtained, and she became as cahn and submissive 
 as the others. 
 
 " You will all go to my house, said the Lady 
 Dalcluden. Alison Guthrie, and Beatrice Fair- 
 ley, you will not leave the Lady Arrondale." 
 
 " It would be ill our part, if she wished us 
 near her," said Alison, " but what are we, that 
 the Lady Arrondale should be burdened with 
 us ?" 
 
 " If it suits your own convenience, Alison, you 
 and Beatrice would be comforts to me,"" replied 
 Mrs. Colville. 
 
 " It is enough, Madam," said Alison. 
 
 " And you will come daily, Annot," said Mrs. 
 Leslie, whose heart seemed settled on the child, 
 " and if they will not let you in to see me, you 
 will walk past the jail that I may see you from 
 the window. I shall watch for you, and, before 
 you go, we shall fix the hour." 
 
 The prison door was now again unlocked, and 
 the jailer informed the prisoners that there were 
 friends below, who had come to meet those who 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 265 
 
 were released. He had no power to admit them 
 into the jail, but their names he might mention : 
 Mr. Colville, who had desired him to say that 
 the Lady Dalchiden's coach was in waiting, and 
 other names he mentioned — 
 
 " Can you now tell me whether those prisoners 
 who were brought from the conventicle found at 
 Canonmills are yet released T'' asked the Lady 
 Arrondale, who had in vain attempted to get an 
 answer to this question before. 
 
 " Yes, Madam, all except one or two." 
 
 " The young gentleman, named Colville, — 
 know you whether he is released ?" 
 
 " That is not the name of any to remain," 
 replied the jailer, " so he must be free. They 
 are just leaving the prison now as they feel dis- 
 posed. I hope. Ladies, you have been satisfied 
 with the treatment you have met with here," con- 
 tinued the jailer. 
 
 His hint was understood, and he soon seemed to 
 consider himself liberally rewarded for his civility. 
 
 No one appeared willing, however, first to take 
 kave of those beloved friends who must h^ left 
 behind. Florence's hand was locked in that of 
 Catharine Pringle, while, with a countenance pale 
 and anxious, she looked at her aunt, whose 
 strength of mind, and devotedness of spirit, led all 
 present unconsciously to regard her as their guide. 
 
 " Florence, my love," said Mrs. Leslie, " I give 
 
-266 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 you in charge to prevent Colville's recognising 
 the Lady Arrondale, till you are all in my house — " 
 for Mrs. Colville was now so greatly agitated in 
 the expectation of meeting her son, as to be 
 scarcely able to stand or walk. — " And now," 
 continued Mrs. Leslie, " God be with you all, 
 my beloved friends, ^s I trust He is with us. 
 Come, my dear Mrs. Ednam, and Lady Graden, 
 and you, my dear young prisoner — we shall have 
 no softenings, and protracted leave takings." — She 
 then drew them into the inner prison, and taking 
 one look at Annot — raised her eyes to heaven, 
 and then closed the door. 
 
 The released prisoners stood for an instant 
 without moving, their eyes fixed on the closed 
 door ; but no one ventured to dispute Mrs. Les- 
 lie's wishes, and though the young ones could 
 not keep from weeping, they submissiv^ely follow- 
 ed, as the Lady Arrondale, supported by Flo- 
 rence, now turned to leave the jail. 
 
 A long dark passage led to the prison-door. 
 From this passage, were several others, into some 
 of which was a descent by a few steps, and into 
 one or two an ascent of a few irregular steps, led 
 to other apartments in the jail. From one of 
 these passages proceeded the only light which 
 guided our prisoners ; and on the steps which 
 led into it, a youth now stood, eagerly watching 
 their approach. 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 267 
 
 " My mother !" exclaimed he, the moment Mrs. 
 Colville came near the light, and instantly darted 
 towards her to offer his support. 
 
 " Hugh ! my dearest Hugh !" and she clung 
 fondly to his arm. ^' Your brother is here, Hugh. 
 He waits for us at the prison gate." 
 
 " My brother ! Does he know you are here ?" 
 
 " No. I cannot meet him here." 
 
 " I shall manage all that," said Florence, leav- 
 ing the Lady Arrondale and her son, and ad- 
 , vancing with the two eldest ladies of the party. 
 
 On issuing from the passage, the prisoners de- 
 scended a few steps into a little square stone hall, 
 where Colville and several others stood anxious- 
 ly waiting their approach. " Dearest Florence ! 
 dear Colville !" passed in whispers. Colville 
 seemed only to see Florence, who entreated him 
 to conduct the two elder ladies to the coach. 
 He did so immediately. The others followed. 
 Hugh Colville supported his mother, who was 
 almost lifted into the carriage by her two sons, 
 Colville perfectly unconscious of who the person 
 was, for whose agitation he for a moment felt a 
 painful emotion of sympathy ; but which passed 
 instantly away on again turning to Florence. Hugh, 
 on his part, had no eyes but for his brother. He 
 stood, without offering his assistance to any one, 
 his looks following every motion of Colville's, 
 who, directed by Florence, assisted as many as 
 
268 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 it could contain into her aunt's coach, and mar- 
 shalled the others to proceed on foot. Colville 
 himself, when all had set forward, returned to 
 offer his arm to Florence. He glanced at Hugh, 
 and then asked in a whisper — " Who is this 
 youth, Florence ? Shall we ask him to accom-^ 
 pany us ?" 
 
 Florence made no answer, but putting one arm 
 within Colville's, she motioned to Hugh to walk 
 on her other side. He did so, and she took his 
 offered arm also. 
 
