/a' 1 *~ r br ^^ -^i.^ .^- •" \ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This b(iok is DUE on the last date stamped below. REC'D LD-URt JUL 1 8 1984 y .\ ^ ^Mj^:^m!W^ \. ' r /S S ANGELES, CALIF. »-^*:ar%-*-i^ri% , lit tr ffSBn ». 2i--« 1 1 » » • , ■ffs .1:1^ ifcS^^ „,,;;.* " " *^*3 "•te »•«■-- ;:*»* !«#• * -■ , - •-» r^-C.^ 0^/" ^ ^ •ITTRIGK SHEPHERD. n GLASGOW El E WORK$ ■■^>^ IL«2 \ t G {-) f L^ w> Tales ^lelros e. ^' WW. & i..Ja^i;fcsz^ London Edinburgh > G-dasgow. /T J J , • • U 1» *. •. • « t -J «g^ 6330f LONDON: BLACKIE AND SON, PATERNOSTER ROW AND GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH. 1869. • • • • • • :•: • .,*. ••• .*• \ ' :• 1 .• GLASGOW: W. G. BLACKIE AND CO., PRINTERS, VILL AFIELD. Al V,l PRE F A C E On the Ettrick Shepherd and his Writings much comment is no longer necessary : his name has become a househokl word, and his works are known not only in his native Scotland, but wherever the English language or the Scottish dialect is undei-stood. Next to Burns himself, who stands alone as our great national bard, no poet has so nearly approached him in his own peculiar walk, or won so high a reputation as James Hogg; while the merits of both are enhanced by the original lowliness of their station, and the difficulties that stood in their way to such high distinction. The one was oidy a i)lough- man, and the other a shepherd. But from the Thames to the Ganges, from the Clyde to the Neva, their songs are sung as the commemorations of social and domestic worth, or the incentives to patriotic and public nobleness; while prince and peasant cordially unite in applauding their productions and honouring their memory. But while Burns stands so proudly alone, and Hogg occupies a considerably lower pedestal, it must not be forgot, that the latter possessed excellencies of his own which are wanting in the former. If in deep emotion and correspondent power of language the songs of Burns have hewn for themselves an indelible imprint into the living rock of time — if in the vivid brilliancy with which, by a single line, he could reveal an unnoticed sentiment as with a flash of lightning, the Ettrick Shepherd cannot be compared with his great prototy])e, — this deficiency in power is all but compensated by the superior wideness of his range. His faculties expanded over a more ample field than that of the Bard of Coila, and in this way accomplished more than Burns could have effected. In the imaginative of poetry, could the latter have pictured such a union of the super- natui-ally bright and beautiful as that of Kilmeny? Could he have sustained himself so long upon the wing as Hogg has done in his larger productions? And in that inventiveness which is so essential an attribute in poetry, could he have created so wide and so varied a world of scenery and incident as has been done by the Ettrick Shepherd I But abandoning such questions, which may be deemed too captious, we would now observe, that the fame of Hogg does not rest solely upon his merits as a poet. He was also a pi'ose writer; and in this department the fervour of his imagination, and his originality, are almost as conspicuous as in his poetry. While the force of circumstances compelled him to adopt this course of authorship, the same necessity obliged him to write upon those subjects with which he was best acquainted, and which he had already so well illustrated in his poems. And hence his Tales, his Essays, and Sketches were conceived and expressed in the same poetical spirit, while they chiefly touch upon the same subjects. The short and simple annals of the poor — their social and domestic joys PREFACE. and sorrows — their daily occupations and stated festivals — their wild and woudroiu legends and superstitions — their adventures as Scottish einigi-ants in search of wealth or occupation— these have all found in him an able, faithful, and sympathizing recorder : his stories of mirth and glee describe events in which he had been an actor; wldle his narratives of fearful diablerie, or the mysteries of Fairyland, are told in the con amore spirit of one who was more than half persuaded of their truth. Hence the freshness and air of sincerity with which they are invested, and which impart to fiction the charms of reality. Even had Hogg written nothing more than these, he would have been entitled to a liigh place among the prose writers of our country. It is gratifying to think that such genuine excellence has obtained a coiTespondeut recognition. The productions of the Ettrick Shepherd, by their own intrinsic excellence, have won their way, and secured their proper place among the lasting literary achieve- ments of our countrymen. While they excited the admiration of the bygone period, and made the public to wonder that they could have been Avritten by any one under such adverse circumstances as his, their populai'ity Avas not, like that of so many contem- poraneous works, confined to their own day. They have stood the severest ordeal of criticism, and every year has only added to their reputation. Like the national characteristics of Scotland, which they so well illustrate, they have only been hardened into permanence by the trial through which they have passed un.scatlied ; and they bid fair to endure as long as Scottish individuality continues to be prized and cherislied. And although the fashion of things may change with the mutations of time, the Ettrick Shepherd's writings, along with those of Scott and of Burns, will still continue to be valued as the faithful transcripts of an existence dear to memory, though its forms liave become obsolete, as well as of those more solid and substantial national \ irtues which neither fashion can change nor time eradicate. This edition of The Ettrick Shepherd's Works is, in some i-espects, a rejiroductiou, in a cheaper and more popular form, of the collection of his writings in poetry and prose, partly prepared by the Author himself, issued by the publishers in eleven volumes, foolscap 8vo. A new Life of the Shepherd has been supplied, in addition to the former Autobiography, and a fresh arrangement has been made of the larger Poems, while the smaller have been classed into distinct and appropriate groups. Hogg's own contribu- tions to the Forest Minstrel, many of which were omitted in the earlier edition of liis works, are now restored, so that the ])resent issue will be, more than any other, full and comijlete. To each of the larger poems a brief critical, explanatory, or analytical notice has been prefixed. While these re-arrangements and additions have been made in the Poetical works, those in Prose have been carefully revised, but chiefly for the purposes of a slight occasional pruning and verbal emendation, such as the Author, had he liAed, would himself most probably have made. In the work of revision, and in the preparation of the Memoir, the Editor has enjoyed the advantage of the co-operation of the Author's widow, and the sui-viviug members of his family. The Memoir and Autobiography accompany the volume con- taininfi; the Poems. Edinburgh, November, 1865. vi C O N T E N T S. PROSE WORKS. / (.< Thk JiiiowNiE OF BoDSBKCK. A tale of the times of the Covenanters, .... The Wool-Gatherer. Tale of a lost heir, . A Tale of Pentland. Incident after the battle, ........ EWAN M'Gabhar. An old Highland legend, The Bridal of Polmood. A tale of love and jealousy, in the times of the Stuarts, Storms. Sketches of Scottish snow-falls in pas- toral districts, . ■ . A Shepherd's Wedding. Descriptive sketch of a pastoral festival, ..... Country Dreams and Apparitions, . The Wife of Lochmaben. Story of a wraith, Welldean Hall. Storj' of a lost will, and the ghost of the testator, .... Tibby Johnston's Wraith, A Story op Good Queen Bess. Her jealousy of a successor, and mistakes that ai-ose from it, ....... . Sound Morality. Sketch of practical, in op- position to theoretical religion. Trials of Temper. A tale of hasty courtship, and its confusion of cross purposes, The Fords of Callcm. A narrative of myste- rious murder, and a wraith-warning. The Cameronian Preacher's Tale. Guilt - miraculously revealed and punished, . The Hunt of Eildon. A fairy tale of the old Scottish times, The Adventures of Basil Lee. Life, travels, and exploits of a prodigal, .... Adam Bell. A tale of feud, mystery, and murder, ........ rAout that, gude- man ] — ye may gang an' specr at her — Out o' her bed, quotha I — Xa — there'll nae young skempy amang them wile her out o' her bed i" the night-time. — Dear gudeman, what has put it i' your bead that our bairn stravaigs i" the night-time ?" " Xa, na, Maron, there's nae mortal soul will over gar ye answer to the point." "Dear gudeman. wha heard ever tell o" a mortal soul] — the soul's no mortal at a' — Didna ye bear our ain worthy curate-clerk say" "0, Maron! Maron! yell aye be the auld woman, if the warld sude turn upside-down ! — Canna ye answer my question simply, ay or no. as far as ye ken, w^hether our daughter has been out o' her bed at midnight for some nights bygane or no ? — If ye ken that she has. canna ye tell me sae at aince, without ganging about the bush? it's a thing that deeply concerns us baith." THE BllUWNIE OF UOlJSBECK. "Troth, guilcinan, gin ahe has been out u' her : bod, moiiy au honest man's bairn has been out o' her bed at midni;,'ht afore her, an' nae ill in her mind nouther — the thiii'j^'s as common as the risintj o' the seen sterns." Walter turned towards his meal, after casting a look of jiity and despair ui)on liis yokefellow, who went on at great length defending the etjui- vocal practice of young women who might deem it meet and convenient to leave their beds occabionally by night; and at length, with more sagacity than usual, concluded her arguments with the following home remark: — "Ye ken fu' wcel. gudeman, ye courtit me i' the howe o' the nitrht yoursel ; an' Him that kens the heart kens weel tiiat 1 hae never had cause to rue our bits o' trysts i' the dark — Na, na ! mony's the time an' Bft that I hae blest them, an' thought o' them wi' pleasure ! Wc had ae kind o' happiness then, Watic; we hae another now, an' we'll hae another yet." Tiiere was somctliing in tiiis ajipeal that it would have been unnatural to resist. There is a tender- ness in the recollection of early scenes of mutual joy and love, that invarialdy softens the asperity of our nature, and draws the heart by an invisible bond toward tlie sharer of them; but when tiiese scenes are at one view connected with the present and the future, the delight receives a tinge of sublimity. In short, the appeal was one of the most happy that ever fell from the lips of a simple and ignorant, though a well-meaning woman. It was not lost upon Walter; who, though of a rough exterior and im- patient humour, was a good man. lie took his wife's hand and pressed it fer^•ently. " My gude auld wife," said he, ''God bless ye ! — Ye hae bits o' queer gates whiles, but I wadna part wi' ye, or see ane o' your gray hairs wranged, for a' the ewes on the Hermon Law." — Maron gave two or three sobs, and put the comer of her check-apron upon the eye that was next Walter. — "Fair fa' your heart, Maron," said he, "we'll say nae mair about it; but, my woman, we maun crack about our bits o' hame aflairs, an' I had the strongest reasons for coming to the truth o' j'on ; however, I'll trj' ither means. — But, Maron Linton, there's anither thing, that in spite o' my heart is like to breed me muckle grief, an' trouble, an' shame. — Maron, has the Brownie o' Bodsbeck been ony mair seen about the town]" "Troth, gudeman, ye're aye sae hard i' the belief — wi' a' your kindness to me and mine, ye hae a dour, stiff, unbowsome kind o' nature in ye — it'll hardly souple whan steepit i' yer ain e'esight. But I can tell ye for news, ye'll no hae a servant about yer house, man, woman, nor boy, in less than a fortnight, if this wicked and malevolent spirit canna be put away — an' I may say i' the language o' Scripture, 'My name is Legion, for we are many.' It's no ae Brownie, nor twa, nor half-a-score, that's about the house, but a great multitude— they say they're ha'f deils ha'f fock— a thing tiiat 1 dinna weel under- stand. Hut how many bannocks think ye* I hae baken in our liouse these eight days, an' no a crust o' them to the fore but that wee bit on your timber trencher >. Half a dizen o' dizens, gudeman! a' the meal girnels i' the country wadna stand it, let abee the wee bit meal ark o' Cliapcliiope. ' "Uudewife, I'm perfectly stoundit. 1 dinna ken what to say, or what to think, or what to do; an' the mair sae o' what I have heard sin' I gaed to the hill. Auld John o' the Muchrah, our herd, wlia I ken wadna tell a lee for tlie Laird o" Drummelzicr's estate, saw an unco sight the night afore last." "Jlercy on us, gudeman! what mair has been seen altout this unlucky place i" "Til tell ye, gudcwife. On Monanday night he cam yont to stop the ewes aff the hogg-fcnce, but or it was lang he saw a white thing an' a black tiling comin' up tiie Houm close thegither. They cam by within three cat loups o' him— he gripjMjd his cudgel firm, an' was aiiice gaun togie them strength o' arm, but his power failed him an' a' his sinnens grew like dockans; there was a kind o' glamour cam o'er his een too, for a' the 'Hope an' the heaven grew as derk as tar an' i)itch— but the settin moon shone even in their faces, and he saw them as wcel as it had been fore-day. The tane was a wee bit hurklin crile of an unearthly thing, as shrinkit an' wan as he had lien seven years i' the grave; the tither was like a young woman — an' what d'ye think? he says he'll gang to death wi't that it was outher our dochtcr or her wraith." Maron lifted up her eyes and her clasped hands toward the ceiling, and broke out with the utmost vehemence into the following raving ejaculation; — "0 mercy, mercy! Watic Laidlaw!— 0, may Him that dwalls atween the cherubims be wi' us and pre- serve us and guide us, for we are undone creatures ! — O, Watic Laidlaw, Watie Laidlaw! there's the wheel within the wheel, the mystery o' Babylon, the mother of harlots, and abominations of the earth." "Maron Linton! — What are ye savin'? — Hand your tongue, Maron Linton." "0 gudeman, I thought it was the young fallows ye jaloosed her wi' — I wish it had. I wad rather hae seen her i' the black stool, in the place where repentance is to be hoped for; but now she's i' the deil's ain hands. I jaloosed it, Watie — I kend it — I was sure o't lang syne. Our bairn's changed — she's transplanted ; she's no Keaty Laidlaw now, but an unearthly creature. We might weel hae kend that flesh an' bluid could never be sae bonny. Gudeman, I hae an awsome tale to tell you — Wha think ye was it that killed Clavers' Highlanders?" "That, I suppose, will remain a mystery till the day when a' secrets will be cleared up, an' a' the deeds o' darkness brought to light." "Sae may it be, Watie! Sae may it be! But it was neither ane nor ither but our ain only dochter Kate." THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. "Ye' re ravin, Maron — troth, 3'e'rc gaun daft. A bit sklendry lassie o' aughteen kill t-ae mony arrned Highlanders ! — H out, fye I keep within bounds, Maron." "I heard her wi' tliir lugs it's i' my ain head — atannin on that very room floor, I heard her gie the orders to her Brownie. She was greetin whan I cam in— I listened and heard her saying, while her heart was like to loup, 'Wae's me! wae's me! or mid-day their blood will be rinnin like water! — the auld an' the young, the bonny an' the gude, tiie sick an' the woundit. That bluid may cry to Heaven, but the cauld earth will drink it up ; days may be better, but waur they canna be ! Down wi' the clans. Brownie, and spare nae ane.' In less than ten minutes after that, the men were found dead. Now, Watie, this is a plain an' positive truth. " Walter's blood curdled within him at this relation. He was superstitious, but he always affected to dis- believe the existence of the Brownie, though the evidences were so strong as not to admit of any doubt ; but tliis double assurance, that his only daughter, whom he loved above all the world besides, was leagued Avith evil spirits, utterly con- founded him. He charged his wife, in the most solemn manner, never more, during her life, to men- tion the mysterious circumstance relating to the death of the Highland soldiers. It is not easy to conceive a pair in more consummate astonishment than Walter and his spouse were by the time the conversation had reached this point. The one knew not what to think, to reject, or believe — the other believed all, without comprehending a single iota of what she did believe; her mind endeavoured to grasp a dreadful imaginary form, but the dimen- sions were too ample for its reasoning powers; they were soon dilated, burst, and were blown about, as it were, in a world of vision and terror. CHAPTER II. Before proceeding with the incidents as they occurred, which is the common way of telling a story in the country, it will be necessary to explain some circumstances alluded to in the foregoing chapter. Walter Laidlaw rented the extensive bounds of Chapclhope from the Laird of Drummelzier. He was a substantial, and even a wealthy man, as times went then, for he had a stock of 3000 sheep, cattle, and horses; and had, besides, saved considerable sums of money, which he had lent out to neighbour- ing farmers who were not in circumstances so inde- pendent as himself. He had one only daughter, his darling, who was adorned with every accomplishment which the coun- try could then afford, and with -ever}' grace and beauty that a country maiden may fKweesH. He had likewise two sons, who were younger than ehe, and a number of shepherds and female ger\'antg. The time in which the incidentH here recorded took place was, I believe, in the autumn of the year 1^585, the most dismal and troublous time that theee districts of the south and west of Scotland ever saw, or have since seen. The persecution for religion then raged in its wildest and most unbridled fury: the Covenanters, or the Whigs, as they were then called, were proscribed, imprisoned, and at last bunted down like wild beasts. Oraham, Vis<'ount of Dun- dee, better known by the detested name of Clavers, let loose his savage troopers upon those peaceful dis- tricts, with percmptor}' orders to plunder, wa«te, di-sperse, and destroy the conventiclers, wherever they might be found. The shepherds knew, or thought they knew, that no human being frequented these places. They lived in terror and consternation. Those who had no tie in the country left it, and retreated into the vales, where the habitations of men are numerous, and where the fairy, the Brownie, or the walking ghoet, is rarely seen. Such as had friends whom they could not leave, or sheep and cattle ujwn the lands, as the farmers and shepherds had, were oblJL'c*! to remain, but their astunishmcnt and awe continue*! to in- crease. They knew there was but one Being to whom they could apply for iirotection against these un- earthly visitants ; family worship was begun both at evening and morning in the farmers hall and the most remote hamlet ; and that age introduced a spirit of devotion into those regions, which one hun- dred and thirty years' continuance of the utmost laxity and indecision in religious principles has not yet been able wholly to eradicate. It is likewise necessary to mention here, though perfectly well known, that every comer of that dis- tracted country was furnished with a gownsman, to instruct the inhabitants in the mild and henujnant principles of Prelacy, but chiefly to act as spies upon « the detested Whigs. In the fulfilment of this last task they were not remiss; they proved the most in- veterate and incorrigible enemies that the poor Cov- enantee had. The officiating priest at the kirk of St. Mary of the Lowes had been particularly active in this part of his commission. The smallest number could not be convened for the purposes of public devotion — two or three stragglcre could not be seen crossing the country, but information was instantly sent to Clavei'S, or some one of his officers; and. at the same time, these devotional meetings were always described to be of the most atrocious and rebellious nature. The Whigs became grievously incensed against this ecclesiastic; for, in the bleakest mountain of their native land, they could not enjoy a lair in common with the foxes and the wild goats in peace, nor wor- ship their God without annoyance in the dens and .0^ .-v.. ,M. A RETREAT OF THE COVENANTERS, BJACKIS fc SON. GlASaOW. EDIMBIfRBH Jtl.uND.?^ THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. caves of the earth. Their conventicles, though held in places ever so remote, were broken in upon and dispersed hy armed troops, and their ministers and brethren carried awaj' to prisons, to banishment, and to death. They waxed desperate, and what will not desperate men do? They waylaid, and seized upon one of the priest's emissaries by night, a young female, who was running on a message to Grierson of Lag. Overcome with fear at being in custody of such frightful - looking fellows, with their sallow cheeks and long beards, she confessed the whole, and gave up her despatches. These were of the most aggravated nature. Forthwith two or three of the most hardy of the Whigs, without the concurrence or knowledge of their brethren, posted straight to the Virgin's chapel that very night, shot the chaplain, and buried him at a small distance from his own little solitary mansion ; at the same time giving out to the country, that he was a sorcerer, an adulterer, and a character every way evil. His name has accord- ingly been handed down to posterity as a most hor- rid necromancer. This was a rash and unpremeditated act; and, as might well have been foreseen, the cure proved worse than the disease. It brought the armed troops upon them both from the east and the west. Clavers came to Traquair, and stationed companies of troops in a line across the country. The Laird of Lag placed a body of men in the narrowest pass of Moffatdale, in the only path by which these mountains are access- ible. Thus all communication was cut off between the mountain-men and the western counties; for every one who went or came by that way, these sol- diers took prisoner, searched, and examined; and one lad, who was coming from Moffat, carrying more bread than they thought he could well account for, they shot dead on the spot just as he had dropped on his knees to pray. A curate, named Clerk, still remained, to keep an eye upon the W^higs and pester them. He had the charge of two chapels in that vicinity ; the one at a place now called Kirkhope, which was dedicated to St. Irene, a saint of whom the narrator of this story could give no account. The other was dedicated to St. Lawrence ; the remains of it are still to be seen at Chapelhope, in a small circular inclosure on the west side of the burn. Clerk was as malevolent to the full against the proscribed party as his late brother, but he wanted the abilities of the deceased; he was ignorant, superstitious, and had assumed a part of that fanaticism in religion by which many of the adverse party were distinguished. By this principally he had gained some influence among his hearers, on whom he tried every stimulant to influ- ence them against the Whigs. The goodwife of Chapelhope was particularly attached to him and his tenets; he held her completely in leading-strings; her conscience approved of everything, or disapproved, merely as he directed ; he flattered her for her deep knowledge in true and sound divinity and the Holy Scriptures, although of both she was grossly ignor- ant. But she had learned from her preceptor a kind of cant — a jargon of religious terms and sentences of Scripture mixed, of which she had great pride but little understanding. She was just such a character as would have been a Whig, had she ever had an opportunity of hearing or conversing with any of that sect. Few things could be so truly ludicrous as some of her exhibitions in a religious style. The family and servants were in general swayed by their mistress, who took a decided part with Clerk in all his schemes against the Whigs, and constantly des- patched one of her own servants to carry his messages of infonnation to the king's officers. This circumstance soon became known to the mountain- men, and though they were always obliged to take refuge on the lands of Chapelhope by day, they avoided carefully all communication with the family or shepherds (for several of the shepherds on that farm lived in cottages at a great distance from one another and from the farm-house). Walter desjjised Clerk and his tenets most heartily; he saw that he was a shallow, hypocritical, and self- ish being, and that he knew nothing of the princi- ples in which he pretended to instruct them; there- fore he sorely regretted the influence that he had gained over his family. Neither did he approve of the rigid and rebellious principles which he believed the Covenanters professed. When he met with any man, or community of men, who believed firmly in anything, and held it sao'ed, Walter revered that, and held it sacred likewise ; but it was rather from a deference to the belief and feelings of his fellow- creatures than his own con\-iction. In short, Walter was an honest, conscientious, good, old-fashioned man, but he made no great fuss about religion, and many supposed that he did not care a pin who was right or who was wrong. On the 23d of August, Clavers despatched nine- teen men from Traquair, under the command of one Copland, a gentleman volunteer in his troop, and a verj' brave young man, to gain intelligence concern- ing the murder of the curate, and use every means to bring the perpetrators to justice. Copland and his men came to the mansion of the late chaplain, where they remained all the night, and made every in- quiry that they could concerning the murderers. Several witnesses were brought in and examined, and among others the very identical girl whom the Whigs took prisoner, and robbed of the despatches. She had heard the letter read by one of the gang who seized her, while the rest stood and listened. It bore, "that great numbers of the broken and rebel- lious traitors kenneled in the wilds around Loch Skene, from whence they committed depredations on all the countries about ; that they likewise made re- ligious incursions into those districts, where great multitudes attended their inflammatory harangues." It also stated, "that a noted incendiary was to preach on such a day in Eiskinhope Linn, where the whole THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. group might easily be surrounded and annihilated; that many of them were armed with guns, bludgeons, and broadswords, but that they were the most cowardly, heartless dogs alive ; and that he himself, who had private and certain information of all their hiding places, would engage to rid the country of them in a few days, if Lag would allow him but one company of soldiers." Copland now began to suspect that his force was too small to accomplish anything of moment; he determined, however, to make a dash into the wild next morning, and, if possible, to seize some priso- ners, and thereby gain more accurate information. On the morning of the 24th, having procured two trusty guides, he proceeded on his expedition. He and nine of his followers went up by a place called Sheilhope, the other nine by Chapelhope — they were to scour the broken ground, take all those prisoners whom they found skulking, fire upon such as refused to stand, and meet on a certain height at noon. Copland and his party reached the appointed place without making any reprisal ; they perceived some stragglers on the heights and rocks at a great dis- tance, who always vanished away, like beings not of this world. Three of the other party took one poor lad prisoner, who was so spent and emaciated that he had been unalde to fly at the signal-sound ; but so intent Avere they on blood that he was not even brought before their leader, who never so much as knew of the capture. The guide was wont to relate the circumstances of this poor man's trial and execution, for, but for him, no such thing would ever have been known ; the death of a Whig, or a straggler of any kind, was then a matter of no concern. They were three Braemar Highlanders who took liim ; like the most part of his associates, he answered their questions in a surly manner, and by the most cutting retorts, which particularly enraged a Donald Farquharson, one of the party, against him. " Weel, I'll pe pit- ting you to 'e test, and tat fery shun, my coot freen," said Donald, "and I'U just pe telling you, eince for a', tat ye half ne meer but twa meenets and a half to leef." The poor forlorn wight answered, "that he ex- pected no better at their hands — that he desired no longer time, and he hoped they would bear patiently with him for that short space." He then kneeled down and prayed most fervently, while Donald, who wanted only a hair to make a tether of, as the say- ing is, seemed watching dUigently for a word at which to quarrel. At length he spoke words to the following purport: — "Father, forgive these poor misled creatures, as I forgive them ; they are run- ning blindly upon a wrong path, and without the power of thy grace they shall never gain the right one more." Donald who did not well understand the dialect in which the prisoner prayed, looked shrewdly at his companions. "Dugald More," said he — "Dugald More, fat's 'e man saying?" "He is praying," replied the other, "that we may lose our way, and never find it more." " Plast 'e soul o' 'e tief, is he T said Donald, and shot him through the body. The wounded man groaned, and cried most pite- ously, and even called out "murder," but there was none to rescue or regard him. The soldiers, how- ever, cut the matter short, by tos.--ing him into a deep hole in the morass, where he sunk in the mire and was seen no more. When Copland arrived at the place of rendezvous, five out of his ten associates were nowhere to be seen, nor did they make their appearance, although he tarried there till two in the afternoon. The guide then conducted him by the path on which those missing should have come, and on arriving at a narrow pass in Chapelhope, he found the bodies of the four soldiers and their guide mangled and de- faced in no ordinary way; and judging from this that he had been long enough in that neighl>our- hood, he hasted back to Traquair with the news of the loss. ClaverB is said to have broke out into the most violent rage, and to have sworn that night by the Blessed Virgin and all the Holy Trinity, utterly to extirpate the seed of the whining psalm-singing race from the face of the earth, and that ere Beltein there should not be as much Whig Idood in Scotland as would make a dish of soup to a dog. He, bow- ever, concealed from the privy council the loss of these five men, nor did they ever know of it to this day. CHAPTER in. Tilings were precisely in this state, when the goodman of Chapelhope, taking his plaid and staff, went out to the heights one misty day in autumn to drive off a neighbour's flock from his pasture; but, as Walter was wont to relate the story himself, when any stranger came there on a winter evening, as long as he lived, it may haply be acceptable to the curious, and the lovers of rustic simplicity, to read it in his own words, although he drew it out to an inordinate length, and perhaps kept his own personal feelings and prowess too much in view for the fastidious or critical reader to approve. " It was on a mirk misty day in September," said Walter, "I mind it weel, that I took my plaid about me and a bit gay steeve aik stick in my hand, and away I sets to turn aff the Wintcrhopebum sheep. The wind had been east about a" that hairst, 1 hae some sma' reason ne'er to forget it. and they had amaist gane wi' a' the gairs i' our North Grain. I weel expected I wad find them a' in the scaithe that dai"k day, and I was just amind to tak them hame in a drove to Aidie Andison's door, and say, ' Here's yer sheep for ye. lad ; ye maun outher keep THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. the-n better, or else, gudc fuith, I'll keep them for ye.' — I had been crost and put about wi' them a' that year, and I was just gaun to bring the screw to the neb o' the mire-snipe. — Weel, off I sets; I had a special dog at my foot, and a bit gay fine stick in my hand, and I was rather cross natured that day. 'Auld Wut's no gaun to be o'er-trampit wi' nane o' them, for a' that's come and gane yet,' quo' I to my- sel as I gaed up the burn. Weel, I slings aye on wi' a gay langstep; but, by the time that 1 had won the Forkings, I gat collied amang the mist, sae derk, that fient a spark I could see ; stogs aye on through clench and gill, and a' the gairs that they used to spounge, but, to my great mcrvel, I can nouthcr sec a hair of a ewe's tail, nor can I hear the bleat of a lamb, or the bell of a wether — no ane, outher of my ain or ither folks ! ' Ay,' says I to mysel, 'what can be the meaning o' this ] od, there has been some- body hei-e afore me the day !' 1 was just standin looking about me amang the lang hags that lead out frae the head o' the North Grain, and considering what could be wort of a' the sheep, when 1 noticed my dog. Reaver, gaun couring away forrit as he had been setting a fox. What's this! thinks I. Un he gangs very angry like, cocking his tail, and setting up his birses, till he wan to the very brink of a deep hag ; but when he gat there, my certy, he wasna lang in turning. Back he comes by me, an' away, as the deil had been chasing him; as terrified a beast I saw never — od sir, I fand the very hairs o' my head begin to creep, and a prinkling through a' my veins and skin like needles and preens. ' God guide us!' thinks I, 'what can thisie."' The day was derk, derk; for I was in the very stamoch o' the cludd, as it were ; still it was the day time, an' the e'e^o' Heaven was open. I was as near turned an' run after my tike as ever I'll miss, but I just fand a stound o' manheid gang through my heart, an' forrit I sets wi' a' the vents o' my head open. 'If it's flesh an' bluid,' thinks I, 'or it get the owrance o' auld Wat Laidlaw, od it sal get strength o' arm for aince.' It was a deep hag, as deep as the wa's o' this house, and a strip o' green sward alang the bottom o't ; and when I came to the brow, what does I see but twa lang liesh chaps lying sleeping at ither's sides, baith happit wi' the same maud. ' Hallo !' cries I, wi' a stem voice, ' wha hae we here ]' If ye had but seen how they lookit when they stertit up ; od, ye wad hae thought they were twa scoundrels wakened frae the dead ; I never saw twa mair hemp-looking dogs in my life. "'What are ye feared for, lads? Whaten twa blades are ye"? Or what are ye seeking in sic a place as this ]' " ' This is a derk day, gudeman.' '"This is a derk day, gudeman! That's sic an answer as I heard never. I wish ye wad tell me something I dinua ken — and that's wha ye are, and what ye' re seeking here ']' " ' AVe're seeking nought o' yours, friend.' " • I dinna believe a word o't— ye' re nae folk o' this country — I doubt ye ken o'er weel what stealing o' slieep is — But if ye winna tell me plainly and honestly your business here, see gin I winna knock your twa heads thegither.' " ' There is a gude auld say, honest man, It is Ixnt to hit uleepbiij dwjn Ik ; thcij may r'tne and hUc you.' " 'Bite me, lad! — Rise an' bite me! — I wad like to see a dog on a' the heights o' Chapelhope that wad snarl at me, let be to bite !' " I had a gay steeve dour aik stick in my hand, an' wi' that I begoud to heave' t up — no to strike them, but just to gi'e them a glisk o' the coming-on that was in't. By this time they were baith on their feet ; and the ane that was neist me he gi'es the lalibie of his jockey-coat a fling back, and out he pu's a liraid sword frae aneath it — an' wi' the same blink, the ither whups a sma' spear out o' the heart o' his aik stick: 'Here's for ye then, auld camstary,' says they; 'an unlucky fish gets an un- lucky bait.' Od sir, I was rather stoundid; I be- gan to look o'er my shouther, but there was nae- thing there but the swathes o' mist. What wad I hae gien for twa minutes of auld John o' the iluchrah ! However, there was nae time to lose — it was come fairly to the neb o' the mire-snii)e wi' me. I never was gude when taken Ijy surprise a' my life — gie me a wee time, an' I turn quite foundemcntal then — sae, to tell the truth, in my hurry I took the flier's part, flang the plaid frae me, and ran off up the hag as fast as my feet could carry mc, an' a' the gate the ragamuffian wi' the sword was amaist close at my heels. Tlie Ijottom o' the hag was very narrow, twa could hardly rin abreast, ily very bluid began to rise at being chased by twa skebels, and I thought I heard a voice within me, crying, 'Dinna flee, Wat Laidlaw ! dinna flee, auld Wat ; ye hae a gude cause by the end I' I wheeled just round in a mo- ment, sir, and drew a desperate straik at the fore- most, an' sae little kend the haniel about fencing, that instead o' sweeing aff my downcome wi* his sword, he held up his sword-arm to save his head. I gart his ann just snap like a pipe-stapple, and down fell his bit Avhittle to the ground, and he on aboon it. The tither, wi' his sma' spear, durstna come on, but ran for it ; 1 followed, and was mettler o' foot than he, but I dursna grip him, for fear he had run his bit spit through my sma-fairns i' the struggle, for it was as sharp as a lance, but I keepit a little back till I gat the end o' my stick just i' the how o' his neck, and then I gae him a push that soon gart him plew the flow with his nose. On aboon him I gets, and the first thing I did was to fling away his bit twig of a sword — 1 gart it shine through the air like a fiery dragon — then I took him by the cuff o' the neck, and lugged him back to his neighbour, wha was lying graning in the hag. 'Now, billies,' says I, 'je shall answer face to face, it wad hae been as good soon as syne ; tell me di- rectly wha ye are, and what's your business here. THE ETTEICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. or, d'ye hear me, I'll tye ye thegither like twa tikes, and tak ye to them that will gar ye speak.' " ' Ah ! lack-a-day, lack-a-day I' said the wounded man, 'ye' re a rash, foolish, passionate man, wha- ever ye be.' " ' Ye're maybe no very far wrang there,' quo' I ; ' but for aince, I trow, I had gude reason. Ye thought to kill me wi' your bits o' shabbies o' swords ! ' " ' In the first place, then,' said he, ' ken that we wadna hae shed ae drap o' your blood, nor wranged a hair o' your head — all that we wanted was to get quit of ye, to keep ye out o' danger an' scaith. Ye hae made a bonny day's wark on't truly! We had naething in view but your ain safety — but sin' ye ^■ill ken, ye maun ken ; we belang to a poor pro- scribed remnant, that hae fled from the face of a bloody persecution. We have left all, and lost all, for the cause of our religion, and are driven into this dismal wUderness, the only miserable retreat left us in our native land.' " ' Od, sir ! he hadna weel begun to speak, tiU the light o' the truth began to dawn within me like the brek o' the day-sky, an' I grew as red too, for the devil needna hae envied me my feelings at that time. I couldna help saying to mysel, ' Whow, whow, AYat Laidlaw ! but ye hae made a bonny job o't this morn- ing ! — Here's twa puir creatures, w' orn out wi' famine and watching, come to seek a last refuge amang your hags and mosses, and ye maun fa' to and be pelting and threshing on them like an incarnate devil as ye are. — Oh, wae's me! wae's me!' — Truly, sir, I thought my heart wad burst. There was a kind o' yuke came into my een that I could hardly bruke ; but at length the muckle tears wan out wi' a sair faught, and down they came ower my beard, dribble for dribble. The men saw the pliskie that I was in, and there was a kind o' ruefu' benevolence i' their looks ; I never saw onything like it. ' " 'Dinna be wae for us, honest man," said they ; ' we hae learned to suflFer — we hae kend nought else for this mony a lang and bloody year, an' we look for nought else for the wee while we hae to sojourn in this weary world ; we hae learned to suifer patiently, and to welcome our sufferings as mercies.' " ' Ye've won a gude length, man,' quo' I; 'but they're mercies that I'm never very fond o' — I wish ye had suffered under ony hand but mine, sin' it be your lot. ' ' ' ' Dinna be sorry for us, honest man ; there never was an act o' mair justice than this that ye hae in- flicted. Last night there were fifteen ' o' us met at evening worship — we hadna tasted meat for days and nights ; to preserve our miserable lives, we stole a sheep, dressed, and ate it ; and wi' this very arm that you hae disabled, did I grip and kill that sheep. It was a great sin, nae doubt, but the necessity was also great— I am sae far punished, and I hope the Lord will forgie the rest.' "Then he began a lang serious harangue about the riches o' free gi'ace, and about the wickedness o' our nature ; and said that we could do naething o' our- sells hut sin. I said it was a hard construction, but I couldna argy the point ava wi' him^I never was gude at these lang-Arinded stories. Then they cam on about Prelacy and heresies, and something they ca'd the act of abjuration. I couldna follow him out at nae rate ; but I says, ' I pit nae doubt. Gal- lants, but ye're right, for ye hae proven to a' the warld that ye think sae ; and when a man feels con- scious that he's right, I never believe he can be far wrang in sic matters. But that's no the point in question ; let us consider Avhat can be done for ye e'en now. Poor souls ! God kens, my heart's sair for ye; but this land's mine, an' a' the sheep around ye, and ye're welcome to half-a-dozen o' the best o' them in sic a case. ' " ' Ah! lack-a-day, lack-a-day ! If ye be the gude- man o' the Chapelhope, ye'll rue the day that ever ye saw us. If it's kend that ye countenanced us in word or deed, ye're a ruined man ; for the blood- hounds are near at hand, and they'll herry you out and in, but and ben. Lack-a-day ! lack-a-day ! in a wee while we may gang and come by the Chapel- hope, and nouther see a lum reek, nor hear a cock craw; for Clavers is on the one hand and Lag on the other, and they're coming nearer and nearer us every day, and hemming us in sairer and sairer — renounce us and deny us, as ye wish to thrive.' ' ' ' Na, na, lads, let them come — let them come their ways ! Gin they should take a' the ewes and kye on the Chapelhope, I can stock it o'er again. I dinna gie a bawbee about your leagues, and cove- nants, and associations, for I think aye there's a good deal o' faction and dourness in them ; but or I'll desert a fellow-creature, that's oppressed, if he's an honest man, arid lippens to me, od. 111 gie them the last drap o' my heart's bluid.' " When they heard that, they took me out to the tap of a knowe, and began to whistle lik« plovers — nae herd alive could hae kend but they were plo- vers — and or ever I wist, ilka hag, and den, and tod-hole round about, seemed to be fu' o' plovers, for they fell a' to the whistling an" answering ane another at the same time. I had often been won- dering how they staid sae lang on the heights that year, for I heard them aye whewing e'en an' morn ; but little trowed I they were a' twa-handed plovers that I heard. In half an hour they had sic a squad gathered thegither as e"e never glimed on. There ye might hae seen auld gray-bearded ministers, lairds, weavers, and poor hinds, a' sharing the same hard fate. They were pale, ragged, and hungry, and several o' them lame and wounded ; and they had athegither sic a haggard severity i' their de- meaner. Lord forgie me, gin I wasna feared to look at them ! There was ane o' them a doctor blade, wha soon set the poor chield's arm ; and he said, that after a' it wasna broken, but only dislockit and sair brizzed. That doctor was the gabbiest bodv ever I THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. met wi'; he spake for tliem a', and I whiles feared that he sclented a wee. He tried a' that he could to make me a Cameronian, but I wadna grip ; and when I was coming away to leave him, ' Laidlaw,' quo' he, * we ken ye to be an honest, honourable man ; here you see a remnant of poor, forlorn, mis- represented creatures, who have thrown themselves on your mercy ; if ye betray us, it will be the worse for ye both here and hei'eafter ; if you save and pro- tect us, the prayers of the just win their way to heaven, though fiends should be standing by to oppose them. — Ay, there's naething can stop their journey, Laidlaw ! The winds canna blaw them aside, the clouds canna drown them, and the lights o' heaven canna burn them ; and your name will stand at that bar where there's nae cruel and partial judge. What you gie to us, ye gie to your Maker, and he will repay you seven -fold.' Od, the body was like to gar me play the bairn and greet even out. Weel, I canna mind the half that he said, but he endit wi' this: — 'We have seen our friends all bound, banished, and destroyed; they have died on the field, on the scaffold, and at the stake ; but the reek o' their blood shall drive the cruel Stuarts frae the land they have disgraced, and out of it a church of truth and liberty shall spring. There is still a handfu' remaining in Israel that have not yet bowed the knee to Baal, nor yet kissed him. That remnant has fled here to escape the cruelty of man; but a worse fate threatens us now — we are all of us perish- ing with famine. For these three days we have tasted nothing but the green moss, save a few wretched trouts, eels, and adders. ' ' Ethers, man ! ' quo' I ; ' for the love o' God take care how ye eat the ethers — ye may as weel cut your throats at aince as eat them. I^a, na, lad, that's meat that will never do.' I said nae mair, but gae just a wave to my dog. ' Eeaver,' quo' I, 'yen's away.' In three minutes he had ten score o' ewes and weddei"S at my hand. I grippit twa o' the best I could wale, and cut aff" their heads wi' my ain knife. ' Now, doctor,' quo' I, ' take these and roast them, and part them amang yethe best way ye can — ye'U find thembetterthanthe ethers — Lord, man, it will never do to eat ethers.'" After a hearty laugh, in which his guests gene- rally joined, Walter concluded thus: " That meet- ing cost me twa or three hunder round bannocks, and mae gude ewes and wedders than I'll say; but I never missed them, and I never rued what I did. Folk may say as they like, but I think aye the prayers out amang the hags and rash-bushes that year did me nae ill. It is as good to hae a man's blessing as his curse, let him be vrhat he may." ^Valter never went farther with his story straight onward than this ; for it began to involve family con- cerns, which he did not much like to recount. He had a number of abstract stories about the Cove- nanters and their persecutors; but as I must now proceed with the narrative as I gathered it from others, these will be interwoven in their due course. CHAPTER IV. Walter visited them next day at the time and place appointed, taking with him a dozen of ban- nocks and a small cheese. These he was obliged to steal out of his own pantry, for he durst not by any means trust his \^'ife and family with the discovery he had made, knowing that he might as well have confided it to the curate himself, the sworn enemy of his motlej' proteges. They gathered around him with protestations of gratitude and esteem ; for the deserted and oppressed generally cling to the first symptoms of friendship and protection with an ar- dour that too often overshoots its aim. Walter na- turally felt an honest pride, not so much in that he had done, as that he intended to do ; but before he produced his repast, he began in a most serious way to question them relating to some late incidents already mentioned. They all with one assent declared, and took God to witness, that they knew nothing at all about the death of the five soldiers; that it was not perpetrated by them, nor any connected with them ; nor could they comprehend, in the least degree, how it was effected, if not by some supernatural agency — a judgment sent down from heaven for their bloody intent. With regard to the murder of the priest, they were sorry that they knew so much. It was l^erpetrated by a few rash men of their number, but entireh' without their concurrent assent, as well as knowledge ; that though his death might have been necessary to the saving of a great number of valuable lives, they had nevertheless unanimously protested against it; that the perpetrators had retired from their body, they knew not whither ; and that at that very time the Rev. Messrs. Alexander Shiels and James Renwick were engaged in arranging for pub- lication a general protest against many things alleged against them by their enemies, and this among others. ' There was a candour in this to which Walter's heart assented. He feasted them with his plentiful I This curious protest is still extant, and shows the tnie spirit of the old Covenanters or Cameronians, as they have since been called, better than any work remaining. It is called in the title page, "An Infonnatory Vindication of a poor, wastfd, raisrepresented Remnant of the si'ffering Anti- popish, Anti-prdatic, Anti eradian, Anti-sectarian, true Prts- b'jterian Church of Christ in Scotland." It is dated at Lead- hills ill 16S7, and is the conjoint work of Mr. James Renwick and Mr. Alexander ShieLs, author of The Hind let Loose. The following is an extract from it, p. 107 : — "And in like manner we do hereby disclaim all unwaiTant- able practices committed by any few persons reputed to be of us, whereby the Lord hath been offended, his cause wronged, and we all made to endure the scourge of tongues ; for which things we have desired to make conscience of mourning before the Lord, both in public and private. As the unwaiTantable manner of killing that curate at the Corsephairn, though he was a man of death both by the laws of God and man, and the fact not materially murder; it being gone about contrary to our declaration, commou or competent consent (the con- THE ETTKICK SHEPIIEIID'S TALES. and homely cheer, promised to visit them every day, and so to employ lii.s shepherds that uone of them should come into that quarter to distress them. Walter was as good as his word. He visited them every day, told them all the news that he could gather of the troops that beleaguered them, of the executions that were weekly and daily taking place, and of everything else relating to the state of the country. He came laden with food to them daily; and when he found it impossible to steal his own bread, butter, and cheese, he supplied their wants fi'om his flock. The numbers of the persecuted in- creased on his hands incalculably. The gudewife of Chapclhopc's bannocks vanisiied by scores, and the unconscionable, insatiable Brownie of Bodsbeck was blamed for the whole. Some time previous to this, a young vagrant, of the name of Kennedy, chanced to be out on these moors shooting grouse, which were extremely plenti- ful. He tarried until the twilight, for he had the art of calling the heath-fowl around him in great numbers, by imitating the cry of the hen. He took his station for this purpose in one of those mo.ss-hags formerly described; but he had not well begun to call ere his ears were saluted by the whistling of so many plovers that he could not hear his own voice. He was obliged to desist, and he lay for some time listening, in expectation that they would soon cease crying. When lying thus, he heard distinctly the sound of something like human voices, that spoke in whispers hard by him ; he likewise imagined that he heard the pattering of feet, which he took for those of horses, and, convinced that it was a raid of the fairies, he became mortally afraid ; he crept closer to the earth, and in a short time heard a swell of the most mellifluous music that ever rose on the night. He then got up, and fled with precipitation, away, as he thought, from the place whence the music seemed to arise; but ere he had proceeded above a hundred paces, he met with one of the strangest accidents that ever happened to man. That same night, about or a little before the hour of midnight, two of Laidlaw's men, who happened to be awake, imagined that they heard a slight noise without; they arose and looked cautiously out at a small hole that was in the end of the stable where they slept, and beheld to their dismay the appear- ance of four men, who came toward them carrying a coffin. On their coming close to the corner of the stable where the two men stood, the latter heard elusion and deed being known only to throe or four persons), in a rash and not a Christian manner, and also other offences being committed at the time ; which miscarriages have proven a mean to stop and retard lawful, laudable, iuid warrantable proceeding, both as to matter and manner." These other offences committed at the time, unquestionably refer to the slaughter of the Highland soldiere, about which there was great stir and numerous conjectures in the country; although, owing to the revolution that immediately followed, the perpetrators were never taken, nor the c;»use tried in a court of justice, nor indeed was the incident ever generally known. one of them say distinctly, in a whii^pcr, "Where shall we lay him V " We must leave him in the bam," Baid another. "I fear," said a third, "the door of that will ]>e locked," and they pa>iscd on. The men were petrified; they put on their clothe^. but they durst not move, until, in a i^hort time thereafter, a dreadful l>ellowing and noise burst forth about the door of the farm-house. The family wan alarmed, and gathered out to sec what waii the mat- ter, and behold there lay fxwr Kennedy in a meet piteous plight, and, in fact, stark staring mad. He continued in a high fever all the night and the next morning, but a little after noon he l»ecame some- what more calm, and related to them a most mar- vellous tale indeechind him. He wa«. however, mis- taken in this conjecture, for in a ishort fi\fM.-c he stumbled on a hole in the heath, into which he sunk at once, and fell into a pit which he descril>cd an being at least fifty fathom deep; that he there found himself immediately beside a multitude of ! ' Ifcings, with green clothes and idue faces, \ in a circle round a small golden lamp, gaping and singing with the most eldritch yells. In one in- stant all became dark, and he felt a weiirht upon his breast that seemed heavier than a mountain. They then lifted him up. and bore him away throutrh the air for hundreds of miles, amid regions of utti-r darkness; but on his n>i>eating the name of Jo-us three times, they brought him back, and laid him down in an insensible state at the door of Chapel - hope. The feelings depicted in the features of the audi- tors were widely difllerent on the close of this won- derful relation. The beauteous Katharine appearol full of anxious and woful concern, but no marlcs of fear appeared in her lovely face. The servants trembled every limb, and dcclareclhopo in a thoughtful, half-delirious frame, but no cn- 10 THE BUOWNIK OF H(»1)SMK('K. trcatieri ooiiUl prevail witli liiiii at that time to ac- eouipuiiy the men of the place to where he supposed the actideiit had haiipeiied, nor yet to nive thcni any aocouut wIrtc it \\;m situated, for lie averi'L-il tiiat he heard a voice say to him in a solemn tone, "If you wish to live lung, never tell wiiat you have seen tonit,d»t, nor ever come this way aijain. " llapjiy had it been for him had he attended all alonjr to this injunction. He slipped away from (.'hapclhopc in a few days, and was no more seen until the time tiiat Copland and ids men appeared there. It was he who came as guide to the soldiers that were slain, and he fell with them in the strait linn of the South Cirain of Chapclhope. These mysterious and unaccountable incidents by degrees impres.sed the minds of the inhabitants with terror that cannot be described ; no woman or boy would go out of doors after sunset on any account whatever, and there waa scarcely a man who durst venture forth alone after the fall of evening. If they could have been sure tiiat brownies and fairies had only power to assume the human shape, they would not have been nearly in such peril and pcndexity, but there was no form of anything animate or inani- mate, save that of a lamb, that tiioy were sure of; they were of course waylaid at every turn, and kept in continual agitation. An owl was a most danger- ous and suspicious-looking fellow — a white glede made them quake, and keep a sharp look-out upon his course in the air — a hare, with her large intelligent eyes and equivocal way of walking, wiu^ an object of general distrust — and a cat squalling after dark was the devil. Many were the ludicrous scenes that occurred, among which I cannot help mentioning those that follow, as being particularly whimsical. Jasper, son to old John of the Muchrah, was the swiftest runner of his time ; but of all those whose minds were kept in continual agitation on account of the late inundation of spirits into the country, Jasper was the chief. He was beset by them morn- ing and evening; and even at high noon, if the day was dark, he never considered himself as quite safe. He depended entirely upon his speed in running to avoid their hellish intercourse; he essayed no other means ; and many wonderful escapes he effected by this species of exertion alone. He was wont to knit stockings while tending his flock on the mountains, and happening to drop some yarn one evening, it trailed after him in a long ravelled coil along the sward. It was a little after the sun had gone down that Jasper was coming whistling and singing over the shoulder of the Hermon Law, when, chancing to cast a casual glance behind him, he espied some- thing in shape of a horrible serpent, with an unequal body, and an enormous length of tail, coming steal- ing along the bent after him. His heart leaped to his mouth (as he expressed it), and his hair biistled so that it thrust the bonnet from his head. He knew that no such monster inhabited these mountains, and it momently occurred to him that it was the Brownie of Bodslieck come to seize him in that niOHt questionable shape. He betook him to his old means of safety in great haste, never douiiting that he was well ([ualiticd to run from any object that crawled on the ground with its belly, but after run- ning a considerable way, he jierceivcd his adversary coming at full stretch along the hill after him. Hia speed was redoubled, and as he noted now and then that his inveterate pursuer gained no ground on him, his exertion was beyond that of man. There were two sheiihcrds on an opposite hill who saw Jasper running without jdaid and bonnet, and with a swiftness which they describeil as quite inconceiv- able. The cause set conjecture at defiance, but they remarked that though he grew more and more spent, whenever he glanced behind he exerted himself anew, and strained a little harder. He continued his per- severance to the last, iis any man would do who waa running for bare life, until he came to a brook called the Ker Clench, in the crossing of which he fell down exhau.sted; he turned on his back to essay a last defence, and, to his joyful astonishment, perceived that the serpent likewise lay still and did not move. The truth wa.s then discovered, but many suspected that Jasper never overcame that heat and that fright as long as he lived. Jasj)cr, among many encounters with the fairies and brownies, had another that terminated in a manner not quite so pleasant. The Brownie of Bodsbeck, or the Queen of the Fairies (he was not sure which of them it was), came to him one night as he was lying alone, and wide awake, as he con- ceived, and proffered him many line things, and wealth and honours in abundance, if he would go away to a very fine country, which Jasper conjec- tured must have been Fairyland. He resisted all these tempting offers in the most decided manner, until at length the countenance of his visitant changed from the most placid and bewitching beauty to that of a fiend. The horilde form grappled with him. laid hold of both his wrists, and began to drag him off by force, but he struggled with all the energy of a man in despair, and at length, bj* a violent exer- tion, he disengaged his right hand. The enemy still continuing, however, to haul him off with the other, he was obliged to have recourse to a desperate expedient. Although quite naked, he reached his clothes with the one hand, and drew his knife ; but in endeavouring to cut off those fingers which held his wrist so immoveably fast, he fair!