 " Was this youth in jail with you, Florence ?" 
 whispered Colville. 
 
 " No, but his mother was." 
 
 " Who is his mother?" asked Colville, again 
 glancing at the graceful stripling, whose eyes ea- 
 gerly met his. 
 
 " Do you not know him, Colville ?" 
 
 Colville looked again. " Can it be Hugh ! 
 my brother !" 
 
 " Philip 1" exclaimed Hugh, but his voice fail- 
 ed, and his eyes were blinded with tears of joy. 
 
 The brothers grasped each other's hands for 
 an instant. 
 
 They could not embrace in the crowded Ca- 
 nongate, but they both wept, and looked earnest- 
 ly at each other through their tears. 
 
 " And my mother, Hugh, where is she?*' 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 269 
 
 " You will meet her presently. She is in Edin- 
 burgh." 
 
 Florence now quickened her pace — " The 
 Lady Arrondale knows you are in Edinburgh, 
 Colville. She must be impatient to meet you." 
 
 " You said the mother of this brother was in 
 jail, Florence. Was my mother in confinement 
 with you ?" 
 
 " She was, and you assisted her into my aunt's 
 coach.*" 
 
 " And where shall I find her, dear Florence ?" 
 
 " At my aunt's." 
 
 Florence hastened on. Colville was silent, 
 but she felt that he trembled. Hugh had left 
 her and gone to his other side, and Colville had 
 put his arm in his, and drawn him closely to him. 
 
 It was but a short distance from the jail to 
 Lady Dalcluden's house, and Florence and the 
 brothers soon reached it. Florence instantly 
 hastened in search of the Lady Arrondale, fol- 
 lowed by Colville, and fomid her in extreme agi- 
 tation waiting his arrival. Colville knelt before 
 her, and clasped his arms around her as she sat — 
 while she sunk weeping on his neck — and Flo- 
 rence, though she paused for a moment to wit- 
 ness a joy in which she could sympathise from 
 her inmost soul, soon recollected herself, and 
 
270 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 The reader of this fragment will perceive, that 
 it is no more than the commencement of a delinea- 
 tion of the principles, characters, and circum- 
 stances of the persons introduced into it. Had 
 the author lived to have completed her work, af- 
 ter largely developing these, it appears, from 
 what she expressed to one of her sisters, that 
 she designed to exhibit Torriswood, Rathillet, 
 Beatrice Fairley, and others as proving their fide- 
 lity to the cause in which they were engaged, by 
 laying down their lives for it. Colville and the 
 rest, after various fortunes, and extreme suffer- 
 ings, were to be brought purified out of the fur- 
 nace of affliction. 
 
 Those acquainted with the history of th€ times, 
 will observe, that the author has done no more 
 than transfer from Wodrow, &c. with altered 
 names, those trees and plants of righteousness 
 
PHILIP COLVILLE. 271 
 
 into the neat and elegant garden which she had 
 provided for them, that they might be seen to 
 better advantage. 
 
 Had she been permitted to have finished her 
 plan, it would have been an abridged, but a most 
 faithful and impressive account of the sufferings 
 of the Presbyterian Church, under the execrable 
 administrations of the latter Stuarts, Charles 
 and James, of hateful memory. This would 
 have been a most useful work, for our most es- 
 teemed historians have either slurred over the 
 odious deeds of that day, or they have misrepresent- 
 ed them. Hence, even well-educated, and well- 
 principled people have been led to conceive that 
 the Covenanters were an odious, wrong-headed, 
 obstinate, fanatical, and rebellious race, which, by 
 any means, it was wise and necessary to extir- 
 pate. Whereas those were the men of whom 
 the world was not worthy, and who, for their 
 country and their God, nobly and heroically 
 threw themselves into the breach, and, defvino; 
 the armies of the aliens, resisted unto blood, 
 striving against sin, and were faithful unto death, 
 and received the crown of life — and left us the in- 
 valuable legacy which they acquired bv their 
 lives, of the liberty and religion we now enjoy. 
 They laboured and suffered — and we have entered 
 into their labours and joys. 
 1 
 
272 PHILIP COLVILLE. 
 
 Reader ! — whether you reside in the south, or 
 the east, or the west, of our now happy land, 
 you will find marked, if not in your own church- 
 yard, yet assuredly in one not far distant from 
 it, the holy ground where have been laid the pre- 
 cious remains of some of those excellent ones of 
 the earth. Lead your children to it, — tell them 
 how they lived, and for what they suffered and 
 died — and learn them to cherish the remembrance, 
 and venerate and imitate the virtues of those, 
 who valued a good conscience before God, more 
 than houses or lands, or dear relations, or their 
 own lives, and who will justly be had 
 
 IN 
 EVERLASTING REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 The fragment is given unaltered, just as found in the reposi- 
 tories of the deceased. 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 127, line 15, /or kindness read gentle means 
 
 Page 135, line lO^for him read her 
 
 Page 195, line 8, /or these rea<Z those 
 
 Page 201, last line, /or in read on 
 
 Page 262, 2d line from bottom, for those read these 
 
"1 
 
 RETURN TO the circulation desk of any 
 
 University of California Library 
 
 or to the 
 
 NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 BIdg. 400, Richmond Field Station 
 University of California 
 Richmond, CA 94804-4698 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 2-month loans may be renewed by calling 
 
 (510)642-6753 
 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing books 
 
 to NRLF 
 Renev\/als and recharges may be made 4 days 
 
 prior to due date 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 APR 19 1 997 
 
 ?0,000 (4/94) 
 
 4 
 
s 
 

 '^st 
 
 ?¥■ 
 
 A*if 
 
 #,