}' severed the thumb from his own left hand. This was the very way that Jasper told the story to his dj-ing day, denying stoutly that he was in a dream; and singular as it may appear, I can vouch for the truth of it. Jasper Hoy died at Gattonside at a good old age, in the year 1739; and they are yet alive who have heard him tell those stories, and seen him without the thumb of the left hand. Things went on in this distracted and doubtful manner until the time when Walter is first intro- 11 THE ETTKICK SHEPHEllD'S TALES. duced. On that day, at the meeting-place, he found no fewer than one hundred and thirty of the poor wanderers, many of them assembled to see him for the last time, and take an affectionate leave of him ; for they had previously resolved to part, and scatter themselves again over the west country, even though certain death awaited them, as they could not in conscience longer remain to be the utter ruin of one who was so generous and friendly to them. They saw that not only would his whole stock be wasted, but he would himself be subjected to confiscation of goods and imprisonment, if to nothing worse. Walter said the case seemed hard either way, but he had been thinking that perhaps if they remained quiet and inoffensive in that seclusion, the violence of the government might in a little relax, and they might then retire to their respective homes in peace. Walter soon heard with vexation that they made conscience of not living in peace, but of proclaiming aloud to the world the grievous wrongs and oppres- sion that the church of Christ in Scotland laljoured under. The doctor chap, as Walter always called him, illustrated at great length the sin that would lie to their charge should they remain quiet and passive in a time like that, when the church's all was at stake in these realms. "We are but a remnant," added he, "a poor despised remnant; but if none stand up for the truth of the Keformed religion, how are ever our liberties, civil or ecclesiastical, to be obtained] There are many who think with us and who feel with us, who yet have not the courage to stand up for the truth; but the time must ere long come, when the kingdoms of the land will join in supporting a reformation, for the iniquity of tlie Amorite is wearing to the full." Walter did not much like disputing about these matters, but in this he felt that his reason acqui- esced, and he answered thus : "Ye speak like a true man, and a clever man. Doctor, and if I had a desper- ate cause by the end, and wanted ane to back me in't, the deil a step wad I gang ayont this moss-hag to find him ; but, Doctor, there's a time for every thing. I wadna hae ye to fling away a gude cause as I would do a rotten ewe, that winna liaud ony langer. Dinna ye think that a fitter time may come to make a push? Ye'll maybe sell mae precious lives for nae end wi' your declarations; take care that you and the like o' you haena these lives to answer for. I like nae desperate broostles. Od, man, it's like ane that's just gaun to turn djTOur, taking on a' the debt he can." "Dinna fear, gudemau! dinna fear! There's nae blood shed in sic a cause that can ever be shed in vain. Na, na ; that blood will argue better at the bar o' heaven for poor distressed Scotland than all the prayers of all the living. We hae done muekle, but we'll do mair yet. Muekle blood has been wan- tonly and diabolically shed, and ours may rin v,-\ the rest : we'll no throw't wantonly and exultingly away, but, when our day comes, we'll gie it cheer- fully — as cheerfully, giideman, as ever ye paid your mail to a kind landlord, even though the Beaeon had been hard and stormy. We had aince enough of this warld's wealth, and to spare; but we liae naething now but our blood, and we'll part wi' that as cheerfully as the rest. And it will tell some day ! and ye may live to see it yet. But enough, gudeman; we have all resolved, whatever the con- sequence may be, to live no more on your bounty, therefore do not urge it, but give us all your band. Farewell ! and may God bless you in all your act- ings and undertakings ! There is little chance that we shall ever meet again. We have no reward to give but our blessing and good wishes; but when- ever a knee here present is bowed at the footstool of grace, you will be remembered." Walter could not bear thus to part with them, and to give them up, as it were, to certain destruction. He argued as well as he could on the imprudence of the step they were going to take, of the impos- sibility of their finding a retreat so inaccessilde in all the bounds of the south of Scotland, and the prospect tjhat there was of the per.«ecution soon relax- ing. But when he had said all that he could say, a thin, spare old man, with gray, dishevelled locks, and looks, Walter said, as stem as the adders that he had lately been eating, ro.-e up to address him. There was that in his manner which commanded the most intense attention. "Dost thou talk of our rulers relaxing *" said he. "Blind and mistaken man! thou dost not know them. No; they will never relax till their blood shall be mixed with their sacrifices. That insatiate, gloomy, papistical tyrant and usui-pcr, the Duke of York, and his commis.sioner, have issued laws and regulations more exterminating than ever. But yesterday we received the woful intelligence that within these eight davs one hundred and fiftv of our brethren have suffered by death or banishment, and nearly one-half of these have been murdered, even without the sham formality of trial or impeach- ment, nor had they intimation of the fate that awaited them. York had said in full assembly, 'that neither the realm nor the mother church can ever be safe until the south of Scotland is again made a hunting forest ;' and his commissioner hath sworn by the lining God, 'that never a Whig shall again have time or warning to prepare for heaven, and that hell is too good for tlicm.' Can we hope for these men relaxing] No! The detestable and bloody Clavers, that wizard I that eater of toads ! that locust of the infernal pit! hems us in closer and closer on one side, and that ^luscovite beast, Dalziel, on the other ! They thirst for our blood ; and our death and tortures are to them matter of great sport and amusement. My name is Mackail. 1 had two brave and beautiful sons, and I had but two ; one of these had his brains shot out on the moss of Monyhive without a question, charge, or reply. I gathci-ed up his brains and shattered skull with these hands, 12 THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. tied them in my own napkin, and buried him alone, for no one duriit assist me. His murderers stood by and mocked me, eurseil me for a doj,', and swore if I howled any more that tliey would send me after him. My eldest son, my beloved Hew, was hung like a dog at the market-cross of Edinburgh. I conversed with him, 1 prayed witli him in prison, kissed him, and bade him farewell on the scaffold. ily brave, my generous, my beautiful son! I tell thee, man, thou who preachcst up peace and forbear- ance with tyrants, should ever the profligate Charles or his diabolical brother — should ever the murderer Clavers, or any of his hell-hounds of the north, dare set foot in heaven, one look from the calm benig- nant face of my martyred son would drive them out howling!" All this time the old man shed not a tear; his voice was wildly solemn, but his looks were mixed with madness. He had up his hand to swear, to pray, or to prophesy, Walter knew not whicli, but he was restrained by his associates, and led aside, so that Walter saw no more of him ; but he said he could not get him out of his mind for many a day, for sic another desperate auld body he nad never seen. These harangues took up much of the time that they had to spare, but ere they parted Walter per- suaded them, probably by his strong homely reason- ing, to remain where they were. He said, since they persisted in refusing to take more of his flock, there was an extensive common beyond the height, called Gemsop, wliich had been a royal forest, where many gentlemen and wealthy farmers had sheep that fed promiscuously, and considering their ne- cessitous circumstances, he thought it no evil, and he advised them to go and take from that glen as many as would ser\-e to support nature for a time ; that for his part he had many a good wedder and dinmont there, and was willing to run his risk, which would then fall equal on a number, and only on such as were rich, and could well bear it. In this plan, after some scruples which were overborne by the majority, they at length fully and thankfully acquiesced. That same day, on his way homeward, AValter heard the w^onderful relation of the apparition of his beloved daughter in the 'Hope at midnight; he learned that Clavers would be there in a few days, and he had sent above one hundred men to steal sheep — all these things made him thoughtful and uneasj" after he had reached his home, wet and fatigued. "It will be a bloody night in Gemsop this," he said, sighing, not recollecting what he said or to whom he said it. He could trust his wife with any of his family concerns, but as long as she continued to be so much influenced by the curate Clerk, the sworn enemy of his poor persecuted flock, he durst not give her a hint of their retreat. Walter became still more and more pei-plexed from all that he heard from his wife, as well as from every one else. He found that, in truth, there was souje mysterious thing about his hcjuse— the whole family seemed convinced of it — tliere were many things seen, heard, and ttfrne there tliat he could in nowi.se account for in a rational way; and though he resisted the general belief for a good while, that the house was haunted, circumstances at length oldiged him to yield to the torrent, and he believed as faith- fully in the Brownie of Bodsbcck as any of them all. CHAPTER V. The house wliicli Walter occupied was on the very spot where a remnant of an old house still stands about a bow-shot above the new elegant farm-house of Chapelhope, but it was twice as long; indeed, a part of the hou.se that is still standing, or was lately so, is the very one that was built for Laidlaw when he first entered that large farm. There was likewise an outshot from the back of the house, called the Old Room, which had a door that entered from with- out, as well as one from the parlour within. The end of this apartment stood close to the bottom of the steep bank behind the house, which was then thickly wooded, as was the whole of the long liank behind; so that, consequently, any one, with a little caution, might easily have gone out or come in there without being seen by any of the family. It contained a bed, in which any casual vagrant or itinerant pedler slept, besides a great deal of lum- ber; and as few entered there, it had altogether a damp, mouldy, dismal appearance. There was like- wise a dark closet in one corner of it, with an old rusty lock, which none of the family had ever seen opened. The most part of the family soon grew suspicious of this place. Sounds, either real or inftigir.ary, were heard issuing from it, and it was carefully shunned by them all. Walter had always, as I said, mocked at the idea of the Old Room being haunted, until that very night when we began with him, and where, after many round-abouts, we have now found him again. It will be recollected that the conversation be- tween Walter and his wife, which is narrated in the first chapter of this book, terminated with a charge from him never more to mention the mysterious story relating to their daughter and these five men that were destroyed. After this she retired about some housewife business, and left Walter by him- self, to muse on what he had seen and heard. He was sitting musing, and that deeply, on the strange apparition of his daughter that old John had seen, when he thought he heard something behind him maldng a sound as if it growled inwardly. He looked around and saw that it was his dog Reaver, who w^as always an inmate of every place that his 13 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. master entered. He was standing in an attitude of rage, but at the same time there was a mixture of wild terror in his appearance. His eyes, that gleamed like red burning coals, were pointed directly to the door that opened from the comer of the parlour into the Old Room. Walter was astonished, for he well knew his acuteness, but he kept his eyes on him, and said not a word. The dog went forward with a movement scarce perceptible, until he came close to the door, but on putting his nose and ear to the bottom of it, he burst out with such a bay and howl as were truly frightful, and ran about the apartment as if mad, trying to break through the walls and window boards. Walter was fairly overcome ; there is nothing frightens a shepherd so much as the see- ing of his dog frightened. The shepherd's dog of the true breed will boldly attack any animal on earth in defence of his master, or at his command ; and it is no good sign indeed when he appears terrified, for the shepherd well knows that his dog can discover spirits by the savour of the wind, when he himself is all unconscious that anj'^ such beings are near. Walter fled into the kitchen with precipitation ; he found all the family standing in alarm, for they had heard the hideous uproar in the room. " What's the matter]" said half-a-dozen at once. " AVhat's the matter!" said Walter, churlishly; "nothing at all is the matter; tell me who of j'ou were in the Old Room, and what you were seeking there f No — none of them had been in the Old Room ; the whole of the family were present, nor had one of them been away. Walter's countenance changed; he fixed his eyes on the ground for the space of a minute. "Then I am sure," said he, emphatically, "some- thing worse is there." A breathless silence ensued, save that some groans and muttered prayers issued from the lips of the foodwife, who sat in a posture of deep humility, with her brow leaning on both hands. " Some of you go and see," added Walter, "what it is that is in the Old Room." Every eye in the house turned on another, but no one spoke or offered to move. At length Katharine, who seemed in great anxiety lest any of them should have had the courage to go, went lightly up to her father, and said, "I will go, sir, if you please." ' ' Do, my dear, and let some of the men go with you." " No, sir; none of the men shall go with me." ' ' Well, then, Katie, make haste ; light a candle, and I will go with you myself." "No — with your leave, father, if I go, I go alone; no one shall go with me." "And why, my love, may not I, your father, ac- company you ] "Because, should you go with me into the Old Room just now, perhaps you might never bo your- self again." Here the goodwife uttered a smothered scream, and muttered some inarticulate ejaculations, appear- ing so much affected, that her daughter, dreading she would fall into a fit, flew to support her ; but on this she grew ten times worse, screaming aloud, ' ' Avoid thee, Satan ! avoid thee, Satan ! avoid thee, imp of darkness and despair ! avoid thee, avoid thee!" And she laid about her violently with both hands. The servants, taking it for granted that she was bewitched or possessed, fled aloof; but Walter, who knew better how matters stood with her mind than they, ran across the floor to her in such haste and agitation, that they supposed he was go- ing to give her stre)if/th of arm (his great expedient when hardly controlled), but in place of that, he lifted her gently in his arms, and carried her to her bed, in the further end of the house. He then tried to soothe her bj' everj' means in his power ; but she continued in violent agitation, sigh- ing, weeping, and praying alternately, until she wrought herself into a high nervous fever. Walter, growing alarmed for her reason, which seemed verging to a dangerous precipice, kept close by her bedside. A little before midnight she grew calm ; and he, thinking she had fallen asleep, left her for a short time. Unfortunately, her daughter, drawn toward her by filial regard and afTection, softly then entered the room. Maron Linton was not so sound asleep as was supposed ; she instantly beheld the approach of that now dreaded sorceress, and sitting up in her bed, she screamed as loud as she was able. Ka- tharine, moved by a natural impul.se. hasted forward to the couch to calm her parent ; but the frenzied matron sprung from her bed, threw up the window, and endeavoured to escape; Katharine flew after her, and seized her by the waist. AVhen Maron found that she was fairly in her grasp at such an hour, and no help at hand, she deemed all over with her, both body and soul ; which certainly was a case extreme enough. She hung by the sash of the win- dow, struggled, and yelled out, "Murder! murder! murder! — Lord! Lord! — Save! save! save! save! — Murder! murder!" &c. At length Walter rushed in and seized her, ordering his weeping daughter in- stantly to bed. Maron thanked heaven for this wonderful and timely deliverance, and persuaded now that Provid- ence had a special and peculiar charge over her. she became more calm than she had been since the first alarm ; but it was a dreadful certainty that she now possessed, that unearthly beings inhabited the man- sion along with her, and that her daughter was one of the number, or in conjunciion with them. She spent the night in prayer, and so fervent was she in her devotions, that she seemed at length to rest in the hope of their final accomplishment. She did not fail, however, to hint to Walter that something decisive ought to be done to their daughter. She did not actually say that she should be burned alive at a stake, but she spake of the trial by fire, or that 14 THE BROAVNIE OF BODSBECK. it iniij;ht be better to throw her into the lake, to make tlie experiment wlicther slic would dnnvn or not; for she well expected, in her own mind, that when the creature found itself in such circumstances, it would fly oft" with an eldritch laugh and some un- intelligible saying to its own clime; but she was at length porsuadcd by her husband to intrust the whole matter to her reverend monitor, both as to the driv- ing away the herd of broAvnies, and tiic exorcism of her daughter. Never was man in such a predicament as Walter now found himself with regard to his family. Ka- tharine had never been a favourite with her mother, who doated on her boys, to the detriment of the girl, but to him she was all in all. Her demeanour of late completely puzzled him. The words that she had said to him the preceding evening had no ap- pearance of jocularity; besides, seriousness and truth formed her natural character, and she had of late become more reserved and thoughtful than she had ever been before. The bed that she slept in faced into the parlour before mentioned ; that which Walter and his spouse occupied entered from another apartment; their backs, however, were only separated by a thin wooden partition. AValter kept awake all that night, thoughtful, and listening to every sound. Every- thing remained quiet till about the second crowing of the cock ; he then heard something that scratched like a rat, but more regularly, and in more distinct time. After the noise had been repeated three times at considerable intervals, he thought he heard his daughter rising from her bed with extraordinary softness and caution ; he laid his ear to a seam, and distinctly heard the sound of words uttered in a whisper, but of their import he could make nothing. He then heard his daughter return to her bed with the same caution that she left it, utter some sighs, and fail sound asleep. After serious deliberation, Walter thought his best expedient was to remove his daughter from home for some time; and next morning he proposed to her to go and spend a week or two with her maternal uncle, Thomas Linton, farmer at Gilmauscleuch. To this she objected, on several pretences; but at length, when urged to it, positively refused to leave her father's house at that time. He never in his life could say a harsh word to her, but that day he appeared chagrined, and bade her, with some aspe- rity, keep away from her mother's presence, as her malady, which was a nervous complaint, required the utmost quietness. This she promised with her accustomed cheerfulness, and they parted. During the day she was absent for several hours, none knowing whither she went, or by what way she returned. On the same day, the servants, who had spent a sleepless night, packed up bag and baggage, and went oiF in a body, all save one elderly -woman, who had lately come to the house, and was a stranger to them all. Her name, she said, was Agnes Alex- ander, but she was better known by the familiar one of Nanny Elshinder. Her former history and connec- tions were doubtful, but she was of a cheerful com- plaisant temper, and always performed what she was ordered to do without any remarks. Walter had hired her at Moff'at, in the fair called Iha Third Friday; and told Alaron when he came homo that "he had hired a wastlin auldish quean, wha, he believed, was a wee crackit i' the head, but, poor thing, she wasna like to get a place, and was sic a good soul he couldna think to leave her destitute; and whanever he begoud to parley wi' her, od, she brought him to the neb o' the mire-snipe di- rectly." Saving this good woman, all the house- servants, man, woman, and boy, deserted their ser- vice, and neither promises nor threats could induce them to staj' another night about the town. They said "they might as weel bide i' hell; they wad gang afore Gibby Moray, the king's shirra, whan- ever he likit, about it ; or, gin he buid rather hae brawer burlymcn, they wad meet him face to face in the Parliament Close." Walter was now obliged to bring Jasper, his young shepherd, down from the iluchrah, to assist him in the labour of the farm — the most unfit man in the world for a haunted house. He knew that the Old Room was frequented by his old adversary, the Brownie of Bodsbeck. He likewise knew that his young mistress was a witch, or something worse, for the late ser^-ants had told him, so that he had now a dangerous part to act. Nevertheless, he came determined to take the bull by the horns; for as he and his father had stocks of sheep upon the farm, they could not leave their master, and he was never wont to disobey him. He had one sole dependence — his swiftness of foot — that had never yet failed him in eschewing evil spirits, save in the solitary instance of the serpent. On the first day of his noviceship as a labourer, he and his master were putting some ropes on the dwell- ing-house, to keep on the thatch. Jasper wanting something whereon to stand, for that purpose, and being within a few yards of the door of the Old Room, and knowing that the tubs stood there, thoughtlessly dashed into it to bring out one to stand on ; but he had not taken two steps within the door till he be- held a human face, and nothing but a face and a head, looking deliberately at him. One would have thought that such a man, seeing such a sight, would have cried out, fled to his master on the other side of the house, or into the kitchen to old Nanny. Jasper did none of them all. He turned round with such velocity that he fell, hasted out at the door on all fours, and took to the Papper-hill like a wild deer, praying fervently all the way. His master saw him from the ladder where he stood, and called aloud after him, but he deigned not to heed or look behind him — the head without the body, and that at an ordinary distance from the ground, was alone THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. impressed on his mind, and refused a share to any other consideration. He came not back to the Cha- pelhope that night. Katharine, the J'oung and comely friend of the Brownie, having discovered that Jasper had been in- troduced to her familiar, and knowing his truth and simjilicity of heart, earnestly desired to sound him on the subject. She knew he would return to assist her father and brothers with the farm labour in their present strait, by a certain hour next morning, and she waited on him by the way. He came accord- ingly; but he knew her and her connections better than she imagined. He tried to avoid her, first by going down into the meadow, then by climbing the hill ; but seeing that she waylaid him both ways, and suspecting her intentions to be of the very worst nature, he betook him to his old expedient — fled with precipitation, and returned to the Muchrah. Katharine could by no means comprehend this, and was particularly concerned about it at this time, as she had something she wished to reveal to him. Walter appeared gloomy and discontented all that day. The corn was ripe, but not a sheaf of it cut down ; the hay was still standing on the meadow, the lint was to puU, the potatoes to raise, the tar to bring home, and the sheep to smear; and there was no one left to do all this but he and his two boys. The gudewife, who used to bustle about and do much household work, was confined to her room. His daughter's character, her demeanour, and even her humanity, were become somewhat doubtful. Walter was truly in what he termed a picMecl j^ri- viineary. Katharine, being still debarred all access to her mother, began to dread that she would be obliged to leave her father's house ; and, in case of a last extremity, she bethought her of sounding the dispo- sition of old Xanny. She was a character not easily to be comprehended. She spoke much to herself, but little to any other person ; worked so hard that she seldom looked up, and all the while sung scraps of old songs and ballads, the import of which it was impossible to understand; but she often chanted these with a pathos that seemed to flow from the heart, and that never failed to afiect the hearer. She wore a russet worsted gown, clouted shoes, and a quoif or mutch upon her head, that was crimped and plaited so close around her face that very little of the latter was visible. In this guise was Xanny, toiling hard and singing her mournful ditty, when Katharine came in and placed herself on a seat by her side. " Kanny, this seems to be more than ordinary a busy day with you ; pray, what is all this baking and boiling fori" " Dear bairn, dear bairn, what do I ken ; the like o' me maun do as we're bidden; guests are coming, my bairn. 0, ay, there's mony a braw an' bonny lad coming this way — mony a ane that -n-ill gaur a young thing's e'en stand i' back water — " They are coming ! they are comiiig! Alak ! au' wae'g me ! Though the swonJ be in the baud, Yet the tear's iu the e'e. I look to yon niountaiu, And I look to you muir, For the shield tliat they trust in Is mighty and sure. Is there blood in the moorlanrls * Where the wild buruies riu V Or what gars tlie water Wind reid down the linn? billy, dear billy, Your boding let be. For it's nought but the reid lift That dazzles your e'e. For I ken by yon bright beam, That follows the .sun. That our Covenant heroes The battle shall won. Tlien away w ith your bodings Of sorrow and scorn. For the windows of heaven Stand open this mom. Let them rear their proud standfird Of vengeance and wratli, And jjour on their columns Of darkness and death; Yet around our poor number Stand liosts in anav. Unseen by our foemen, But stronger than they." " Prithee go on, Kanny ; let mc hear what it was that reddened the water!" "Dear bairn, wha kens; some auld thing an' out o' date; but yet it is sae like the days that we hae seen, ane wad think the poeter that made it had the second sight. Mony a water as weel as the Clyde has run reid wi' blude, and that no sae lang sin' syne ! — ay, an' the wild burnies tool 1 hae seen them mysel leave a reid strip on the sand an' the gray stanes — but the hoody craw durstna pick there ! Dear bairn, has the Chapelhope burn itsel never had the hue?" Here Katharine's glance and Xanny's met each other, but were as quickly withdrawn, for they dreaded one another's converse : but they were soon relieved from that dilemma by Xanny's melancholy chime: — "In yon gre2n houm there sat a knight, An' the book lay open on his knee. An' he laid his hand on liis rusty sword, Au' tmiied to heaven his watery e'e. But in yon houm there is a kirk, An' in that kirk there is a pew, An' in that pew there sat a king, Wha sign'd the deed we maun ever rue. He wasna king o' fair Scotland, Though king o' Scotland he should hae been, And he lookit north to the land he loved, But aye the green leaves fell atween. The green leaves fell, an' the river swell'd, An' the brigg was guardit to the key ; ever alak 1 said Hamilton,' That sic a day I should ever see ! As ever ye saw the rain down fa'. Or yet the arrow gae from the bow. Our Scottish lads fell even do^\Ti, And they lay slain on everj' knowe. 16 THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. As ever ye saw the drifting snaw Drive iVer the ripe tlowor on the lea, Our Scottish huls foil oven down, An' wae to Scothind an' to me." "No, that's not it; my memory is gane wi' my last warklly hope. Hech ! dear bairn, but it is a sad warld to live in, without hope or love for ony that's in't. 1 liad aye some hope till now ! but sic a dream as I had last night ! I saw him aiuce again. Yes, I saw him bodily, or may I never steer afl'this bit." Here Nanny sobbed hard, and drew her arms across her eyes. "Come, come," continued she, " gie me a bit sang, dear bairn, an' let it be an auld thing — they do ane's heart gude, thae bits o' auld sangs." ' ' Itather tell me, Nanny — for we live in ignorance in this wild place — what you think of all that bludc that has been shed in our country since the killing- time began ? Do you think it has been lawfully and rightfully shed?" " AVha doubts it, dear bairn ? Wha doubts that ? But it will soon be ower now; the traitors will soon be a' strappit and strung. Ay, ay, the last o' them will soon be hackit and hewed, an' his bloody head stanin ower the AVast Fort ; an' there will be braw days than — we'll be a' right than." Katharine sat silent and thoughtful, eyeing old Nanny with fixed attention ; but the expression of her contracted face and wild unstable eye was un- satisfactory. She therefore, ■with a desponding mien, went out, and left the crazy dame to discourse and sing to herself. Nanny ceased her baking, stood upright, and listened to the maid's departing steps, till she concluded her to be out of hearing; she then sung out, in what is now termed the true hra- vura style — " Then shall the black gown flap O'er desk and true man ; Then shall the horny cap Shine like the new moon ; An' the lost fu' o' whistles That maks sic a cleary, Lool away, bool away, Till we grow weary. Till we grow weary, &c. Charlie, the cypher-man, Drink till ye stew dame ; Jamie, the wafer-man, Eat till ye spue them ; Lick-spittle Lauderdale, Binny and Geordie, Leish away, link away. Hell is afore ye. Hell is afore ye, &c. Graeme will gang ower the brink, Downi wi' a flaughter ; Lagg an' Drumlandrick Will soon follow after ; Johnston and Lilligow, Bruce and ilacleary, Scowder their harigalds, Deils, wi' a bleery. Till ye grow weary," n my boul, the old woman is talking of grace, and salva- tion, and the joys of heaven too, by Saint George and the Dragon. My dearest honey and darling, will j-ou be 80 kind as stand up upon the soles cf your feet, and let me see what kind of a figure you will be in heaven. Now, by the cross of Saint Patrick, I would take a journey there to see you go swimming through heaven in that same form, with your long waist, and plaited quoif. and that same charming face of yours. Och! och! me! what a vile she Whig we have got in this here comer ! — Copland, my dear soul, I foresee that all the ewes and kine of Chapelhope will soon be rouped at the cross of Selkirk, and then what blessed lawings we shall have! Now my dear mistress Orace and Sal- vation, you must be after renouncing the joys of heaven immediately ; for upon my honour, the very sight of your face would spoil the joys of any place whatever, and the first thinir you must do is to lay that delightful old book with the beautiful mar^n along the side of it, on the coals ; but before you do that we shall sing to his praise and glory from the 7th verse of the 141»th Psalm." He then laid aside his helmet and sung the psalm, gi\'ing out each line with a whine that was truly ludicrous, after which he put the Bible into the goodwifes hand, and desired her, in a serious tone, instantly to lay it on the fire. The captain's sf»eech to his companions about the ewes and kine of Cha- pelhope was not altogether lost on the conscience of Maron Linton. It was not, as she afterwards said, like water spilt upon the ground, which cannot be gathered up again. "Why, dear sir," said she, "ye ken, after a', that the bank's nacthing but paper an' ink, an' three shillings an' aughtpence will buy as gude a ane frae Geordy Dabson the mom, an' if there be ony sin in't it will lye at your door, an' no at mine. I'll ne'er haigel wi' my king's officer about three and aughtpence." So saying, ilaron laid the Bible on the fire, which soon consumed it to ashes. "Xow, may the devil take me," said Bruce, "if I do not believe that you are a true woman after all, and if so, my purse is lighter by one half than it was; but, my dear honey, you have the very indi- vidual and genuine seeds of whiggism in your con- stitution — you have, I will swear, been at many a harmless and innocent conventicle." " Ye ken little about me, sir. Gude forbid that ever I countenanced sic traitors to the kirk and state !" "Amen! say I; but I prophesy and say unto thee, that the fii"st field-meeting into which thou 20 Till-: BUOWNIK OF BOD.SBFX'K. goest in tlie lieauty of holiness, thou shalt be estah- lishcil for ever with tliy one foot in Dan and tlie other in Beersheba, and shall return to thy respec- tive plaee of abode as rank a Whijj as ever swung in the CJriissuiarket." A loni,' dialou^ue next ensued, in which the mur- der of the priest, Mass John Biiuani, was discussed at full length, and by which Bruce and Copland discerned, that superstitious as Maron was, she told them what she deemed to be the truth, though in a strange round-about way. Just as they were begin- ning to talk over the mysterious murder of the soldiers, tlavcrhouse and Sir Thomas joined them, and Bruce, turning round to them, said, "My lord, this very honest woman assures me, that she be- lieves the two principal murderers of tlie curate arc lying concealed in a linn not far hence, and there seems to be little doubt but that they must likewise have been concerned in the murder of our soldiers." Clavers, the horrors of whose execrations are yet fresh in the memory of our peasants, burst out in oaths and curses, to the astonishment of Bruce, who was not aware of his chagrin, or of aught having befallen him; while Maron Linton, hearing herself called a good woman, and finding that she was ap- proven of, could not refrain from interfering here. " Dear sir, my lord, yc sudna swear that gate, for it's unco ill-faur'd, ye ken — an' at ony rate, the deil canna damn nacbody — if ye will swear, swear sense." The rage of the general, and the simplicity of the goodwife, was such an amusing contrast, that the three attendants laughed aloud. Clavei-s turned his deep gray eye upon them, which more than the eye of any human being resembled that of a serpent — offence gleamed in it. '•Gentlemen," said he, "do you consider where you are, and what you are about ] Sacre ! am I always to be trysted with boys and fools V He then began and e.xamined the goodwife with much feigned deference and civility, which so pleased her that she told him everything with great readi- ness. She was just beginning to relate the terrible, but unfortunate story of the Brownie of Bodsbeck, and his train of officious spirits ; of the meat which they devoured, and in all probability would have ended the relation with the woeful connection be- tween the Brownie and her daughter, and the part that she had taken in the murder of the soldiers, when Walter entered the room ^vith a discomposed mien, and gave a new turn to the conversation. But that eventful scene must be left to the next chapter. CHAPTER YII. Walter, on coming to the troopers and asking for their leader, soon discovered how roughly he had treated Clavei-s; and it being bo much the reverBC of the reception he meant to have given him, he was particularly vexed about it. Still he was con- scious that he had done nothing that was wrong, nor anything that it did not behove a parent ami a master of a family to have done in the same circum- stances; therefore there was nothing farther from his intention than offering any apology. He entered his own room, as he 6ui)posed he had a good right to do, bluntly enough. He indeed touched the rim of his bonnet as he came in ; but, seeing all the officers covered, he stalked into the midst of them with that immense circle of blue woollen on his hcail, which moved over tiieir helmets like a black cloud as he advanced. Bruce, who was well used to insult the peasantry with impunity, seeing Walter striding majestically by his general in this guise, with his wonted forwardness and jocularity lifted up his sword, slieathed as it was, and with the point of it kicked off Walter's bonnet. The latter caught it again as it fell, and with his fist, he made Bruce's helmet ring against the wall ; then again fitting on his bonnet, he gave him such an indignant and re- proving look, that Bruce, having no encouragement from the eye of Clavers, resented it no farther than by saying good-humouredly, "'Pon my body and shoul, but the carle keeps his good-looking head high enough." "Copland," said Clavers, "desire Sergeant Daniel Roy ^lacpherson, with eleven troopers, to attend." They were instantly at the door. ' ' Seize and pinion that haughty rebel, together with all his family," said he, ' ' and then go and search every comer, chest, and closet in the hou.se ; for it is apparent that this is the nest and rendezvous of the murdering fanatics who infest this country. Let the rest of the soldiers guard the premises that none escape to the moun- tains with tidings of our arrival. This good dame we will first examine privately, and then dispose Of her as shall seem most meet." The command was promptly obeyed. AValter and all his family Avere taken into custody, pinioned, and a guard set on them; the house was ransacked; and in the meantime the general and his three as- sociates continued the examination of the goodwife. Clavers observed that, on the entrance of AValter be- fore, she seemed to be laid under some restraint, stopped short in her narration, and said, "But there's the gudeman ; he'll tell ye it wi' mair pre- ceesion nor me ;" and he had no doubt, if she were left to herself, of worming as much out of her as would condemn her husband, or at least furnish a pretext sufficient for the forfeiture of his wealth. Clavers had caused to be sold, by public roup, the whole stock on the farm of Phillhope, which belonged to Walter's brother-in-law, merely because it was proven that the farmer's wife had once been at a conventicle. In the present instance, however, Clavers was mistaken, and fairly^ overshot his mark ; for poor 21 THE ETTKICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. Maron Linton was so overwhelmed with astonish- ment when she saw Iicr luisband and family taken prisoners and bounds that her speech lost all manner of coherence. She sobbed aloud — complained one while, entreated another; and then muttered over some ill-sorted phrases from the Scripture. When Clavers pressed his questions, she answered him, weeping, "0 dear sir, my lord, ye ken I canna do naething, nor think naething, nor answer naething, unless ye let Watie loose again; I find as I war nae- body, nor nae soul, nor naething ava wantin' him, but just like a vacation or a shadow. my lord, set my twa bits o' callants an' my puir auld man loose again, and I'll say onything that ever ye like." Threats and proffers proved alike in vain. Maron's mind, which never was strong, had been of late so much unhinged by the terrors of superstition, that it wavered in its frail tenement, threatening to depart, and leave not a wreck behind. Clavers told her that her husband's life depended on the i^romptncss and sincerity of her answers, he having rendered him- self amenable to justice by rescuing his daughter by force, whom they had taken prisoner on their arrival, having found her engaged in a very suspici- ous employment. This only increased IVIaron's agony; and at length Clavers was obliged to give up the point, and ordered her into custody. The soldiers had by this time taken old John of the JIuchrah and another of Laidlaw's shei)herds prisoners, who had come to assist their master with the farm-work tliat day. All these Clavers examined separately; and their answers, as taken down in short-hand by Mr. Adam Copland, are still extant, and at present in my possession. The following are some of them, as deciphered by Mr. J. W. Eobei-t- son, Avhose acquaintance with ancient manuscripts is well known. John Hoy, shepherd in Muchrah, aged fifty-six, sworn and examined. "Do you know such a man as the Rev. James Renwick?' "Yes. I once heard him pray and preach for about the space of two hours." " Was it on your master's farm that he preached?" "No, it was in a linn on the Earl Hill, in the march between two laird's lands, that he preached that day." "How durst you go to an unlawful conventicle?" ' ' I didna ken there was a law against it till after — it's a wild place this — we never hear ony o' the news, unless it be twice a year frae the Moftat fairs. But as soon as I heard him praj'ing and preaching against the king I cam afF an' left him, an' brought a' my lads an' lasses wi' me ; but my wife wadna steer her fit — there she sat, shaking her head and glooming at me ; but I trow I cowed her for't after." "What did he say of the king]" "0, I canna mind — he said nae muckle gude o' him. "Did he say that he was a bloody perjured tyrant?" " Ay, he said muckle waur nor that. He said some gayan ill-faur'd things about him. But I cam away and left him ; I thought he was saying mair than gude manners warrantit." " ^\' ere you in the 'Hope, as you call it, on that day that the king's soldiers were slain?" "Ay, that I was; I was the first wha came on them whan they war just new dead, an' a' reeking i' their warm blude — Gude keep us a' frae sic sights again! — for my part, I never gat sic a confoundit gliff sin' I was born o' my mother." "Describe the place where the corpses were lying." "It is a deep cleuch, wi' a sma' sheep rodding through the linn not a foot wide; and if ye war to stite aff that, ye wad gang to the boddom o' the linn wi' a flaip." "Were the bodies then lying in the bottom of that linn ? " "Od help ye, whar could they be lying else? — D'ye think they could lie on the Cleuch-brae ] Ye might as weel think to lie on the side o' that wa' gin ye war dead. " "How did it appear to you that they had been slain ? were they cut with swords, or pierced with bullets?" " I canna say, but they war sair hashed." "How do you mean Avhen you say they were hashed." " Champit like; a' broozled and jurmummled, as it war." ' ' Do you mean that they were cut, or cloven, or minced ?" " Ka, na — no that ava. But they had gotten some sair doofs. The\' had been terribly paiket and daddit wi' something." " I do not in the least conceive what you mean." " That's extrordnar, man — can ye no under- stand folk's mother-tongue ? I'll mak it plain to ye. Ye see, whan a thing comes on ye that gate, that's a dadd — sit still now. Then a paik, that's a swap or a skelp like — when a thing comes on ye that way, that's a paik. But a doofs warst ava — it's"— " Prithee hold; I now understand it all perfectly well. What, then, is your opinion with regard to these men's death ? How, or what way do you think they were killed ?" " 0, sir, there's naebody can say. It was some extrordnar judgment, that's out of a' doubt. There had been an unyerdly raid i' the 'Hope that day." "AVhat reason have you for supposing such a thing?" "Because there wasna a leevin soul i' the hale 'Hope that day but theirsels — they wadna surely hae felled ane another. It's, by an' attour, an awsome bit where they war killed; there hae been things baith seen and heard about it ; and I saw an appari- tion there mvsel on the A'erv night before." 22 THK BROWNIE OF BODSIJECK. " You saw an apparition at tlic place tlic niyht before, did you! And, pray, what was that appari- tion likel" "It was like a man and a woman. " " Had tlic figure oi' the woman no resemblance to any one you had ever seen before ] Was it in any degree, for instance, like your master's daughter !" " No unlike ava." " Then I think I can guess what the other form was like. Had it a bonnet on its head 1" '■ Not a bonnet certainly, but it had the shape o' ane." " I weened as much. And was it a tall gigantic figure?" "Na, na, sir; the very contrair o' that." "Are you certain of that you sayl Was it not taller than the apparition of the woman 1" " No half sae tall, sir." "Had it not some slight resemblance to your master, little as it was? Did that not strike youl" "Na, na, it was naething like my master, nornae yerdly creature that ever was seen — indeed it was nae creature ava." " What then do you suppose it was?" "Wlia kens? A wraith, I hae little doubt. My e'en rins a' wi' water whan I think about it yet." "Wraiths are quite common here, are they]" "0 yes, sir! oure common. They appear aye afore death, especially if the death be to be sudden." "And what are they generally like?" "Sometimes like a light — sometimes like a win- din-sheet — sometimes like the body that's to dee, gaen mad — and sometimes like a cofhn made o' moon- light." "Was it in the evening you saw this appari- tion?" "It was a little after midnight." "And pray, what might be your business in such a place at that untimely hour? Explain that fully to me, if you please." "I sail do that, sir, as weel as I can. Our ewes, ye see, lie up in the twa Grains an' the middle a' the harst. Now, the Quave Brae again, it's our hogg- fence, that's the hained grund like ; and whenever the wind gangs easterly about, then whan the auld luckies rise i' the howe o' the night to get their rug, aff they come, snouckin a" the way to the Lang Bank, an' the tither end o' them round the Papper Snout, and into the Quave Brae to the hained grund, an' very often they think naething o' landing i' the mids o' the corn. Now I never mindit the corn sae muckle, but for them to gang vn' the hogg-fence, I coudna bide that ava, for ye ken, sir, how could we turn our hand wi' our pickle hoggs i' winter if their bit fog- gage war a' riven up by the auld raikin hypalts ere ever a smeary's clute clattered on't?" Though Clavers was generally of an impatient temper, and loathed the simplicity of nature, yet he could not help smiling at this elucidation, which was much the same to him as if it had been delivered in the language of the Moguls, but seeing the shepherd perfectly sincere, he suffered lum to go on to the end. "Now, sir, ye ken the wind very often taks a swee away round to the east i' the night-time whan the wather's gude i' the hairst months, an' whanever this was the case, and the moon i' the lift, I had e'en aye obliged to rise at midnight, and gang round the hill an' stoj) the auld kimmere — very little did the turn— just a bit thraw yont the brae, an' they kend my whistle, or my tike's bark, as weel as I did my- sel; still they wadna do wantin't. Weel, ye see, sir, I gets up an' gangs to the door: it was a bonny night — the moon was hingin o'er the derk brows o' Hopertoody, an' the lang black scaddows had an eiry look. I turned my neb the tither gate, an' I fand the air was gane to the eissel ; the se'en starns had gaen oure the lum, an' the tail o' the king's elwand was just pointin to the Muchrah cross. It's the very time, quo' I to mysel, I needna think about lying down again; I maun leave Janet to lie doverin by hersel for an hour or twa — Keilder, ray fine dog, where are ye? He was as ready as me — he likes a ploy i' the night-time brawly, for he's aye gettin a broostle at a hare, or a tod, or a foumart, or some o' thae beasts that gang snaiken about i' the derk. Sae to mak a lang tale short, sir, off we sets, Keilder an' mc, an' soon comes to the place. The ewes had been very mensefu' that night, thej' had just corned to the march and nae farther; sae, I says, puir things, sin' ye hae been sae leifu', we'll sit down an' rest a while, the dog an' me, an' let ye tak a pluck an' fill yoursels or we turn ye back up to your cauld lairs again. Sae down we sits i' the scaddow of a bit derksome cleuch-brae — naebody could hae seen us, and ere ever I wats, 1 hears by the grumblin o' my friend, that he outher saw or smelled something mair than ordinar. 1 took him in aneath my plaid for fear o' some grit brainyell of an outbrik, thinkin it some sheepstealer — but whan 1 lookit, there was a white thing and a black thing new risen out o' the solid yird! They cam' close by me, and whan I saw the moon shinin on their cauld white faces, I lost my sight an swarfed clean away. Wae be to them for droichs, or ghaists, or whatever they war, for aye sin' syne the hogg-fence o' the Quave Brae has been har- ried an' traisselled till its little better nor a drove road. I darna gang an' stop the ewes now for the saul that's i' my bouk, an' little do I wat what's to come o' the hoggs the year." ' ' Well now, you have explained this much I be- lieve to your own satisfaction — remember then, you are upon oath: Who do you think it was that killed these men?" "I think it was outher God or the deil, butwhilk o' them I coudna say." "And this is really your opinion?" "Yes, it is." "Have you seen any strangers about your mas- ter's house of late?" 23 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALE.«>. "I saw one not long ago." " What sort of a man was he?" "A douse-looking man wi' a brown yaud; I took him for some wool-buyer." "Was he not rather like a preacher?" "The man might hae preached for aught contrair tiirt in his appearance— I coudnasay." "Are you certain it was not Mr. Renwick?" "I am certain." "Is your master a very religious man]" "He's weel eneugh that way — no that very reithe ont; but the gudewife bauds his neb right sair to the grindstane about it." "Docs he perform family worship? " "Sometimes." "Is he reckoned a great and exemplary performer of that duty?" "Na, he's nae great gun, I ti'ow, but he warstles away at it as weel as he can." ''Can you repeat any part, or any particular pas- sage of his usual prayer?" ,' "I'm sure I might, for he gangs often aneuch ourc some o' them. Let me see — there's the still waters, and the green pastures, and the blood of bulls and of goats ; and then there's the gos-hawk, and the slogy riddle, and the tyrant an' his lang neb; I hae the maist o't i' ray head, but then I canna mouband it." "What does he mean by the tyrant and his lang neb?" "Aha ! But that's mair nor ever I could find out yet. We whiles think he means the Kelpy, him that raises the storms an' the floods on us, ye ken, and gars the waters an' the burns come roarin down wi' bracks o' ice an' snaw, an' tak away our sheep. But whether it's Kelpy, or Clavers, or the Deil, we can never be sure, for we think it applies gay an' weel to them a'." "Repeat the passage as well as you can?" "Bring down the tyrant an' his lang neb, for he has done muckle ill this year, and gie him a cup o' thy wrath, an' gin he winna tak that, gie him kelty." "What is meant by kelty?" "That's double, it means twa cups — ony body kens that." "Does he ever mention the king in his prayer?" . "0 yes: always." "What does he say about him?" "Something about the sceptre of righteousness, and the standard of truth. I ken he has some rhame about him." "Indeed! And does he likewise make mention of the Covenant?" "Ay, that's after — that's near the end, just afore the resurrection. yes, he harls aye in the Covenant there. 'The bond o' the everlasting Cove- nant,' as he ca's it, 'weel ordered in all things, and sure.'" "Ay, that's very well; that's quite sufficient. Now, you have yourself confessed that you were at an unlawful and abominable conventicle, holding fellowship with intercommuned rebels, along with your wife and family. You must be made an ex- ample of to the snarling and rebellious dogs that are lurking in these bounds, but as you have answered me with candour, though I might order you in- stantly to be shot, I will be so indulgent as to give you your choice, whether you will go to prison in Edinburgh, and be there tried by the council, or submit to the judgment which I may pronounce on you here?" "0, sir, I canna win to Edinbrough at no rate, that's impossible. What think ye wad come o' the sheep? The hogg-fence of the Quave Brae is maistly ruined already, and war I to gae to the prison at Edinbrough, it wad be mair loss than a' that I'm worth. I maun just lippen to yoursel ; but ye mauna be very sair on me. I never did ony ill designedly; and as for ony rebellion against the Bruce's blood, I wad be hangit or I wad think o' sic a thing." "Take the old ignorant animal away ; bum him on the cheek, cut off his ears, and do not part with him till he pay you down a fine of two hundred merks, or value to that amount. And, do you hear, make him take all the oaths twice, and a third oath, that he is never to repent of these. If either ]Mon- mouth or Argyle get him, they shall have a per- jured dog of him." As John was dragged off to this punishment, which was executed without any mitigation, he shook his head and said, "Ah, lak-a-day! I fear things are muckle waur wi' us than I had ony notion o'! I trowed aye that' even-down truth and honest)'^ bure some respect till now; I fear our country's a' wrang thegither. " Then looking back to Clavers, he added, "Gude sooth, lad, but ye'll make mae Whigs where- ever ye show your face, than a' the hill preachers o' Scotland put thegither." CHAPTER YITT. It has been remarked by all the historians of that period, that the proceedings of Clavers about this time were severe in the extreme. The rising, both in the north and south at the same time, ren- dered the situation of affairs somewhat ticklish. Still the Lowlands were then perfectly peaceable, but he seemed determined, lest he should be called away, to destroy the Covenanters, and all that hankered after civil and religious liberty, root and branch. Certainly his behaviour at Chapelhope that morning was sufficient to stamp his character for ever in that district, where it is still held in at least as great detestation as that of the arch-fiend him- self. AVhen the soldiers, by his order, seized and manacled Walter, he protested vehemently against such outrage, and urged the general to prove his 24 THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. fiilclity to his sovereign by administering to him the test oath, and the oath of abjuration, but this t'hivers dcrliucd, and said to him with a sneer, that '• Uiey had other ways of trying dogs beside that." When those who had been appointed to search the house came before him, and gave in their report, among other things, they said they had found as much bread new baked, and mutton newly cooked, as would be a reasonable allowance for a hundred men for at least one whole day. Clavers remarked, that in a family so few in number, this was proof positive that others were supported from that house. "But we shall disappoint the AVhigs of one hearty meal," added he, and witli tliat he ordered the meat to be brouglit all out and set down upon the green, bid his troopers eat as much as they coul(l, feed their horses with the bread which they left, and cither destroy the remainder of tlie victuals or carry them away. It was in vain that Walter told him the honest truth, that the food was provided solely for himself and his soldiers, as he knew they were to come by that road, either on that day or the one following; nay, though all the family avouched it, as they well might, he only remarked, with a look of the utmost malignity, that "he never in his life knew a Whig who had not a lie ready on his tongue, or some kind of equivocation to save his life, but that they must necessarily all be taught who they were dealing with." He then made them all swear that they were to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and to utter the most horrid impre- cations on themselves and their souls for ever, if they deviated in one single item ; and beginning with old John, as before related, he examined them all separately and out of hearing of one another. The interrogations and answei"s are much too long to be inserted here at full length ; but the only new circumstances that came to light were these two. One of the young men deponed, that, when the bodies of the soldiers were found in the 'Hope, their muskets were all loaded, which showed that they had not fallen in a regular skirmish ; and the other boy swore that he had lately seen eighty large thick bannocks baked in one day in his father's house, for that \]e had counted them three times over as they stood cooling. This was another suspicious circum- stance, and Clavers determined to search it to the bottom. He sifted the two youths backward and forward, trying to get the secret out of them by every wile in his power ; and because they were unable to give him any satisfactory account who consumed all that store of bread, he caused his dragoons to take hold of the youngest and gird his head with a cord, twisting it with a horse pistol, until in some places it cut him to the skull. The eldest he hung up to the beam by the thumbs until he fainted through insufferable pain ; but he could get nothing more out of them, for they had at first told him all that they knew, being quite unconscious of any evil. Still bent, as it seemed, on the full conviction and ruin of the family, he told the boys that they were two of the most consummate knaves and rebels that he had in all his life seen ; and that if they had any hoi)CS at all of going to heaven, they should say their prayers, for in a few minutes he would order them both to be shot. John, the eldest, who possessed a good deal of his mother's feebleness of character, and was besides but newly recovered from a fainting fit, was seized with a stupor, appeared quite pa.ssive, and acted pre- cisely as they bade him, without seeming to know what he did ; but the youngest, whose name was William, preserved an interesting firmness, in such a trial, for a consideraljle time. On being advised by Clavers to tell all he knew rather than die, and asked if he was not afraid of death, he answered, with the tear in his e^-e, "I'm nouther feared for you nor death, man. I think if fock may be guidit this way at their ane hames, the sooner they're dead the better." Then turning his looks to his brother, who kneeled according to the general's order on the green beside him, he added, with convulsive sobs, " But poor Jock's gaun to be shot tool I wonder what ye need kill him for — What ill hae we ever done t'ye? Jock's a very good callant; I canna pray weel, but if ye'll let my billy Jock gang, I'll pray for ye as 1 can, and kiss ye too." Happy was it for the wits of poor Maron that she saw nothing of this touching scene : she, as well as Walter, being then with the rest under a strong guard in the Old Room. Clavers paid no regard to the kneeling boy's request. He caused his troopers to draw up around them, present their firelocks, and then an executioner, who was always one of his train, tied up both their eyes. He gave the word himself, and instantly ten or twelve carabines were discharged on them at once. John fell flat on the earth; but William, with a violent start, sprung to his feet, and being blindfolded, ran straight on the files of soldiers. Clavers laid hold of him. "My brave little fel- low," said he, "the soldiers have all missed you, bungling beasts that the}' are I and since so wonder- ful a thing hath befallen you, you shall yet have your life, though a most notorious rebel, if you will tell me what people frequent your father's house." " AVhat's corned o' Jockl" said the boy, "Otell me, what's comed o' Jock, for I canna see." "Jock is lying dead on the green there, all bathed in his blood," said Clavers; "poor wretch ! it is over with him, and unless you instantly tell me who it was that consumed all that store of bread that has been baked in your father's house for the last month, you must be sent after him." William withdrew backward a few paces, and kneeling a second time down on the sward with great decency and deliberation, " Shoot again," said he; I " try me aince mair ; an' oh see to airch a wee better 25 4 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES.' this time. I wad rather dee a hunder times or I saw poor Jock lying a bloody corp." Clavers made a sign to one of his dragoons, who unbound William, and took the bandage from his eyes. Regardless of all else, he looked wildly around in search of his brother, and seeing his only com- panion lying flat on his face, he at first turned away, as if wishing to escape from a scene so dismal ; but his helpless and forlorn situation staring him in the face, and the idea doubtless recurring that he was never to part with his brother, but forthwith to be slaughtered and carried to the grave with him, he returned, went slowly up to the body, kneeled down beside it, and pulling the napkin farther down over the face to keep the dead features from view, he clasped his arms about his brother's neck, laid his cheek to his, and wept bitterly. The narrator of this part of the tale was wont to gay, that the scene which followed had something more touching in it than any tongue could describe, although Clavers and his troops only laughed at it. William had now quite relinquished all sensations of fear or danger, and gave full vent to a flood of passionate tenderness and despair. He clasped his brothers neck closer and closer, steeped his cheek with his tears, and seemed to cling and grow to the body with a miserable fondness. While he was giving full scope in this manner to the aflTections of his young heart, his brother made a heave up with his head and shoulder, saying at the same time, like one wakening from a dream, "Little Will, is that you]— Hand afi"— What ails ye?" William raised up his head — fixed his ej'es on vacancy — the teare dried on his cheek, and his ruby lips were wide apart ; the thing was beyond his com- prehension, and never was seen a more beautiful statue of amazement. He durst not turn his eyes towards his brother ; but he uttered in words scarcely articulate, "Eh! Ibelievetheyhae missed Jock too I" Clavers had given private orders to his dragoons to fire over the heads of the two boys, his intent being to intimidate them so much as to eradicate every principle of firmness and power of concealment from their tender minds ; a scheme which he often practised upon young peojile ^-ith too sure effect. When William found that liis brother was really alive, and that both of them were to be spared on condition that he gave up the names and marks of all the people that had of late been at Chapelhope ; he set himself with great earnestness to recount them, along with every mark by which he remembered them, determined that every hidden thing should be brought to light, rather than that poor Jock should be shot at again. " Weel, ye see, first there was Geordie the flesher, him that took away the crocks and the paulies, and my brockit-lamb, and gae me a penny for setting him through atween the lochs. Then there was Hector Kennedy the tinkler, him that the bogles brought and laid down at the door i' the night-time — he suppit twa bickerfu's o' paritch, an' cleekit a hantle o' geds an' perches wi' his toum out o' the loch. Then there was Xed Huddersfield the woo- man, wi' the leather bags and the skeenzie thread — him that kissed our byre-woman i' the bam in spite o' her teeth ; he had red cheeks, and wasna unlike a glutton ; he misca'd my father's woo, an' said aye, ' Xay, it's nane clean, howsomever — it's useless, that's its woree fault.' Then there was wee Willie the nout-herd, him that had the gude knife and the duddy breeks ; but the brownies put him daft, an' his mither had to come an' tak him away upon a cuddy." Fn this manner went he on particularizing every one he remembered, till fairly cut short with a curse. John continued perfectly stupid, and when examined, answered only Yes or No, as their way of asking the question dictated. "Are there not great numbers of people who fre- quent your father's house during the night ]" "Yes." " Do you see and hear them, after you go to bed ]" "Yes>' " What are thej' generally employed in when you hear them ? Do they read, and pray, and sing psalms]" "Yes." "Do your father and mother always join themi" "Yes." Here AVilliam could restrain himself no longer. "Gude faith, Jock, man," said he, "ye' re just telling a hirsel o' eindown lees. It canna be lees that the man wants, for that maks him nae the wiser ; an' for you to say that my father rises to pray i' the night-time beats a', when ye ken my mither has baith to fleitch an' fight or she can get him eggit on till't i' the Sabbath e'enings. He's ower glad to get it foughten decently by, to rise an' fa' till't again. fye, Jock ! I wad stand by the truth; an', at ony rate, no just gaung to hell open mouth." When the volley of musketry went off, all the prisoners started and stared on one another; even the hundred veterans that guarded them appeared by their looks to be wholly at a loss. 3Iacpherson alone ventured any remark on it. "Fat she pe plufl" pluffing at now ] 3Iay the teal more pe her soul's salvation, if she do not believe te man's pe gone out of all reason." The women screamed ; and Maron, whose tongue was a mere pendulum to the workings of the heart within, went on sighing and praying ; asking ques- tions, and answering them alternately; and, at every pause, looked earnestly to her husband, who leaned against the corner of the room, ashamed that his bound hand should be seen. "Och! Aigh me I" cried Maron. "Dear sirs, what's the fock shootin at ] Eh ! I'm sure they hae nae battlers to fight wi' there ? — Xo ane— I wat, no ane. Aigh-wow, sire ! the lives o' God's crea- 26 THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. tures ! — They never shoot nae callants, do they ? Oh, na, na, they'll never shoot innocent bairns, puir tilings ! They'll maybe hae been trying how weel tliey could vizy at the wild ducks; there's a hantlc o' cleckins about the saughs o' the lake, llout ay, that's a'. He hasna forgotten to be gracious, nor is his mercy clean ganc." Thus poor Maron went on, and though she had but little discernment left, she perceived that there v.as a tint of indignant madness in her husband's looks. His lips quivered — his eyes dilated — and the wrinkles on his brow rolled up to the roots of his (lark grizzled hair. " Watie," cried she, in a shrill and tremulous voice — " Watie, what ails ye ] — Oh I tell me what ails ye, Watie ? — What's the folk shoot- ing at ] Eh ! Ye'U no tell me what they're shooting at, Watie? — Oh, oh, oh, oh !" AV alter uttered no word, nor did his daughter, who sat in dumb astonishment, with her head almost bent to her feet ; but old Nanny joined in full chorus •with her mistress, and a wild unearthly strain the couple raised, till checked by Sergeant Eoy Mac- pherson. "Fat too-whooing pe tat? Do you tink that should the leanmh beg pe shot trou te poty, tat is te son to yourself ? Do you tink, you will too-whoo him up akain ? — Hay ? — Oohm ! pe holding your paice." CHAPTER IX. Upon the whole, there was no proof against Walter. Presumption was against him, but the evidence was rather in his favour. . Militarj' law, however, prevailed; and he found that there was no redress to be had of any grievance or insult, that this petty tyrant, in his caprice, thought fit to inflict. His drivers were ordered to take the whole stock from the farms of Riskinhope, belonging to David Bryden, who lived at a distance, because it was proven, that Mr. Renwick had preached and baptized some children on the bounds of that farm. That stock he caused to be taken to Selkirk, and sent orders to the sheriff to sell it by public roup, at the cross, to the highest bidder; but with Wal- ter's stock he did not meddle at that time ; so far did justice mark his proceedings. He strongly sus- pected him, and wished to have him convicted ; and certainly would have taken all the family with him prisoners, had not the curate Clerk arrived at that critical time. Him Clavers consulted apart, and was soon given to understand the steadfast loyalty of the gudewife, daughter, and all the family, save Walter, whom he said, he suspected of a secret con- nivance with the Cameronians. This was merely to serve a selfish purpose, for Clerk suspected no such thing at that time. It had the desired effect. Clavers set all the rest of the family free, but took the goodman with him prisoner ; put two of his best horses in requisition ; mounted himself on a diminu- tive ponj% with the thumbikius on his hands, and his feet chained below its belly. In this degrading situation, he was put under the care of Sergeant Roy Macpherson and five troopers; and Clavers, with the rest of his company, hasted, with great privacy and celerity, into that inhospitable wild, which forms the boundary between Drummelzier's ancient property and the Johnstons of Annandale. The greater part of the fugitives had taken shelter there at that time, it being the most inaccessible part in the south of Scotland, and that where, of all others, they had been the least troubled. No troops could suljsist near them; and all that the military could do was to set watches near every pass to and from these mountains, where a few stragglers were killed, but not many in proportion to the numbers that had there sought a retreat. The Covenanters knew that Clavers would make a sweeping and exterminating circuit about that time; incidents which were not to be overlooked, had been paving the way for it — incidents with which the main body of that people were totally un- connected. But it was usual at that time, and a very unfair practice it was, that whatever was said, or perpetrated, by any intemperate, fanatical in- dividual, or any crazy wight, driven half mad by ill usage — whatever was said or done by such, was always attributed to the whole sect as a body. It is too true that the privy council chose invariably, men void of all feeling or remorse to lead these troops. A man had nothing to study but to be cruel enough, to rise in the army in those days; yet, because there was a Dalziel, a Graham, a Creighton, and a Bruce among the king's troops, it would be unfair to suppose all the rest as void of every principle of feeling and forbearance as they. In like manner, because some of the Covenanters said violent and culpable things, and did worse, it is hard to blame the whole body for these ; for, in the scattered prowling way in which they were driven to subsist, they had no control over individuals. They had been looking for the soldiers appearing there for several days, and that same morning had been on the watch; but the day was now so far advanced that they were waxen remiss, and had retired to their dens and hiding places. Besides, he came so suddenly upon them that some parties, as well as several stragglers, were instantly discover- ed. A most determined pursuit ensued. Clavers exerted himself that day in such a manner, gallop- ping over precipices, and cheering on his dragoons, that all the country people who beheld him believed him to be a devil, or at least mounted on one. The marks of that infernal courser's feet are shown to this day on a steep hill nearly perpendicular, below the Bubbly Craig, along which he is said to have ridden at full speed, in order to keep sight of a party of the fleeing Covenanters. At another place. 27 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. called the Blue Skliddcr, on the Merk side, he had far outrode all his officers and dragoons in the pursuit of five men, who fled straggling athwart the steep. He had discharged l)oth his pistols without effect; and just as he was making ready to cleave down the hindmost with his sabre, he Avas attacked by another party, who rolled huge stones at him from the precipice above, and obliged him to make a hasty retreat. Tradition has preserved the whole of his route that day with the utmost minuteness. It is not easy to account for this. These minute traditions are generally founded on truth; yet though two generations have scarcely passed away since the date of this tale,^ tradition, in this instance, relates things impossible, else Clavcrs must indeed have been one of the infernals. Often has the present rclater of this talc stood over the deep green marks of that courser's hoof, many of which remain on that hill, in awe and astonishment, to think that he was actually looking at the traces made by the devil's foot, or at least by a horse that once belonged to him. Five men were slain that day ; but as they were all Westland men, very little is knoAvn concerning them. One of them was shot at a distance by some dragoons who were in pursuit of him, just as he was entering a morass, where he would certainly have escaped them. He is buried on a i)lacc called the Watch Knowe, a little to the soutli-east of Loch Skene, beside a cairn where he had often sat keeping watch for thcapproach of enemies, from wliich circum- stance the height derived its name. AVhen lie fell, being rough broken ground, they turned and rode off without ever going up to the body. Four were surprised and taken prisoners on a height called Ker-Cleuch Ridge, who were brought to Clavcrs and shortly examined on a little crook in the Erne Cleuch, a little above the old steading at llopertoudy. Maepherson kci)t the highroad, such as it was, with his prisoner; but travelled no faster than just to keep up with the parties that were scouring the hills on cacii side; and seeing these unfortunate men hurled in from the hill, he rode up with his companions and charge to see the issue, remarking to "Walter, that "he wools not pe much crcat deal te worse of seeing fwat te fwigs would pe getting." How did Walter's heart smite him when he saw that one of them was the sensible, judicious, and honourable fellow with whom he fought, and whose arm he had dislocated by a blow with his stick ! It was still hanging in a sling made of a double rush rope. They would renounce nothing, confess nothing, nor yield, in the slightest degree, to the threats and insulting questions put by the general. They ex- pected no mercy, and they cringed for none; but 1 One of tlio women baptized in tlie Linn of Riskinhope by Renwicli tliat year, has several children yet alive, not very aged people. seemed all the while to regard him with pity and contempt. Walter often said that he wa* an ill judge of the cause for which these men (suffered; but whatever might Ije said of it, they were heroes in that cause. Their complexioiuj were isallow, and bore marks of famine and other ]irivatioiu; their beards untrimmed: their aj»pan.'l all in ragn, and tlieir hats slouched down about their ears with sleeping on the hills. All this they liad borne with resignation and without a murmur; and, when brought to the last, before the most rcmorselees of the human race, they showed no symjttomji of flinch- ing, or yielding up an item of the cause they had espoused. When a.sked if they would pray for the king. They answered, "that they would with all their hearts ; they would pray for his forgiveness, in time and place convenient, but not when every profligate bade them, which were a loathful scurrility, and a mockery of God." Would they acknowledge him as their right and lawful sovereign; " "No, that they would never do I He was a bloody and designing Papist, and had usuqicd a prerogative that bclonired not to him. To acknowledge the Duke of York for king, would be to acknowledge the divine approbation of tyranny, oppression, usuq>ation, and all that militates against religion or lilierty, as well as justifying the abrogation of our ancient law relating to the succession ; and that, besides, he had trampled on every civil and reli- gious right, and was no king for Scotland, or any land where the inhabitants did not choose the most abject and degrading slavery. For their parts, they would never acknowledge him : and though it was but little that -their protestations and their blood could avail, they gave them freely. They had but few left to mourn for them, and these few might never know of their fate ; but there was One who knew their hearts, who saw their sufferings, and in Him they trusted that the days of tyranny and oppres- sion were wearing to a close, and that a race yet to come might acknowledge that they had not shed their blood in vain." Clavers ordered them all to be shot. They craved time to pray, but he objected, sullenly alleging, that he had not time to si)are. Mr. Copland siiid. — "My lord, you had better grant the poor wretches that small indulgence." On which Clavers took out his watch, and said he would grant them two minutes, provided they did not howl. When the man with the hurt arm turned round to kneel, Walter could not help crying out to him in a voice half stifled with agony — "Ah! lack-a-day, man! is it come to this with you, and that so soon 1 That is a sad sight I" The man pretended to put on a strange and aston- ished look towards his benefactor. "Whoever you arc." said he, "that pities the sufferings of a hapless stranger, 1 thank you. May 28 CLAVEBHOUSE AND HIS COMPANY SHOOTING COVENANTERS. BTJiCKIE i- SOU THE BROAVNIE OF BOUSBECK. God requite you! but think of yourself, and apply for mercy where it is to be found, for you are in the hands of those whose boast it is to despise it." AValter at fii-st thought this was strange, but he soon perceived the policy of it, and wondered at his friend's readiness at sucli an awful hour, when any acknowledgment of connection would have been so fatal to himself. They kneeled all down, clasped their hands together, turned their faces to heaven, and prayed in a scarce audible whisper. Captain Bruce, in the meantime, kneeled behind the files, and prayed in mockery, making a long face, Aviping his eyes, and speaking in such a ludicrous whine, that it was impossible for the gravest face to retain its muscles imaltered. He had more to attend to him than the miserable sufferers. AVlien the two minutes were expired, Clavers, who held his watch all the time, made a sign to the dragoons who Avere drawn up, without giving any intimation to the sufferers, which perhaps was merciful, and in a moment all the four were dismissed into eternity. The soldiers, for what reason AValter never under- stood, stretched the bodies all in a straight line on the brae, with their faces upwards, and about a yard distant from one another, and then rode off as fast as they could to get another hunt, as they called it. These four men were afterwards carried away by the fugitives, and some country people, and decently interred in Ettrick churchyard. Their graves are all in a row a few paces from the southwest corner of the present church. The goodman of Chapelhope, some years thereafter, erected a head-stone over the grave of the unfortunate sufferer, whose arm he had broken, which, with its rude sculpture, is to be seen to this day. His name was Walter Biggar. A small heap of stones is raised on the place where they were shot. The last look which Walter took of the four corpses, as they lay stretched on the brae, with the blood streaming from them, had nearly turned his brain. His heart sunk within him. For days and years the scene never left his mind's eye, sleeping nor waking. He always thought he saw them lying on the green sloping brae, with their pale visages, blue open lips, clasped hands, and dim steadfast eyes still fixed on the heavens. He had heard Clavers and his officers called heroes : he wished those who believed so had been there that day, to have judged who were the greatest heroes. " There ! let them take that !" said Captain Bruce, as he mounted his horse. " Poor misled unfortunate beings!" said Copland, and mounted his. " Huh! ohone!" said Roy Macpherson, in a voice that seemed to struggle for an outlet; and Walter, to his astonishment, saw a tear glistening on his rougli weather-beaten cheek, as he turned to ride away ! The pursuit continued unabated for tlie whole of that day. There was a great deal of firing, but the hills of Polmoody were inaccessible to cavalry. There was no more Ijlood shed. They lodged that night at a place called Keppclgill, where they ])ut everything in recjuisition about the house, and killed some of the cattle. Clavers was in extremely bad liumour, and Walter had no doubt that he once in- tended to have sacrificed him that night, but seemed to change his mind, after having again examined him. He was very stern, and threatened him with the torture, swearing that he knew him to lie the supporter of that nest of miscreants that harboured around him, and that though he should keep him prisoner for a dozen years, he would have it proven on him. Walter made oath that there had never one of them been within his door, consistent Avith his knowledge; that he had never been at a conven- ticle; and proffered to take the test, and oath of abjuration, if allowed to do so. All this ivould not satisfy Clavers. Walter said he Avondered at his discernment, for, Avithout the least evil or disloyal intent, he found he had rendered himself liable to punishment, but how he could be aAvare of that he kncAv not. That night Walter Avas confined in a cowhouse, under the same guard that had conducted him from Chapelhope. The soldiers put his arms round one of the stakes for the cattle, and then scrcAved on the thumbikins, so that he Avas fastened to the stake without being much incommoded. When Macpher- son came in at a late hour (for he AA'as obliged like- Avisc to take up his abode in the coAvhouse over night), the first word he said was, — "She no pe liking to see an honest shentleman tied up to a stake, as she were peing a pooUock." He then began to lecture Walter on the magnitude of folly it would be ill him to run aAvay, "when he took it into consideration that he had a penny fhamily, and sheeps, and horses, and bheasts, that AA'ould all pe maide acchountable." AValter acknoAvledged the force of his reasoning; said it Avas sterling common sense, and that nothing Avould induce him to try such a dangerous expeii- ment as attempting to make his escape. Macpher- son then loosed him altogetlier, and conversed Avith him until he fell asleep. Walter asked him, Avhat he thought of his case with the general. Macpher- son shook his head. Walter said there Avas not the shadoAv of a proof against him! "NoT' said Mac- pherson; " but there surely is ! There is A^ery much deal of proof Was not there my countrymen and sholdiers murdered on your grhoundsl Was not there mhore scoans, and prochin, and muttons in your house, than Avould haA'e peen eaten in a mhonth by the fhamily tliat pelongs to yourself. By the pode more of the ould deol, but there is more proof than Avould hang twenty poor peoples." " That's but sma' comfort, man ! But AA-hat think j-e I should do]" ' ' How can I knoAv I Who is it that is your chief?" "Chief! What's that?" 29 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. "Tat is te head of tc clan. Te pig man of your name and fhamily." " lu troth, man, an' there isna ane o' my name aboon mysel." "Fwat? Pless me! are you te chief of te clan, M'Leadle?- Then, sir, j'ou are a shentleman indeed. Though your clan should pe never so poor, you are a shentleman; and you must pe giving me your hand; and you need not think any shame to pe giving me your hand; for hersel pe a shentleman pred and porn, and furst coosin to C'luuy ilaepher- son's sister-in-law. Who te deol dha more she pe this clan, M'Leadle? She must pe of Macleane. She once pe prhother to ourselves, but fell into great dishunity by the preaking off of Finlay Gorm More Machalabin [Macleane of Ilanterach and Ardnamur- chan." Walter having thus set Daniel Roy Macpherson on the saddle of his hobby-horse by chance, there was no end of the matter. He went on with genealo- gies of uncouth names, and spoke of some old free- booters as the greatest of all kings. Walter had no means of stopping him, but by pretending to fall asleep, and when Macpherson weened that no one was listening farther to him, he gave up the theme, turned himself over, and uttered some fervent sen- tences in Gaelic, with heavy moans between. "What's that you are saying now?" said AValter, pretending to rouse himself up. "Pe sad works this," said he. "Huh! Cot in heaven, aye ! Hersel would be fighting te Campbells, sword in hand, for every inch of the Moor of Rhanoch ; but she does not like to pe pluffing and shooting through te podies of te poor helpless in- significant crheatures. Foolish ignorant people! They have not cot the good sense and prhudence of a bheast." Walter commended his feeling, and again asked his advice with regard to his own conduct. " Who is te great man tat is te laird to yourself I" asked he. "Mr. Hay of Drummelzier," was answered. "Then lose not a mhoment in getting his very good report or security. All goes by that. It will do more ghood than any stock of innocence; and you had need to look very sharp, else he may soon cut you short. It's a very good and a very kind man, but she pe caring no more for the lives of peoples, tan I would do for as many ptarmigans." Walter pondered on this hint throughout the night ; and the more he did so the more he was con- A-inced, that, as the affairs of the country were then conducted, Macpherson's advice was of the first utility. He sent for one of the shepherds of Keppel- gill next morning, charged him with an express to his family, and unable to do anything further for himself, submitted patiently to his fate. Clavers having been informed that night that some great conventicles had been held to the south- ward, he arose early, crossed the mountains by the Pennera Corse, and entered that district of the south called Eskdale. He had run short of ammunition by the M'ay, and knowing of no other supply, dee- patched Bruce with twenty men by the way of Ettrick, to plunder the aisle where the ancient and noble family of the Scotts of Thirlstane were en- shrined in massy leaden chests. From these he cut the lids, and otherwise damaged them, scattering the bones about in the aisle; but the Scotts of Daventon shortly after gathered up the relics of their ancestors, which they again deposited in the chests— closed them up with wooden lids, and buried them deep under the aisle floor, that they might no more be discomposed by the hand of wanton depravity. At a place called the Steps of Glenderg, Clavers met with Sir James Johnston of Westeraw, with fifty armed men, who gave him an exaggerated account of the district of Eskdale, telling him of such and such field-meetings, and what inflamma- torj' discourses had there been delivered, insinu- ating all the while that the whole dale ought to be made an example of. Clavers rejoiced in his heart at this, for the works of devastation and destruction were beginning to wear short. The Covenanters were now so sorely reduced, that scarcely durst one show his face, unless it were to the moon and stars of heaven. A striking instance of this I may here relate by the way, as it happened on the vcr}- day to which my tale has conducted me. A poor wanderer, named, I think, Matthew Douglai?, had skulked about these mountains, chiefly in a wild glen called the Caldron, ever since the battle of BothwcU Bridge. He had made several narrow, and, as he thought, most providential escapes, but was at length quite overcome by famine, cold, and watching; and finding his end approach- ing, he crept by night into a poor widow's house at Rennelburn, whose name, if my informer is not mistaken, was Ann Hyslop. Ann was not a Came- ronian, but beingof a gentleand humane disposition, she received the dying man kindly — watched, and even wept over him, administering to all his wants. But the vital springs of life were exhausted and dried up ; he died on the second day after his arri- val, and was buried with great privacy, by night, in the churchyard at Westerkirk. Sir James Johnston had been a zealous Covenan- ter, and at first refused the test with great indigna- tion ; but seeing the dangerous ground on which he stood, and that his hand was on the lion's mane, he renounced these principles ; and to render his apos- tacy effective, became for a time a most \iolent distresser of his former friends. He knew at this time that Clavers was coming round ; and in order to ingratiate himself with him, he had for several days been raging up and down the country like a roaring lion, as they termed it. It came to his ears what Ann Hyslop had done; whereon, pretending great rage, he went with his party to the burial ground, digged the body out of the grave, and threw 30 THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. it over the churchyard wall for beasta of prey to devour. Forthwith lie jiroeceded to IJeniiellniru, Ijlundered the lioiise of Ann llyslop, and then burned it to ashes; but herself he could not find, for she had previously al)seondcd. rroceeding-to the boun- dary of the county, he met and welcomed Clavcrs to his assistance, breathing nothing but revenge against all nonconformists, and those of his own district in particular. Clavcrs knew mankind well. He perceived the moving cause of all this, and did not appear so for- ward and hearty in the business as Sir James expected. He resolved to ravage loskdalc, but to manage matters so that the whole blame might fall on Johnston. This he effected so completely, that he made that knight to be detested there as long as he lived, and his memory to be abhorred after his decease. He found him forward in the cause; and still the more so that he appeared to be, the more shy and backward was Clavcrs, appearing to consent to everything with reluctance. They condemned the stocks of sheep on Fingland and the Casways on very shallow grounds. Clavers proposed to spare them, but Sir James swore that they should not be spared, that their owners might learn the value of conventicles. "Well, M'cll," said Clavers, "since you will have it so, let them be driven off." In this manner they proceeded down that un- happy dale, and at Craikhaugh, by sheer accident, lighted on Andrew Hyslop, son to the widow of Ken- nelburn above-mentioned. Johnston apprehended him, cursed, threatened, and gnashed his teeth at him with perfect rage. He was a beautiful youth, only nineteen years of age. On his examination, it appeared that he had not been at home, nor had any hand in sheltering the deceased; but he knew, he said, that his mother had done so, and in doing it, had done well, and he was satisfied that act of her's would be approven of in the eye of the Almighty. Clavers asked, "Have you ever attended the field conventicles 1"- "Xo." "Have you ever preached yourself*" "No." "Do you think that you could preach?' "I am sure I could not." "I'll be bound but you can pray then," said he. He then proffered him his liberty if he would con- fess that his mother had done wrong, but this he would in no wise do ; for, he said, it would be a sin- ful and shameful lie, he being convinced that his mother had done what was her duty, and the duty of every Christian to do towards his fellow-creatures. Johnston swore he should be shot. Clavers hesi- tated, and made some objections; but the other persisting, as Clavers knew he would, the latter consented as formerly, saying, "Well, well, since you will have it so, let it be done ; his blood be on your head, I am free of it. Daniel Eoy Macpherson, draw up your file, and put the sentence in cxccu- ion. Hyslop kneeled down. They bade him put on his bonnet and draw it over his eyes; but this he calmly refused, saying, "He had done nothing of which he was ashamed, and could look on his murderers and to heaven without dismay." AVhen Macpherson heard this, and looked at him as he kneeled on the ground with his hands jiinioned, his beautiful young face turned toward the sky, and his long fair ringlets hanging waving backward, his heart melted within him and the great tears had for some time been hopping down his cheeks. When Clavers gave the word of command to shoot the youth, Macpherson drew up his men in a moment, wheeled them oft" at the side, presented arms, and then answered the order of the general as follows, in a voice that was quite choked one while, and came forth in great volleys at another : — "Now, now% sh — sh— she'll rather pe fighting Clavers and all her draghoons, pe — pe — pefore she'll pe kill- ing tat dear good Ihad." Captain Bruce burst out into a horse-laugh, leap- ing and clajjping his hands on hearing such a sin- gular reply ; even Clavers had much ado to suppress a smile, which, however, he effected by uttering a horrible curse. "I had forgot. Sir James," said he; "Macpherson is as brave a man as ever strode on a field of battle; but in domestic concerns, he has the heart of a chicken." He then ordered four of his own guards to shoot him, which they executed in a moment. Some of his acquaintances being present, they requested per- mission of Clavers to bury him, which he readily granted, and he was interred on the very spot where he fell. A grave-stone was afterwards erected over him, which is still to be seen at Craikhaugh, near the side of the road, a little to the north of the church of Eskdale-muir. Clavers and his prisoner lodged at Westeraw that night. Johnston wanted to have him shot ; but to this Clavers objected, though rather in a jocular manner. Walter said, he was sure if Sir James had repeated his request another time, that Clavers' answer Avould have been, "Well, well, since you will have it so," (tc. ; but, fortunately for Walter, he desisted just in time. These two redoubted champions continued their progress all next day ; and on the third, at evening, Clavers crossed Dryfe, with nine thousand sheep, three hundred goats, and about as many cattle and horses in his train, taken from the people of Eskdale alone. He took care to herry Sii- James's tenants, in particular, of everything they possessed, and ap- parently all by their laird's desire, so that very little of the blame attached to the general. He was heard to say to Sir Thomas Livingston that night, "I trow, we hae left the silly turncoat a pirn to wind." 31 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. But wc must now leave them to continue their route of rapine and devastation, and return to the dis- tressed family of Chapclhopc, in order that we may watch the doings of the Brownie of Bodsbcck. CHAPTER X. For all Maron Linton's grievous distresses, the arrival of Clerk, the curate, proved an antidote of no small avail. It was a great comfort to her, in the midst of her afflictions ; and after she had been assured by him of Walter's perfect safety, she became apparently more happy, and certainly more loquaci- ous than she had been for a great while byegone. She disclosed to him the dreadful secret, that her child was possessed of an evil spirit, and implored his influence with heaven, and his power with hell, for its removal. This he readily undertook, on con- dition of being locked up with the maiden for a night, or two at most. She was to be left solely to his management; without the interference of any other human being; and with the help only of the Bible, the lamp, and the hour-glass, he declared that he would drive the unclean spirit from its tabernacle of clay. To these conditions Maron Linton gladly assented; and, with grateful and fond acknowledgments, called him their benefactor and spiritual guide, their de- liverer and shield; but he checked her, and said, there was still one condition more on which she be- hoved to condescend. It was likely that he might be under the hard necessity of using some violent measures in exorcising her, for it would be hard to drive the malignant spirit from so sweet a habita- tion ; but whatever noises might be heard, no one ^vas to interfere, or even listen, upon pain of being delivered np to the foul spirit, soul and body; and it was ten to one that any, who was so imprudent as to intrude on these awful and mysterious rites, might be torn in pieces. 3Iaron blest herself from all interference, and gave Nanny directions to the same purport ; as for the two boys, they slept out of hearing. She likewise gave him the key, that he might lock both the doors of the Old Room in the inside, and thus prevent all intrusions, should any be offered. He said prayei"s in the familj', to which Katharine was admitted, and then taking the lamp and the hour-glass in his hand, and the Bible below his arm, he departed into the Old Room, where, in about half an hour afterwards, the maiden was summoned to attend him. He took her respectfully by the hand, and seated her on a chair at the side of the bed, saying that he was com- missioned by her worthy mother to hold a little private conversation with her. Then locking the door, and putting the key in his pocket, he added, "You are my prisoner for this night, but be not alarmed ; I have undertaken to drive an evil spirit away from you, Imt both my exorcisms ami ori)s the Lawn-Market, an' down the Bow, wi' sic an army at my tail, as I had been gaun away to fight Boddcl-Brigg ower again. " I now begoud to think it wad be as weel to gie the lads the slip, for my army was gathering like a snaw-ba', an' I little wist how sic a hobbleshuc might end; sae I jiukit into Geordie Allan's at the West- Port, where 1 had often been afore, when sell- ing my eihl ewes and chasers; an' I wliispered to them to keej) out my sodgers, for there were too many of them for the house to baud ; but they not perfectly understanding my jest, I was not well entered ere I heard a loud altercation at the head o' the stair, an' the very first aith that I heard I knew it to be Macpherson. " " Iloo-hooh ! put she shall pe coing in : were not she her friend and counshel i" 'You his counsel? A sergeant of dragoons hi.s counsel? That winna do. He charged that nae sodgers should get in. Get aff wi' your Hieland impudence — brazen-faced thief! " "Fat? Tief? M'Leadle! — Trocho! — Hollo! Cresorst !' "I ran to the door to take the enraged veteran. in my arms, and welcome him as my best friend and adviser, but they had bolted the inner door in his face, through which he had run his sword amaist to the hilt, an' he was tugging an' pu'ing at it to get it out again, swearing a' the time like a true dra- goon. I led him into my room, an' steekit the door o't, but there he stood wi" his feet asperr, and his drawn sword at arm's length ahint his back, in act to make a lounge at the door, till he had exhausted a' his aiths, baith in Gaelic an' English, at the fock o' the house, and then he sheathed his sword, and there was nae mair about it. " I speered what I could d5o to oblige him?" " Hu, not creat moach at hall, man; only pe 51 THE ETTHIck .SHEI'JIEHU .S TAJ.K: kifHn^ mc your hand. I'y McTavinh More, put if kuc muckle otiii;^ u >ic a noble duiulere«t«d cL.' you tit not Htonifih tciu ! Vu« not I [>ecn telling you tat Iiiiu'H hearty currfc \>c tc cood (" " My cerly," ()uo' I, "hut ye did do that, or 1 wad never hac thought o't; ye' re an auld-farrant honest chiel! I am Horry that I canna juHt uoh- make yc Kie a present as ye deiicnc; IjuI ye maun eomc out an' nee me." "Preseat! I'oo, poo, poo! Tcol more take t* present tat pe coini,' jtctwecn friendn, and she may liave sharper works tan pe coinf^ visits; put not te more, she pe haifing small favour to Hcck." " Od, man," says I, "yc hac been the mean o' preserviiiff my life, an' yc sanna ax a thin;; that I'll refuse, e'en to my ain dou,i,'hlcr. An' hy the by, sergeant, gin yc want a good wife, an' a bonny ane, I'll gie yc sic a tocher wi' my Keatic, as never was gi'en wi' a farmer's lassie i' the Forest." "IIu! Cot pc plcBsing you! She haif cot wife, and fcry hc.xcellent boddach. with two childs after him." " What is it then, sergeant ! (iin the thing l>c in my power, yc hac nacthing ado but to say the word." "Do you know tat her nainsell pc eoosin to your- self!" " Od, man," (|uo' I, "that's hardly poasiide, or else the taen o' us has eomc o' the wrang side o' the Idankot." " Now do you just pe holding your paicc for a fcry less time, for you must halwaya pc spaik spaik- ing, without knowing fat to say, unless I were putting it into your liaid. I haif tonld ould . from the creation of the world, and he says that tc Lheatlles aro Maoplier.-*ons; for. in tiic daya of Uory More of Baliindalloch and Invcrcshie, tire \\:i6 tc (Jordons, who would pc making grheat i)rhogrcsa on tc Sassenach, and tcrc went down wit Stnibogic of tc clan Ahndcrson, and tc tlan (irhaliam. anlialloili, vil as bould a clan after her iis any and mhorc; and they would pc toing creat might upon the Siuvsenach. and they would pc killing her in tousiinds. and ten she cot crheat Ihands out of King Koborl on te Hhonler, and Letulloch he had a whoule country to himself. But tc people could not be jiutting her nhamc into worts, and instead of liCtullooii toy called her Lcadlca, and te Sassenach she called her Lit(h\ so that all tcse arc of Macphcrson, and you may pc tc chief, and te forward son of to crheat Strathneshalloch himself. Now tat 1 would pc te tog. and tc shame. an' thcre'a my hand, I'll uerer gxc up the cmu«c tA a Maqdicnion, if hc'n in •' -'- ' t " "llu! Nevermind ' . '< T' a clanvuuui v{teak of the right! Any luan will etaitd py me wbca 1 am in te ri^'ht, put wit a p: in te right. No right or v "Od, man," quo' I, "th.. that 1 waa never up to afore, but nn ye aav't, t: .. 1 never see the I! i l^w a^^n : ' ' l»y it. (.'ome, • 11 haeant" , a Ixitllc o' wine thegither, for a ftartinf cup " Hu!— no, no! None of \ wines for mc ! I must \»- • hour, and 1 would not i>e i . dies or wiucs. No, no! Cx>t pleat trot. sh'> ' ' ' never pe teeing your face again, xuu Miil IK.- "He could say nac raair, for the murkle n' . tcarw were coming hopi>ing down ower ' U-atcn check, but ' - i . i i an' a shake, an' br.. my \tuit aigbt of honest Daniel Uoy >l > man tlutt I hac i: Jlfl- r ll, .f l,c fi-U C. at the to the tojtt day o' hu life, he Kpake o ht« kincman. ould Macl..cadle. ' CIIAI'TEU XV. It w.v on the in . eve that Walter .irn.^.. ..... 80 long an ab.xcnoe : but Manor Water, his ac(|uaintancc«. were bo < at seeing him :• iienuad< in, taste of tli' . vlate hi- . and his trial to them, and so long was be ' in this way. that it was d.ark l>eforc he left 1»> . Hurn; yet so anxi ■ - - he to pel honu * family, and .ill ui. ;s that it waa i e'en, the great jubilee of the fairies and all the spirits of these mountain r " journey homeward. acriwstL;. ....... ... Dale. Walter found his way full well, for i every brae, height, and declinty by the way ; and many delightful little.!- ' > . - his heart, how he woi; and te tisgrhacc, not to help my owhn poor clansman bairns by his arrival, and how extravagantly and prhother out of tc evil, tat would pe worse ! delighted his excellent and v cncuch ; and tc ting tat I would pc asking of you is tis, tat you will always look upon a Maoi>hcrsou ;is a prhother until te end of te world, and pe standing py her as long as tcre is pcing one troji of jdood in your whole poty." " Gude faith, sergeant," says I. " I never was s.ic happy as to find, that the man to whom I hac been would be. for he often said. " ..> •ibout him than what Wius a l>c,T.ove all. his mind dwelt mt on hiei dear la«(uc Kate, as he calkNl her. He had !>• Drummekier of all that she had dvu gave her a character so high before some friend* of his who were projcnt. that Walter never was so proud 52 TIIK UKOWNIK OF BuDSlU:* K. in tiiri life, and he lun^etl, with all a futhrr'n fuiiil- itexri, toclao|i "hill bit ilt'ur kiiid-heartit luiMic" again in hifl uniis. Witliull iheiic(leli;;htful ami cxhilumtin^' thuut^htri glowing in Wm brcuiit, how cuulil that wild anddurk- ik>iue road. i>r indeeeiran to \h:v]> over the hilln to the south-east of the lake, but such s^ adventures arenot wortii a farlhinu', ii:..> and related in the lanu'iiau'o of the n.untry to whieh they are peculiar •• I fand I ^ fairies an' t!.^ nac denying o't, for when I saw the bit erookitmoon come Btealing o'er the kijii'* o' BowerliKpe l.,aw, an" thraw her dead yellow light on the hilU o' Met'u'at, I fand the very nature an' the heart within me changed. A' the hills on the tac siile o' the loch war as dark a.-* jdtch, an' the ' ' lie hail that ill- hued colour on l, as if they • n a' rowed in their winding ehcct^s; an' then the shadow o' the moon it gaeil bobliing an' (|uivering up the loch for- ncnt me, like a streek o' cauld lire. In spite o' my teeth 1 turned eiry, an' the mair I feueht against it, I grew the eiryer, for whenever the spirits come near one, that kind o' feel .i-s on. '• Weel. just as I * m round the end o' the Wcdder Law. a wee bit aboon the head o' the Braken Wood, I sees a white thing on the road afore me. At the first it api)eared to Ijc gaun away, but at length I saw it coming nearer an' nearer me. keep- ing aye a little aboon the road till 1 came amaist close to it, an' then it stood stane-still an' glowred at me. What in the wide world can it be that is here at sic an untimely time o' night as this ? thinks 1 to mysel. However, 1 steps aye on, an' wa^na gaun to mak nor meddle wit ava, till at last, just as I was gaun by, it says in a soft low voice. '• Wow, friend, but ye gang late the night!" "'Faith, no muckle later than yourscl,' quo* I, 'gin it be your will." "'O'er late on sic a night!' quoth the creature again, 'o'er late on Hallow-e'en, an' that ve will find.' "It elyed away o'er the brow, an' I saw nae mair o't. 'Lord sauf us!" quo' I to mysel, 'is this Hallow-e'en ] I wish I war safe at hame, or in amang Christian creatures o' ony kind! Or had I but my fine dog Reaver wi' me, to let me ken when the fairies are coming near me. Goodness to the day ! 1 may be amang the mids o' them ere ever 1 ken what I'm doing.' A' the stories that ever 1 heard about fairies in my life came linkin into my mind ane after anither, and I almaist thought I was ahcady oa my road to the Fairy Land, an' to be paid nway to hell, like a kane-cuek, at the end u' iseven yearn. 1 likit the iMxiing o' the a)>paritiun I hae n fairy — od, 1 wad be the daftei>l like fairy ever wiw wen. "I hiul naething for't but to Htride on as fust as I could, an' on I comcH till 1 comes to the bit brae at ■' ' ■' " ' ' ! an' there 1 heard .ens, an' making' a kind o' whcenge, wheenge, whecnging, that gart .. ' ' li>up to my mouth, an' what wan this but niy , . ^' ICeavcr, coining creeping on his wauie, an' sae fain to meet me again that he hardly kent what he wati doing. 1 took him up in my arms, an' <-lappit him. an' Paid a' the kind things to him that 1 could, an" uh cic a wark an' lidgetling aj* he uiaile' But yet 1 eouldna help thinking there was a kind o' ■: and melancholy in his liniks. What ails ye, 1; iuan ? quo' 1. I wish a' may be weel about C'ha|>elho|>c the night, but ye canna tell me that, ix>or fallow, or clttc yo wad. He somctimeH lickit my hi ' i' his toi, / somctimesniy hand, but Ik . gang av« . me as he usee that's sac pcrem ptory .'' said I. "'A stranger here, but a friend to you, Laidlaw. Here you do not pass to-nigiit.' "J never could bide to be braved a' ray life. 'Say you sae, friend V quo' I, 'then let me tell ye, stand out o' my way, or, be ye brownie or fairy — be ye ghaist, or be yc deil, in the might o' Heaven, 1 sail gie yc strength o" arm for aince; an' here's a cudgel that never fell in vain.' "So saying, I took my stick by the sma' cml wi' baith my hands, an' heaving it ower my shoulder I cam' straight on to the apparition, for 1 hardly kend what I was doing, an' my faith it had gut ten a paik' but it had mair sense than to risk it, fur when it saw that I was dcmentit, it e'en steppit quietly afT the road, and said, wi' a deep grane, 'Yc're a wilfu' man, Laidlaw, an' your wilfu'ncss may be your un- doing. Pass on your ways, and Heaven protect your senses. ' "I drcdd sair 1 was doing wrang, l)ut there was something in my nature tliat wadiia be contrair'd; sac by I went, an' lookit full at the thing as I \>a^t. It had nouther face nor hands, nor head nor feet, but tlierc was it standing like a lang corn sack. Weell if 1 kcnd wiietlicr I was gaiin on my feet or tlie crown o' my head! " Tl.c jI."!;* window that 1 came to was my ain, the ane o' that room where Maron ami I slept. I rappit at it wi' a rap that wont to 1)C weel kend, but it was barred, an" a' was darkness and vacancy \\iiliin. I tried every (h)or and window alang the forc.^ide o' the house, but a' wi' the same cllcct. 1 rajipit an' cad at them a', an' named every name that was in the house when 1 left it, but there was nouther voice, nor light, nor sound. 'Lord, have a care o' me!' said I to myscl, 'what's come o' a' my lock.' Can Clavers hae been here in my absence an' tacn them a' away ! or has the Brownie o' Bodsbeck eaten them up, stoop an' roop ! For a" that 1 hae wearied to see them, here I find my house left unto me deso- late. This is a waesome welcome hame to a father, an' a husband, an' a master! O what will come o' puir auld AVat now ]' "The Auld Room was a place 1 never thought o' ganging to; but no kenning what to mak o' mysel, round the west end o' the house I gaes towards the door o' the Auld Room. 1 soon saw through the seam atwcen the shutters that there was a light in it, an' kenning wccl that there was a broken lozen, 1 edged back the shutter naturally to see what was gaun on within. Jlay never a father's c'e again see sic a sight as mine saw ! There was my dear, my only daughter Katharine, sitting on the bed wi' a dead corpse on her knee, and her hands round it> throat ; and there wan the Brownie o' L ill-faurcd, runkled, withered thing, uj i form and gray beard, htandin at the l>ed hid" the pale corr>Be Uy the hand. It had it« tilher hand liftit up, and was mutter, mutt^^^r' I BpcU, while a crew o' the same kind •, ^ . .,. . . I phantonui were standing round them. 1 had na- doubt but there had lM?en a murder cummittit. ano that a dissection was neihl Uj Lake place, and I sae shockit that I wa^i just gaun to ruarout. I : it twice, but I hac. '• I now land there wa« a kind o' swarf coming o'er me, for it came uji, up, al>out my heart, an' up, uj", o'er my temples, till it darkened my een, an* I fand that if it met on the crown o my head I was gam- Sae I thought it good, as lang oh that wee master bit waH sound, to make ray C8caf>e, an' afT I ran. an fell, an' fell, an' rase an' ran atrain. ,\b Hi- was the nearest house, I fled for that, v.,.wi i wakened Davie Tail out o' hia bed in an uno plight. When he saw that I van a' bcdaabit wi mire o'er head an' ears (for I had faun :i ' ' times), it was inii><>s>ible to tell wha' o' us w frightit. "'Lord sauf uh, goodntan,' quo' he, 'are >i hangit !' '"Am I hantrit. ye IdiM-khoad!' sayis I. 'what d< ye mean '.' •■•| mm mean. .-a_\- l>aMc. w w-war yc ck ck cvecute !' •• ' l>inna be fcard for an auldactjuaintancc, Davie. quo' I. 'though he comes to you in this guise.' "'ttuisel' said Davie, staring, and ■• - '' • breath, '(iuigni guise' Then it se e-< dead .' ' '.'•(iin 1 were dead, yc lool. quu i, Uow couM I be here '. (Jive me your hand.' "• Uh-uh-uh-uuuh!" cried Dane, as I wore hirau] to the nook, and took haud o' his hand by force. • I'h, gooHt v;udewife hcrsel, Hlie'Huway ' set foot williin timt houae hut lici>ilf fur tin to (Jilmansclcueh. Hut oh, <;udeman, there arc K:id | or perhaps she did not ehoo(»e that their meeting thini^d Kaun on o'er-hy yonder, an' uiony a ane | hIiouM he witnessed hy other eyen In i*hort, kIr- thinks it will hae a blaek an' a dreadfu" end. Sit j had tjonielhini; of imiwrtanec to put to ri^'hlH : for home Hhe ran with f,'rcat ha>«to; and Walter, putting I bid 8ona to nonic work to detain them, followed her all alone. He stepped into the parlour, hut no one down an" thniw all" your dirty chio^, an' tell ud what yc hae seen the night V •••Na, na, DavicI unlc.-w I i:«i .~>>iiic rxjilanation. the thing tiiat I hae t^een the niglit maun l>e luckit up in this breast, an' he earried to the grave wi' it. Hut, Davie, I'm unco ill. the eauM Hweat i.s hrekkinu' on nic frac head t') f<>n her father's knee and bosom, ela.'^ped her arms aliout his neck, kissed him, atid shed a flood of tears on his breast. At first he felt somewhat startled at her embraee, and his arms made a feeble and involuntary elVort to presii her away from him; but she grew to him the eloser, and weleomcd him home willi sueh a burst of filial afl'ection and tendenuvs, that nature in a to the prayin' he fa's, an' sic non.sense 1 never heard short time regained her empire over the father's prayed a' my life. I'll be a rogue gin he wasna spcakin' to his Maker as ho ha in her face, with the large tear roll- ing in his eye. It was such a look as onesomctimcH takes of the corjise of one that was dearly beloved in life. Well did she read this look, for she had the eye of the eagle for discernment ; but she hid her face again on his shoulder, and endeavoured, by familiar inquiries, to wean him insensibly from his reserve, and draw him into his wonted freedom of conversation with her. •• Ye ken o'er weel," said he at length, ''how deep a baud ye hae o' this heart, Keatie. Ye' re my ain bairn still, and yc hae done mucklc for my life — but"— "Muckle for yuur life!" said she, interrupting him, " I have been but too remi.ss. I have regretted every hour that I was not with you attending you in prison, administering to all my father's wants, and helping to make the time of bondage and sus- pense pass over more lightsomely, but grievous cir- cumstances have prevented me. I have had sad doings here since you went away, my dear father; there is not a feeling that can rack the human heart has not been my share. But I will confess all my errors to my father, fall at his knees, and beg his forgiveness; ay, and I hope to receive it too." "The sooner ye do sae the better then, Keatie, " said he, "I was here last night, an' saw a sight that was enough to turn a father's heart to stane. " " You v^ere here lust night!" said she emphati- cally, while her eyes were fixed on the ground — " You were here last night ! Oh ! what shall become of me!"' " .\y, weel may ye say sae, poor lost and undone creature! I was here last night, though warned back by some o' your infemals, an" saw ye in the mids o' j'our dreadfu' game, wi' a' your bike o' hell round about ve. I watna what vour confession and 55 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES: explanation may do; but without these I hae sAvorn to myself, and I'll keep my aith, that j'ou and I shall never night thegither again in the same house, nor the same part o' the country — ay, though it should bring down my gray hairs wi' sorrow to the grave, I'll keep that aith." "I fear it will turn out a rash vow," said she, "and one that we may all repent to the last day that ^\'e have to live. There is danger and jeopardy in the business, and it is connected with the lives and souls of men; therefore, before we proceed farther in it, relate to me all the circumstances of your trial, and by what means you are liberated." " I'll do that cheerfully," said Walter, "gin it war but to teach you compliance." He then went over all the circumstances of his extraordinary trial, and the conditions on which he was discharged; and ended by requiring her posi- tively to give him the promised explanation. "So you are only then out on bail," said she, "and liable to be cited again on the same charges'" "No more," was the reply. " It is not then time yet for my disclosure," said she, "and no power on earth shall wring it from me; therefore, my dear father, let me beg of you to urge your request no farther, that I may not be under the painful necessity of refusing you again." "I hae tauld ye my determination, Keatie," re- turned he; "an' ye ken I'm no very apt to alter. If I sViculd bind ye in a cart wi' my ain hands, ye shall leave Chapelhope the night, unless ye can avert that by explaining your connections to me. An' why should ye no ? Things can never appear waur to my mind than they are j ust now. If hell itself had been opened to my e'e, an I had seen you ane o' the inmates, I coudna hae been mair astoundit than I was yestreen. I'll send ye to Edinburgh, an' get ye safely put up there, for I canna brook things ony langer in this state. I winna hae my family scattered, an' made a byeword and an astonishment to the hale country this gate. Outher tell me the meaning o't, or lay your account to leave your father's house this day for ever." " You do not know what you ask, father — the thing is impossible. Was ever a poor creature so hard bestead ! Will not you allow me a few days to prepare for such a departure f " Xo ae day, nor ae hour either, Kate. Ye see this is a situation o' things that canna be tholed ony langer." She sat down as if in deep meditation, but she neither sobbed nor wept. "You are only out on bail," said she, "and liable to be tried again on the same grounds of charge 1" "Ay, nae mair," said Walter; "but what need •ye harp on that ] I'm safe enough. I forgot to tell you that the judges were sae thoroughly convinced of my loyalty and soundness (as they ca'd it), that they wadna risk me to the vote of a jury; an' that the bit security they sought was naething but a mere sham to get honourably quit of me. I was likewise tauld by ane that kens unco weel, that the king has gotten ither tow to tease than persecuting Whigs ony langer, an' that there will soon be an order put out of a very different nature. There in never to be mair blood shed on account of the coven- anted refonnation in Scotland. " When Walter began his .speech, his daughter lifted up her downcast eyes, and fixed them on his face with a look that manifested a kind of hopeless apathy; but as he advanced, their orbs enlarged, and beamed with a radiance as if she had been some superior intelligence. She did not breathe — or, if she did, it stole imperceptibly from between her parted ruby lips. "What did you say,- my dear father 1" said she. ^ . "What did I say!" repeated Walter, astonished and nettled at the question. "What the deil was i' your lugs, that ye didna hear what I said! I'm sure I spake out. Ye are thinking o' something else, Kate." "Be so good as repeat every word that you said over again," said she, "and tell me whence you drew your intelligence." Walter did so; repeated it in still stronger and more energetic language than he had done before, mentioning at the same time how he had his in- formation, which could not be doubted. "It is enough, my dear father," said she. "Say not another word about it. I will lay open all my errors to my father this instant — come with me, and I will show you a sight ! " As she said this, she put her arm in her father's to lead him jiway; but Walter looked about him Avith a suspicious and startled eye, and drew some- what back. "You must go instantly," continued she, "there is no time so fit ; and whatever you may see or hear, be not alarmed, but follow me, and do as I bid you." " Nane o' your cantrips wi' me, Kate," said Walter. "I see your drift weel eneugh, but ye'll find yoursel disappointit. I hae lang expectit it wad come to this; but I'm determined against it." "Determined against what, my dear father]" "' Ye want to mak a warlock o' me, ye imp o' mischief," said Walter; "but I hae taen up my re- solution there, an" a' the temptations o' Satan sanna shake it. Nah ! Gudefaith, auld Wat o' the Cha- pelhope's no gaun to be led away by the lug an' the horn to the deil that gate." Katharine's mien had a tint of majesty in it, but it was naturally serious. She scarcely ever laughed, and but seldom smiled ; but when she did so, the whole soul of delight beamed in it. Her face was like a dark summer day, when the clouds are high and majestic, and the lights on the valley mellowed into beauty. Her smile was like a fairy blink of the sun shed through these clouds, than which there is nothing in nature that I know of so enliven- ing and beautiful. It was irresistible ; and such a 5G -^v^i.^ll^^. THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK. smile beamed on her benign countenance, when she heard her father's wild suspicions expressed in such a blunt and ardent way; but it conquered them all — he went away with her rather abashed, and with- out uttering another word. They walked arm in arm up by the side of the burn, and were soon out of sight of Nanny and the boys. Walter was busy all the way trying to form some conjecture Avhat the girl meant, and what was to be the issue of this adventure, and began to sus- pect that his old friends, the Covenant men, were some way or other connected with it; that it was they, perhaps, who had the power of rai.siug those spirits by which his dwelling had been so grievously haunted, Sbr he had heard wonderful things of them. Still there was no co-indication of circumstances in any of the calculations that he was able to make, for his house had been haunted by Brownie and his tribe, long ere he fell in with the fugitive Coven- anters. None of them had ever given him the least hint about the matter, or the smallest key to it, which he believed they would have done : nor had he ever mentioned a word of his connection with them to one of his family, or indeed to any one living. Few were the words that passed between the father and daughter in the course of that walk, but it was not of long duration. They soon came to the precipitate linn on the South Grain, where the soldiers had been slain. Katharine being a little way before, began to scram- ble across the face of the rock by a path that was hardly perceptible. Walter called after her, "Where are ye gaun, Keatie 1 It's impossible to win yout there — there's no outgate for a mouse." " We will try," answered she; "it is perhaps not so bad as it looks. Follow me — you- have nothing to fear." Walter followed; for however much he was af- frighted for brownies, and fairies, and dead corpses, and all these awful kind of things, he was no coward among rocks and precipices. They soon reached a little dass in the middle of the linn, or what an Englishman would call a small landing-place. Here she paused till her father reached her, and pointed out to him the singularity of their situation, with the burn roaring far below their feet, and the rock fairly overhanging them above. "Is it not a romantic and tremendous spoti" said she. " It is that 1" said Walter, "an' I believe you and I are the first that ever stood on it." " Well, this is the end of our journey," said she; and, turning about, she began to pull at a bush of heath that grew between two rocks. " What can she be gaun to do wi' the heather?" thought Walter to himself, when instantly a door opened, and showed a cavern that led into the hill. It was a door wattled with green heath, with the tops turned outward so exactly, that it was impos- sible for any one to know but that it was a bush of natural heath growing in the interstice. "Follow me, my dear father," said she, "you have still no- thing to fear ; " and so saying she entered swiftly in a stooping posture. Walter followed, but his huge size precluded the possibility of his walking other- wise than on all fours, and in that mode he fairly essayed to follow his mysterious child ; but the path winded — his daughter was quite gone — and the door closed behind him, for it was so constructed as to close of itself, and as Walter expressed it — "There was he left, gaun Ijoring into the hill like a moudi- wort, in utter darkness." The consequence of all this was, that Walter's courage fairly gave way, and by an awkward retrograde motion, he made all the haste he was able back to the light. He stood on the shelve of the rock at the door for several minutes in confused consternation, saying to himself, "What in the wide world is com'd o' the wench ? I believe she is gane away down into the pit bodily, an' thought to wile me after her ; or into the heart of the hill, to some enchantit cave, amang her brownies, an' fairies, an' hobgoblins. Gudeness have a care o' me, gin ever I saw the like o' this!" Then losing all patience, he opened the door, set in his head, and bellowed out, — "Hollo, lassie! What's com'd o' ye? Keatie Laidlaw — Hollo!" He soon heard footsteps approaching, and took shelter behind the door, with his back leaning to the rock, in case of any sudden surprise ; but it was only his daughter, who chided him gently for his timidity and want of confidence in her, and asked how he could be frightened to go where a silly girl, his own child, led the way ? adding, that if he desired the mystery that had so long involved her fate and behaviour to be cleared up, he behoved to enter and follow her, or to remain in the dark for ever. Thus admonished, Walter again screwed his courage to the sticking place, and entered in order to explore this mysteri- ous cave, following close to his daughter, who led him all the way by the collar of the coat as he crept. The entrance was long and irregular, and in one ■ place very narrow, the roof being supported here and there by logs of birch and alder. They came at length into the body of the cave, but it was so dimly lighted from above, the vent being purposely made among rough heath, which in part overhung and hid it from view without, that Walter was almost in the middle of it ere ever he was aware, and still creeping on his hands and knees. His daughter at last stopped short, on which he lifted his eyes, and saw indistinctly the boundaries of the cave, and a number of figures standing all around ready to receive him. The light, as I said, entered straight from above, and striking on the caps and bonnets which the}' wore on their heads, these shaded their faces, and they appeared to our amazed goodman so many blackamoors, with long shaggy beards and locks, and their garments as it were falling from their bodies piece-meal. On the one side, right over against him, stood a coffin, raised a 57 8 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. little on two stones; and on the other side, on a couch of rushes, lay two bodies that seemed already dead, or just in the last stage of existence; and, at the upper end, on a kind of wicker chair, sat another pale emaciated figure, with his feet and legs muffled up in flannel, a napkin about his head, and his body wrapped in an old duffel cloak that had once be- longed to Walter himself. Walter's vitals were almost frozen up l)y the sight — he uttered a hollow exclamation, something like the beginning of a prayer, and attempted again to make his escape, but he mistook the entrance, and groped against the dark corner of the cavern. His daughter pulled him by the arm, entreating him to stay, and ad- dressing the inmates of that horrid den, she desired them to speak to her father, and explain the cir- cumstances of their case, for he was still bcAvildered, and the scene was too much for him to bear. "That we will do joyfully," said one, in a strong intelligent voice. Walter turned his eyes on the speaker, and who was it but the redoubted Brownie of Bodsbeck, so often mentioned before, in all his native deformity ; while the thing in the form of a Ijroad bonnet that he wore on his head, kept his features, gray locks and beard, wholly in the shade; and, as he. ap- proached Walter, he appeared a being without any definitive form or feature. The latter was now standing on his feet, with his back leaning against the rock that formed the one side of the cave, and breathing so loud, that every whifF sounded in the caverned arches like the rush of the winter wind whistling through the crevices of the casement. Brownie approached him, followed by others. "Be not alarmed, goodman," said the creature, in the same solemn and powerful voice; "you see none here but fellow-creatures and Christians — none who will not be happy to Ijcstov.- on you their bless- ing, and welcome you as a father." He stretched forth his hand to take hold of our goodman's. It was bent to his side as by a spasm, and at the same time a volley of breath came forth from his capacious chest with such a rush, that it was actually like the snort of a horse that is fright- ened in the dark. The Brownie, however, laid hold of it, stifi" as it was, and gave it a squeeze and a hearty shake. "You are welcome, sir!" continued the shapeless mass, "to our dismal habitation. May the God of heaven particularly bless you in yovLT family, and in all your other concerns!" The naming of this name dispelled Walter's wild apprehensions like a charm, for though he was no devotee, j^et his mind had a strong bias to the super- stitions of the country in which he was bred ; there- fore this benediction, pronounced in such a tone of ardour and sublimity of feeling, had a poAverful effect on his mind. But the circumstance that proved the most effective of all, was perhaps the sensible assurance gained by the shaking of hands, that Brownie was really and truly a corporeal being. Walter now held out his band to all the rent ais they came forward one by one, and shook hands heartily with them all, while every one of them blessed him in the name of their Maker or Redeemer. Walter was still involved in mystery, and all this while he had never uttered a word that any man could make meaning of; and after they had all shook hands with him, he looked at the coffin ; then at the figures on the couch ; then at the pale wretch on the wicker- seat, and then at the coffin again. "Let us fully understand one another," eaid, Katharine. "Pray, Brown, be bo good as detail the circumstances of this party as shortly as you can to my father, for, as is natural, he is still jicrjilcxed and bewildered." "You see here, before you, sir, " said the little hunchbacked figure, "a wretched remnant of that long persecuted, and now nearly annihilated sect, the covenanted reformers of the west of Scotland. We were expelled from our homes, and at last hunted from our native mountains like wolves, for none of our friends durst shelter any of us on their grounds, on pain of death. Even the rest of the persecuted disowned us, and became our adversaries, because our tenets were more stern and severe than theirs ; for we acted on the principle of retaliation as far as it lay in our power, holding that to be in consistency with the laws of God and man ; therefore were we expelled from their society, which indeed we dis- dained. "We first came to Bodsbeck, where we got shelter for a few weeks. It was there that I was first sup- posed by the menials, who chanced to see me, to be a brownie, and that superstitious idea the tenant thought meet to improve for our safety, but on the approach of Lag's people he dismissed us. We then fled to Lcithenhall, from whence in a few days we were again compelled to flee ; and at last came to this wild, the only place in the south that soldiers had never searched, or could search with any degree of success. After much labour we completed this cave, throwing the stufl' into the torrent below, go that the most minute investigator could not distin- guish the smallest difference in the linn, or face of the precipice ; and here we deemed we might live for years without being discovered; and here we determined to live, till God should see fit, in his own good time, to send some relief to his persecuted church in these lands. "But alas, the worst evil of all awaited us! We subsisted for a considerable time by bringing ^^ctual3 over night from a great distance, but even the means of obtaining these failed us ; so that famine, and the dampness of the air here, we being compelled to lie inactive in the bowels of the earth for days and nights together, brought on us a malignant and • pestilential fever. In three days from its first ap- pearing, one half of our number were lying unable to move, or lift an eye. What could we do ! The remnant could not flee, and leave their sick and 58 Tin: HKUWNIi: OF HODSHKL'K. wounded biethren to perish here unseen. We were unable to carry them away with us, and if we had, we had no phiee to wiiioh we could have conveyed them. We dui>>l nut apply to you, for if you had taken pity on us, we knew it would cost you your life, and be the means of l)ereaving your family of all your well-earned wealth. In this great extre- mity, as a last resource, 1 watched an opportunity, and laid our deplorable caae before that dear maid, your daughter. Forgive these tears, sir; you see every eye around tills at mention of her name. She has been our guardian angel. She has, under Al- mighty Providence, saved the lives of the whole l)arty before you — has 8upi)lied us with food, cor- dials, and medicines : with beds, and with clothing, all from her own circumscribed resources. For us, she has braved every danger, and suffered every pri- vation ; the dereliction of her i)arcnts, and the ol)lo- quy of the whole country. That young man, whom you see sitting on the wicker chair there, is my only surviving son of five — he was past hope when she found him — fast posting to the last goal — her un- wearied care and attentions have restored him ; he is again in a state of convalescence. O may the eter- nal God reward her for what she has done to him and us! •'Only one out of all the distressed and hopeless party has perished, he whose body lies in that coffin. He was a brave, noble, and pious youth, and the son of a worthy gentleman. When our dear nurse and physician found your house deserted by all but herself, she took him home to a l)cd in that house, where she attended him for the last seven days of his life with more than filial care. He expired last night at midnight, amid our prayers and supplica- tions to heaven in his behalf, while that dear saint supported his head in his dying moments, and shed the tear of affliction over his lifeless form. She made the grave-clothes from her own scanty stock of linen — tied her best lawn napkin round the head ; and" — Here Walter could contain himself no longer ; he burst out a crying, and sobbed like a child. "An' has my Keatie done a' this?" he said, in a loud broken voice— "Has my woman done a' this, an' yet me to suspect her, an' be harsh till her ? I might hae kend her better!" continued he, taking her in liis arms, and kissing her cheek again and again. "But she shall hae ten silk gowns, an' ten satin anes, for the bit linen she has bestowed on sic an occasion, an' a' that she has wared on ye I'll make up to her a hunder an' fifty fauld." "0 my dear father," said she, "you know not what I have suffered for fear of having offended you ; for I could not forget that their principles, both civil and religious, were the oi)posite of yours — that they were on the adverse side to you and my mother, as well as the government of the country." " Deil care what side they war on, Kate!" cried Walter, in the same vehement voice; "ye hae taen the side o' human nature; the suflcring and the humble side, an' the side o' feeling, my woman, that bodes best in a young unexperienced thing to tak. It is better than tu do like yon bits o' gilliiirls about Edinburgh; poor shilly-shally milk-an'-water things! (Mil ye but saw how they cock up their noses at a Whig, an' thraw their bits o' gabs; an' downa bide to look at aught, or hear tell o' aught, that isna i' the tap fa.shion. Ye hae done very right, my good lassie — od, I wadna gie ye for the hale o' them, an they war a' hung in a strap like ingans." "Then, father, since you approve, 1 am happy. I have no care now save for these two poor men on that couch, who are yet far from being out of danger." "Gudeness guide us!" said Walter, turning about, "I thought they had been twa dead corpses. But now, when my cen are used to the light o' the place, I see the chaps arc living, an' no that unlife-likc, as a body may say. " He went uj) to them, spoke to them kindly, took their wan bleached sinewy hands in his, and said, he feared they were still very ill. "Better than we have been," was the reply — "Better than we have been, goodman. Thanks to you and your.'». " "Dear father," said Katharine, "I think if they were removed down to Chapelhoi)e, to dry comforta- ble lodgings, and had more regular diet, and better attendance, their health might soon be re-established. Now that you deem the danger over, will you suffer me to have them carried down there?" "Will I no, Kate] My faith, they shall hae the twa best beds i' the house, if Maron an' me should sleep in the barn! An ye sal hae naething ado but to attend them, an nurse them late an' aire ; an' I'll gar Maron Linton attend them too, an' she'll rhame o'er bladds o' Scripture to them, an' they'll soon get aboon this bit dwaum. Od, if outher gude fare or drogs will do it, I'll hae them playin' at the penny- stane wi' Davie Tait, an' prayin' wi' hira at night, in less than twa weeks." "Goodman," said old Brown (for this celebrated brownie was no other than the noted Mr. John Brown, the goodman of Caldwell) — " Goodman, well may you be proud this day, and well may you be uplifted in heart on account of your daughter. The more I see and hear of her, the more am I struck with admiration ; and I am persuaded of this, that, let your jmst life have been as it may, the Almighty M-ill bless and prosper you on account of that maid. The sedateness of her counsels, and the qualities of her heart, have utterly astonished me. She has all the strength of mind, and energy of the bravest of men, blent with all the softness, delicacy, and ten- derness of feminity. Neither danger nor distress can overpower her mind for a moment — tenderness does it at once. If ever an angel appeared on earth in the form of woman, it is in that of your daughter." I wish ye wad baud your tongue," said Walter, who stood hanging his head, and sobbing aloud. 59 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. The large tears were not now dropping from his eyes — they were trickling in torrents. " I wLsh ye wad baud your tongue, an' no mak me ower proud o' her. She's weel enough, puir woman. It's a — it's a shame for a great muckle auld fool like me to be booin an' greetin like a bairn thi.s gate, but deil tak the doer gin I can help it ! I watna what's ta'en me the day ! She's weel eneugh, puir lassie. I daresay I never learned her ony ill, but I little wat where she has gotten a' the gude qualities ye brag sae muckle o', unless it hae been frae heaven in gude earnest ; for I wat weel, she has been brought up but in a ramstamphish, hamely kind o' way wi' Maron an' me. But come, come! let us be done wi' this fuffing an' blawing o' noses, an' making o' wry faces. Row the twa puir .sick lads weel up, an' bring them down in the bed-claes to my house. An' d'ye hear, callants — gudesake, get your beards clippit or shaven a wee, an' be something warld-like, an' come a' down to Chapelhope ; I'll kill the best wedder on the Hermon Law, an' we shall a' dine heartily the- gither for aince ; I'll get ower Davie Tait to say the grace, an' we'll be as merry as the times will aUow." They accepted the invitation, with many expres- sions of gratitude and thankfulness, and the rays of hope once more enlightened the dejected counte- nances that had so long been overshadowed with the gloom of despair. "But there's ae thing, callants," said Walter, " that has astonished me, an' I canna help speering. Where got ye the coffin sae readily for the man that died last night?" ''That coffin," said Brown, "was brought here one night by the friends of one of the men whom Clavers caused to be shot on the other side of the ridge there, which you saw. The bodies were buried ere they came ; it grew day on them, and they left it ; so, for the sake of concealment, we brought it into our cave. It has been useful to us ; for when the wretched tinker fell down among us from that gap, Avhile we were at evening worsliip, we pinioned him in the dark, and carried him in that chest to your door, thinking he had belonged to your family. That led to a bloody business, of which you shall hear anon. And in that coffin, too, we carried off your ungrateful curate so far on his journey, dis- graced for ever, to come no more within twenty miles of Chapelhope, on pain of a dreadful death in twenty -four hours thereafter; and I stand warran- dice that he shall keep his distance. In it we have now deposited the body of a beloved and virtuous friend, who always foretold this, from its first arrival in our cell. But he rejoiced in the prospect of his dissolution, and died as he had lived, a faithful and true witness ; and his memory shall long be revered by all the just and the good." CHAPTER XVII. I hate long explanations, therefore tbia chapter shall be very short ; there are, however, some parts of the foregoing tale wliich require that a few word* should be subjoined in elucidation of them. This John Brown was a strenuous and desperate reformer. He was the son of a gentleman by a second marriage, and half-brother to the Laird of Caldwell. He was at the battle of Pentland, with five brave sons at his back, two of whom were filain in the action, and he him.self wounded. He was again at Bothwell Bridge with the remaining three, where he was a principal mover of the unhappy commotions in the army that day, owing to hia violent, irreclaimable principles of retaliation. A little before the rout became general, he waa wounded by a musket bullet, which grazed across his back, and deprived him of all power. A dragoon coming up, and seeing him alive, struck him again across the back .with his sword, which severed the tendons, and cut him to the bone. His sons had seen him fall, and knowing the spot precisely, they returned overnight, and finding him still alive, they conveyed him to a place of safety, and after- wards to Glasgow, where he remained concealed in a garret in a friend's house for some months, and, after great sufferings in body and mind, recovered of his wounds; but, for want of surgical assistance, he was so crooked and bowed down, that his nearest friends could not know him; for in his youth, though short in stature, he was strong and athletic. At length he reached his own home, but found it ran- sacked and desolate, and learned that hia wife was carried to prison, he knew not whither. His power- ful eloquence and M'ild Cameronian principles made him much dreaded by the other party ; a high re- ward was offered for apprehending him, so that he was driven to great straits, yet never failed to wreak his vengeance on all of the persecuting party that fell within his power, and he had still a number of adherents. At length there was one shot in the fields near IGrkconnel that was taken for him, and the promised reward actually paid, on which the particular search after him subsided. His two youngest .sons both died for the same cause with the former, but James, his third son, always kept by his father, until taken prisoner by Clavers as he was fishing one day in Coulter Water. Clavers ordered him to be instantly shot, but the Laird of Coulteralloes being present, interceded for him, and he was detained a prisoner, carried about from place to place, and at length con- fined in the jail at Selkirk. By the assistance of his father and friends he effected his escape, but not be- fore being grievouslj' wounded ; and by reason of the hurts he received, and the fever that attacked them in the cave, when Katharine was first introduced there 60 THE BROWNIl': OF BODSliECK. he was lying past hoi)c, hut l)y licr unwearied care and attention, he, with others, was so far recovered ivs to be ahlc to sit up, and walk ahout a little. He was poor Nanny's own son, and this John Brown was her husband, whom she had long deemed in another and a happier state. No wonder that she was shocked and attrii^hted when she saw him again in such a form at uiidnight, and heard him speak in his own natural and peculiar voice. Their meeting that day at Chapclhopc must be left to the imagina- tion; it is impossible for any pen to do it justice. It is only necessary to add, that Walter seems to liave been as mucli respected and beloved, by his acquaintances and domestics, at least, as any neigh- bour or master of tlie present day, as will appear from the few following remarks. The old session- clerk and precentor at Kttrick said "it was the luckiest thing that could have happened that he iiad come home again, for the poor's ladle had been found to be a i)und Scots short every Sunday since he and his family had left the church ; " and Sandy Cunningiiam, the conforming clergyman there, a very honest, inoflensive man, remarked "that he was very glad to hear the news, for the goodman always gave the best dinners at the visitations and c.vami- natious of any farmer in his parish ; and one always felt so comfortable in his house." Davie Tait said that "divine I'rovidence had just been like a stell dike to the goodman. It had bieldit him frae the bitter storm o' the adversary's wrath, and kcepit a' the thunderbolts o' the wicked frae lirekking on his head; that, for his part, he wad sit down on his knees an' thank heaven, Sunday and Saturday, for his return, for he could easily lend his master as muckle siller as wad stock a' IJiskinhope ower again, an' there was little doubt but he wad do it." Even old John of the Muchrah remarked, " that it was just as weel that his master was come back, for he had an unco gudc e'e amang the sheep when ought was gaun wrang on the hill, and the ewes wadna win nae mair into the hogg fence o' the Quave Brae, i' the day time at ony rate. " If there are any incidents in this tale that may still appear a little mysterious, they will all be ren- dered obvious by turning to a pamphlet entitled, "A Cameronian'a Tale, or the Life of John Brown, written by himself." But any reader of common ingenuity may very easily solve them all. 6i THE WOOL-GATHERER Love is a passion so capricious, so violent, and so productive of whimsical expedients, that there is no end of its varieties. Dramas may be founded, jjlots arranged, and novels written on the subject, yet the simple truth itself generally outlasts them all. The following story, which relates to an amiable family still existing, is so like a romance, that per- haps the word of a narrator is insufficient to stamp it with that veracity to which it is entitled. The principal incidents, howc\cr, are set down precisely as they were related to me, only I have deemed it meet to change the designations of the individuals so far, tliat they cannot be recognized by any one not previously acquainted with the circumstances. The late Laird of Earlhall dying in the fiftieth year of his age, as his grave-stone intimates, left be- hind him a widow, and two sons, both in their minority. The eldest was of a dashing impatient character; he had a kind and affectionate heart, but his actions were not always tempered with prudence, lie entered at an early age into the armyj and fell in the Peninsular war when scarcely twenty-two years of age. The estate tiius devolved wholly on the youngest, whose name for the present sliall be Lindsey, tliat being his second Christian name, and the one by which his mother generally called him. He had been intended for the law, but on his brother's death gave up the study, as too laborious for his easy and careless disposition. He was attached to literature, and after his return home, his principal employment consisted in poring over his books, and managing a little flower garden in which he took great delight. He was studious, absent, and sen- sible, but paid little attention to his estate, or the extensive farm which he himself occu2)ied. The old lady, who was a stirring, talkative, in- dustrious dame, entertained him constantly with long lectures on the ill effects of idleness. She called it the blight of youth, the grub of vu-tue, and the mildew of happiness, and sometimes, when roused into energy, she said it was the deviVs laug-settle on which he plotted all his devices against human weal. Lindsey bore all with great patience, but still con- tinued his easy and indolent way. The summer advanced, the weather became pecu- liarly fine, laljourers were busy in every field, and the shepherd's voice, and the bleating of his flocks, sounded from the adjacent mountains by break of day. This lively and rousing scene gave a new edge to the old lady's remonstrances; they came upon poor Lindsey thicker and faster, like the continued dropping of a rainy day, until he was obliged in some degree to yield. He tried to reai4er- vant.s, they have each of them filled the same situa- tion so long and so creditably, that I feci quite awk ward when standing looking over them — it looks as if I suspected their integrity, which has been so often proved. Besides, it is a leading maxim with me, that if a man, and more particularly a woman, know or lielieve that trust is reposed in them, they will, in ten out of eleven instances, descn-e it ; but if once they see that they are suspected, the feeling towards you is changed, and they will in a little time as likely deserve the one as the other. een trampled among the clay and sand, and is unfit for any human useT' "It will easily clean again, sir," said she, in a frank and cheerful voice, "and then it will be as good as ever." "It looks very ill ; 1 am positive it is for no man- ner of use." "It is certainly, as you say, not of great value, sir, but if it is of any, I may as well lift it as let it lie and rot here." "Certainly, there can be no harm in it; only I am sorry to see such a girl at such an employment." "It is better doing this than nothing," was the reply. The child now rolled himself over to get his face turned towards them, and, fixing his large blue eyes on Lindsey, looked at him with the utmost serious- ness. The latter observing a striking likeness be- tween the girl and the child, had no doubt that she was his sister, and, unwilling to drop the conversa- tion, he added, abruptly enough, "Has your mother sent you to gather that stuff?" "I have neither father nor mother, sir." " But one who supplies both their places, I hope. You have a husljaud, have you not]" "Not as yet, sir, but there is no time lost." She blushed; but Lindsey coloured .ten times deeper when he cast his eyes on the child. His heart died within him at the thoughts that now obtruded themselves ; it was likewise wrung for his imprudence and indelicacy. What was his business M'hether she was married or not, or how she was con- nected with the child ] She seemed likewise to be put into some confusion at the turn the conversation was taking, and, anxious to bring it to a conclusion as soon as possible, she tucked up the m'ooI in her apron below one arm, and was lifting up the child with the other to go away, when Lindsey stepped forward, saying, "AVill not you shake hands with me, my good little fellow, before you goT' "Ay," said the child, stretching out his little chubby hand; "how d'ye doo, siH" Lindsey smiled, shook his hand heartily, and put a crown piece into it. "Ah, sir, dont give him that," said she, blushing deeply. "It is only a plaything that he must keep for my sake. " "Thank you, sil," said the child. " Great muckle shilling, mamma." » This last appellation, mamma, struck Lindsey motionless ; he had not another word to say, while the two went away prattling to one another. "Very lalge fine-looking shilling, mamma." "Ay, it is a very bonny shilling, dear, Kaid kIic kissing him, and casting a parting look al the petri fied fisher. "Mamma, mamma!" repeated i.,indeey Uj him self an hundred times, trying it with every modu lation of his voice. " This is the most extraordinary circumstance I ever witnessed. Kow, who in th' world can comprehend that thing called woman Who would not have sworn that that rural beaut\ there was the most pure, innocent, and untainted of her sex ? And yet, behold! she has a fine boy run- ning at her side and calling her mammxi ! Poor girl, is she not to be pitied ? when one thinks how some tender parent might rejoice over her, antici pating so much better things of her! It is plain shi has been very indifferently used by the world — moBt cruelly used — and is she the less interesting on that account] I wish I knew how to make iier some amends." Thus reasoned our moral fisher with himself, kcei)ing all the while a sidelong glance towards her, till he saw her enter a little neat whitewashed cot- tage not far from the side of the stream ; there were sundry other houses inhabited by cottagers in the hamlet, and the farm-house stood at the head of the cluster. The ground belonged to Lindsey, and the farmer was a quiet, sober man, a widower, with a large family. Lindsey now went up the water a-fishing every day ; and though he often hovered a considerable while at the washing-pool, and about the crook opposite to the cot. pretending all the while to be extremely busy fishing, he could never get another sight of the lovely Wool-gatherer, though he desired it above all present earthly things: for, some way or other, he felt that he pitied her exceed- ingly, and though he was not greatly interested in her, yet he was very much so in the child — he was certain it u-as the child that interested him so much — nevertheless, he was sorry too on account of the mother, for she seemed very gentle, and very amiable, and must have been abominably used ; and therefore he could not help feeling very sorry for her indeed, as well as deeply interested in the child. On the second and third day that he went up, little George came out paddling to meet him at the watc Ktt-n but two or three bareheaded l>oys, with their hair the <—' ■ ' peat-ashes, setting tlieir head^ alwavn now a: by the corner of the house, and vaniicgiin a^rain to Bew hi.- shoe, and little George prattlc>-v.l » .u sic a good halp." " An' how hae ye been sin' we saw ye. Ham> "Gaylies!" " I think yc hae brought twa youn? stransfn- wi' ye]" " I wat have I. " Whar fell ye in wi' them ? " '• I want to speak a word to you. father." The old shepherd flung down his work, and fol- lowed his son round the corner of the hou.'sc. It > not two minutes till he came ba<-k. Jane had - down on the sod -seat. " This is a pleasant evening, " said he, addres^ini: her. " It is a very sweet evening." was the reply. " Ye'U be weary; ye had better ganfi in and. rest ye." She thanked him, and was preparing to go. "It's a muckle matter," continued he, "whan fock can depend on their ain. My Baniy never deceived me a" his life, an' you are as welcome here TlIK WooLGATHKUKIt. 08 heart can iiuk ve. Tlie flower in M»y id nao weleuiner tliuii ye ure to thirt bit Hhielini;, und your share of ii' that's in it. Come your way« in, luy bonny woiuuu, un' tliink nae cshunie. Veiihull never bo lookit on jw either u beggar or borrower here, but just anc o' ourncls. " So Haying he took her hand in both hid, and led her into the hourtc. " Wife, here's a young stranger our son has brouglit to bide a while wi' yc; mak her welcome i' the meantime, an' yell be better acquaintit by and by." •'In troth I sal e'en do sae. Come awa in by to the muekle chair. Whar is he himsel, the muckle, duddy, fellered gouk !" "Ah, he's coming, poor fellow; lie's takin a tunc to himsel at the house-end — there's u shower i' the heads wi' Harny ; his htart can stand nacthing— it is as saft as a snaw-l>a', an' far mair easily thawed, but it is aye in the right place for a' that." It was a happy cveninir: the conversation wiw in- teresting, and kept nj) till a late hour; and when the old couple learned from Jane of the benevolent disinterested part that their son had acte^- thc Htream und brought it back again, went to di*- prove that. '• That I can be in love with the girl i^ out of the (juestion ; there is no danger of KUih an event; for, in the first place, I would not wrong her or abuse her atl'ections for the wlmle world; und in the next, I have a certain rank and e^.limation to uphold in Hocicty. I am a proprietor to a large ex- tent — a freeholder of the county — come of a gooeech *tu< a ^ >..•...•.•. .• to Kobin. Pray, gentle reader, did you ercr kc a eoanlrr maiilen baking • " " " " did, you must li, , them one by one to the gridiron, she always •tood straight up, with her bead . '. to one side, and moulded them wi- ... orb, as nearly resembling tl.. You must likewise have remarked, that while en- gaged in this becoming part of her a\ was never once looking at her work, bin : her head had that sly cast to the one side, her cv i - were ever and anon fixed on the window, noting what was going on without. 1 ' - ^i . .r - > - ^ ; i coming from the hill, or 1 ; you have ever seen this, you can easily comprehend the attitude I mean— if vou have never, it is a creat pity! Exactly in such a situation stood our honest far- mer, Kobin Muokerland. plying his bonnet round with both hands in the same wav— his head was like- THK WuoL(iATIIKkKi:. wIm tunivil to uiie aiUe, ami hiii vyen iiuiiiovi-alily fixed uii the wiiiitiiw- it wan tlio ^irlH iMMitioii tu a luir. Ia'I hiiv iu:m tuke hin f ' •'■ - rilio ihe twu altitddiit, tlitrv i* iiui the . le uf ilif fcffiioe to Ihj iiiiu.'enicoth in oven alackeiied uikI Ih'ii' and tirin. I>.v it«t o movealile. Yc-t how it ooino* I do nut eoniprvhcnd, and Hhuiild like much to cunMiilt my friend, l)avi4l Wilkie, alM)ut it it irt ]>laiii that the atti'- '■ - ■•■■■ prefitiely the Kiiao. yet the irirl'H in quite >; — UobiuH waM iierfeetly {litiable. He had nut one word to say, hut liaked hit* l»unnet ' ' ' "This in my determination," «•■•: , i " and you may |my what attention to it you plcanc." " <>d, air, I'm exwjwively vexeenetl, now when ye hae lettcn mc t«ee it in it«t true li|;ltt, an' 1 oal do what I can to find her avcain, an' mak her what amemU I am ahlc. Hut, od yc wc, naelMxly kens when" she'-, ye «ee. Sh' into the wild lli;;hland.f. or away to th.. a country ayont the Bea that they ca' Fife, an' how am I to j;ct her ! therefore, if I eiinna an" dinna ffet her, I ho[>c you will excuse me, esj>ceially oa neither the contrivance nor the act wan mine. " " You and my honoure«l mother settle that Itc- twixt you. I will not ahate a tittle of that 1 have Kiid : but to encouraf^c your (X'ople in the Hoarch, or whomsoever you arc plea*»cd to emjdoy, I ghall give ten |?uinea8 to the pcnwu who findH her and rciitoreH her to her home. " "Aweel, son Linduey," 8aii done; but them that will to Cupar maun to Cuj)ar. For the sake o' Kobin and his family, and no for the neitirhlKJurhood o* thi.s whilly-wha of a young witch, I shall pi'e the bo«ly that fuuh her half as nuukle." "And I," said IJobin, " siiall gie the same, which will make up the reward to twenty guineas, an' it is mair than I can wccl spare in sic hard times. I never saw better come o' women's schemes, as I say whiles to my titty Meg. " The company parted, not on the most social terms ; and that niirht, before Robin dismi.ssed his servants to their beds, he said, " Lads, my master informs mc that I am to be plaguit wi' the law for putting away that la^ic Jeany an' her bit brat atwccn term days. I gie ye a' your liberty fnxe my wark until the end o" ueist week, if she be not found afore that time, to search for her; and whoever finds her, and brings her back to her cottage, shall have a reward o" twenty guineas in his loof.'" A long conversation then ensued on the best means of recovering her : but Barnaby did not wait on this, but hasted away to the stable loft, where his chest etood at the head of his bed, dressed himself in his Sunday clothes, and went without delay to the near- est stage where horses were let out for hire, got an old brown hack equipped with a bridle, saddle, and pad, and off he net dirvvtly for hid father'it cof where he arrived next morning liy the time th« »uu waM up. To deM<^-ril>e all Harnaby'« aiivcnturcH that night would take a volume by ititeif, for it wait the very •''"•■ • .!. ■ ■ lit afraid of none of them mu«lic; yet ho hanlly waM he I — t ^iii, thetic at timeit, that he had no other re- L- than to i«hut his eycH cIomt, and puialo colour o' the fair daylight, that the e'e o' <'hri^lian maunna sec them ; or gang away an' sleep in their .'cther at the Kiioe board, the old shepherd returned thanlui to the Bt- stower of all good things, and then kih^j! ' In- lifted her on the horse behind his wjn. ^n ye-weel, Jeany, my woman," eaid he; "1 think you will be happy, for I'rn sure you deber\-e to be eae. If ye continue to mind the thing tliat'g good, there is Ane wha will never forsake ye; I come gurety for him. An' if ever adversity iibould again fa' to your lot, ye shall be as welcome to our bit house as ever, and to your share o' ilka thing that's in it; an' if I should see you nac mair, I'll never bow my knee before my Maker without rememlx-ring you. God bless you, my bonny woman! FarewceL" Jane dropped a tear on her Ijcncfactor's hand, for who could stand such unaifectcd goodnees! Barnaby, who had foldepy man than he was that day ; he was so proud of his parents' kindness to Jane, and of the good he thought he was doing to all parlies, and, besides, the twenty guineas was a fortune to him. He went on prating to Geor^ge, who was quite delighted with the ride on such a grand horse ; yet at times he grew thoughtful, and testified his regret for the horse, lest he should be tired with carrying them all. "Geogc vely solly fol poolc holse. Balny I Geogc no like to be a holee. " Many were the witch and fairy talcs that Barnaby related that day to amuse his fellow travellers. He set down Jane and Geonrc safe at their cottage before evening, and astonished Robin not a little, who was overjoyed to see his lost gimmcr and lamb (as ho termed them) bo soon. He paid Barnaby his twenty guineas that night in excellent humour, making some mention, mean time, of an cdd proverb, "They that hide ken where to seek." and without delay sent information to the mansion-house that Jane was found, and safely arrived at her own house, a piece of news which createil no little stir at Earlhall. The old lady had entertained strong hopes that Jane would not be found; or that she would refuse to return after the treatment she had met with, and the suspicions that were raised against her ; in short, she wished her not to retuni, and she hoped she would not; but now all her fond hopes were extin- guished, and she could see no honourable issue to the affair. It was likely to turn out a love intrigue, a low and shameful business, let her son pretend Avhat he chose. She instantlv lost all command of 78 TIIK \vooLGATin:ui:u. her tenii)er, liurricJ from one imit of tlie house to another, iiuiirrflloil with every one of the maid ser- vants, and f;avc the two prettiest ones warnintj to leave their places. liinilrtey was likewise a little but of his reason tliat niL,'l»t, but his fcclinjfs were of a very diftcrent kiuil. lie loved all the human rare; he loved the little hirds that sang upon the trees almost to dis- traction. The deep blue of the heavens never ap- peared 80 serene — the woods, the fiehls, and the llowers, never so delightful; such a new anoge. — Whisht, sirs .' baud a' your tongues ; my billy Rob's gaun to mak a speech. " "Humph I" quoth Robin, and gave his head a cast round. " H umph I " ret u rned M eg, " what ki nd of a i?peecb is that ? Is that to the puri)08e ! If that \>c to the purpose, a sow could hae made that speech as weel as you, and better. The truth is, mem, that our Rob's aye wantin to be on his high horse afore grit folk ; now I says till him, Rob, says I, for you to fa' to afore your betters, and be tr>in to speak that vile nicky-nacky language they ca' English, instead o' being on your liigh horse then, ye are Ju^t like a heron walkin on stilts, and that's but a daft -like beast. Ye sude mind, says I. Rob, man, says I, that her ladyship's ane o' our ain kind o" fock, an' was bred at the same beck an' manger wi' oursels; an' although she has lightit on a good tethering, ye're no to think that she's to gi'e hcrscl airs, an' forget the good auld haemilt blude that rins in her veins." The lady's cheek was burning with in ' ;i, for of all topics Meg was fallen on the most ..y; nothing hurt her feelings half so much as hints of her low extraction. Lindsey, though vexed, could not repress a laugh at the proud offence on the one side, and the untameable vulgarity on the other. Meg discerned nothing wrong, and if she had would not have regarded it. She went on: "Ah, Meg, woman ! quo' he, ye ken little thing about it, quo* he; when the sole of a shoe's turned uppermost, it maks aye but an unbowsome overleather ; if ye com an auld glide-aver weel. she'll soon turn about her heels and fling i' your face." Robin's whole visage changed ; his eyes were set on ileg, but his brows were screwed down, and his cheeks pursed up in such a manner that those were scarcely discernible; his mouth had meanwhile as- sumed the form and likeness of one of the long S's on the belly of a fiddle. Meg still went on. " Dear Rob, says I, man, says I, that disna apply to her ladyship ava, for everithing that she does and every- thing that she says shows her to be a douse hamcly body; the very way that she rins bizzin through the house and flj^ting on the sers-ants, proves that she maks nae pretensions to high gentility." Lindsey, who now di-eaded some explosion of rage SO Till' WOOL (lATIIKUI'i; suliviTsivc of all tlocoruui, l)e;,'an aiul rallied Met,', eomineiideil her How of Kjiirits ami fredli looks, ami saitl she was very iiiueh of a lady herself. " I wat, laird," said she, " I think aye if a hody behaves wi' ease, an' without ony stiffness an' jire- cisioii, that body never hehaves ill ; hut, to he sure, you grand foek ean say an' «lo a hantle o' thinpj that winna be ta'en alt' our hands. For my i>art, when the j^jreat like rase about you an' Jeanv tin n', I says— says I " This was a thrcatenins; i)refaee. Lind-sey durst not stand the sequel. " 1 beg your pardon for the I>rcsent, Miss Peggy," said he; '• we shall attend to your ob8er\-ations on this topic after we have pre- pared the way for it somewhat. I was, and still am convinced that this young woman received very hai-sh and unmerited treatment from our two families. I am desirous of making her some reparation, and to patronize her as well as this boy if I find her in any degree deserving of it. This jirotection shall, more- over, be extended to her in a manner that neither suspicion nor blame sliall attach to it; and, as we are all implicated in the wrong, 1 have selected you as judges in this matter. It is imjiossible," con- tinued he, addres.sing himself to Jane, "to be in your com]iany half an hour and not discern that your education has been much above the gjthercof life which you now occupy : but I trust you will find us all dis])o.sed to regard you with the eye of fricndshij>, if you will be so good as relate to us the incidents of your life which have contributed to your coming among us." "The events of my life, sir," said she, "have been, like the patriarch's days, few and evil, and my intention was never to have divulged them in this district — not on my own account, but for the sake of their names that are contiected with my history, and are now no more. Nevertheless, since you have taken such an interest in my fortunes, it would both be ungrateful and imprudent to decline giving you that satisfiiction. Excuse me for the present in with- holding my family name, and I will relate to you the incidents of my short life in a very few words. " My father was an eminent merchant. Whether ever he was a rich one or not I cannot tell, but he certainly was looked upon as such, for his credit and dealings were very extensive. My mother died twelve years ago, leaving my father with no more children than another daughter and myself. I received my education in Edinburgh along with my sister, who was two years older than I. She began to manage my father's household affairs at thirteen years of age, and I went to reside with an aunt in East Lothian, who had been married to a farmer, but was now a widow, and occupied a farm herself. "Whether it originated in his not finding any amusement at home, or in consciousness of his affairs getting into confusion, I know- not, but our father about this time fell by degrees from attending to his business in a great measure, and sunk into de- spondency. .My sisters lettci-s to me were full of regret; my aunt being in a declining stale of health I could not leave her for some months. At hist she died, leaving me a legacy of five hundred |>oun Is, when 1 hastened home, and did all in my power to aid my sister in comforting our father; but he did not long survive, and dying insolvent we not only lost our protector, but had nothing to depend on save my little legacy and our own industry and exertions. We retired to a small lodging; none of our friends thought proper to follow us to our retreat ; and now, bereaved as we were of our natural protector, we could not lielp perceiving that we were a friendless and helpless pair. My sister never recovered licr sjtirits; a certain dejection and al)sence of minc with hu- rectivcd bv tli' I engraven on the tablets of my n; obliterated while that hold.s in* manity. "The shock which my fcclinirs death of the only friend of my heart, with the m\c terious circumstances which accompanie' preparations for the funeral, I know not how or when it would have l>een set about by any orders of mine. They soon enticed me away from the body, which they suffered me to visit but seldom, and. it seems, I was perfectly pas- sive. That such a thing as my ei.*ter's funeral wa.« approaching, occurred but rarely to ray mind, and then, it in a manner surprised me as a piece of un- expected intelligence was wont to do, and it as sud- denly slipped away, leanng my imagination again to wander in a maze of inextricable confusion. "The first thing that brought me to myself was a long fit of incessant weeping, in which I shed abun- dance of tears. I then manifested an ardent desire to see the child, which I recollect perfectly well. 1 considered him as the only remembrance left to mc of a respectable and well-descended family, and of the dearest friend ever 1 remembered upon earth. When I fii-st saw him, he was lying on an old woman's knee; and when I stooped to look at him, he, with a start of his whole frame, fixed his young unstable eyes on me, and stretched out his little spread hands toward me, in which position he remained steadily 82 TiiK W(k>l(!athi:im:i: fitr u i.-uii8i(K'nil)le time. This wa.s bO iiiarkcd ami uiicuminoii, that all the Htuiulcrs liy tuuk nuticu ol° it; and the Woman who held him said, 'Sec! saw ye ever the like o" that I I never saw the like o' that a' my life I It is 8uix>ly impossible he can ken yer "It was, without doubts an involuntary motion of the babe, but I could not help viewinj^ it as a movement eH'ei.ted by the Great Spirit of universal nature. I thought I saw the child beseeching me to i)rotect his helpless innocence, and not to abandon him to an injurious world, in which he had not another friend remainin!:!:, until he could think and act for himself. I adopted him that moment in my heart as my son — I took him into my arms a.s a j>art of myself! — That 8imi)le motion of my dear ciiild fi.\cd my resolution with respect to him at once, and that resolution never has been altered nor injured in the smallest part. "I hired a nurse fur him; and, it being term time, gave up my house, and sold all my furniture, save the little that I have still, and retired to a cot- tage at Slateford, not far from Edinburgh. Here I lived frugally with the nurse and child; and became so fond of him, that no previous period of my life, from the days of childhood, was ever so hapi>y; in- deed, my happiness was centred solely in him, and if he was well, all other earthly concerns vanished. I found, however, after paying the rent of the house, the expenses of the two funerals, and the nurse's wages, that my little stock was reduced nearly one-third; and fearing that it would in a little while Ijc wholly exhausted, I thought the sooner I reconciled myself to hardships the better; so leaving the remainder of my money in the bank as a fund in case of sickness or great necessity, 1 came and took this small cottage and garden from your farmer. I had no ambition but that of bring- ing up the child, and educating him, independent of charitable assistance; and I cannot describe to you how happy I felt at the prospect, that the in- terest of ray remaining property, with the small earnings of my own industry, were likely to prove more than an equivalent to my yearly expenses. I have from the very first acknowledged little George as my own son. I longed for a retirement, where I should never be recognized by any former acquaint- ance. In such a place I thought mj' story might gain credit ; nor could I think in any degree to stain the name of my dear departed sister by any sur- mises or reflections that might in future attach to it by telling the story as it was. How I should have felt had he really been my son I cannot judge; but instead of feeling any degradation at being sup- posed his mother, so wholly is my existence bound up in him, that I could not bear the contrary to be supposed. ' ' Who his father is, remains a profound, .and to me, unaccountable mystery. I never had the slight- est suspicion of the rectitude of her behaviour, and cannot uiidci.-.luiil to tiiih day how hhc ci/uld pos- sibly carry on un amour without suffering me to perceive any Higns of it. She had spoken but little to the people with whom I found her; but their im- jiressions were, that she was not married, ami I duret not inquire farther; for, rather than have discovered his father to be unworthy, I chose to remain in utter ignorance concerning it, and I could not think fa- vourably of one who had deserted her in such cir- cumstance.'i. There was no man whom I had ever seen that I ctiuld in the least suspect, if it was not the young otliccr that I formerly mentioned, and he was the least likely to be guilty of su -h an a?t of any man I ever saw." Here Lindsey again sprang to his Icct. •There is something occurs to my mind — the most cxtra- ordinarj' circumstance — if it be really so. You wished to be excused from giving your surname, but there is u strange coincidence in your concerns with my own, which renders it ab.solutcly necessary that I should be informed of this. " Jane hesitated, and saitl she could not think of divulging that so as to make it public, but that she would trust his honour, and tell it him in his car. She then whispered the name M' y. "What!" said he aloud, forgetting the injunction of secrecy, of the late firm M' y and Key- nolds!" "The .same, sir." The positions into which he now threw himself, and the extravagant exclamations that he uttered, cannot here be all described. The other three per- sonages in the room all supposed that he was gone out of his reason. After repeating, till quite out of breath, " It is she ! it is she ! it is the same ! it is the same !" and, pressing both her hands in his, he exclaimed, " Eternal Providence ! how wonderful are thy ways, and how visible is thy superintendence of human affairs, even in the common vicissitudes of life ! but never was it so visible as in this ! My dear child," continued he, taking little George in his arms, who looked at him with suspicion and wonder, "by how many fatal and untoward events, all seem- ingly casual, art thou at last, without the aid of human interference, thrown into the arms of thy natural guardian ! and how firmly was my heart knit to thee from the very first moment I saw thee ! But thou art my own son, and shalt no more leave me; nor shall your beautiful guardian either, if she will accept of a heart that her virtues have captivated. This house shall henceforth be a home to you both, and all my friends shall be friends to you, for you are my own." Here the old lady sprang forward, and laying hold of her son by the shoulder, endeavoured to pull him away. "Consider what you are saying, Lindsey, and what you are bringing on yourself, and your name, and your family. You are raving mad — that child can no more be yours than it is mine. Will you explain yourself, or are Ave to believe that you have 83 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. indeed lost your reason '.' I say, where is the eori- sistcncy in supposing that cliild can be yours!" " It is impossible," said Robin. " I say it's nae sic a thing as unpossible, Rol)," quoth Meg. " Haud your tongue, ye ken nacthing about it— it's just as possible that it may be his as another's — I sal warrant whaevcr be aught it, it's no corned there by sympathy ! Od, if they war to come by sympathy"- • Here Meg was interrupted by Lindsey, who waved his hand for silence— a circumstance that has sorely grieved the relator of this talc — for of all things he would have liked to have had Meg's ideas, at full length, of children being produced by sympathy. "I beg your pardon," said Lindsey, "I must have appeared extravagant in my rapturous enthusiasm, having forgot but that you knew all the circum- stances as well as myself. The whole matter is, however, very soon and very easily explained." He then left the room, and all the company gaz- ing upon one another. Jane scarcely blushed on receiving the vehement proffer from Lindsey, for his rhapsody had thrown her into a pleasing and tender delirium of amazement, which kept every other feel- ing in suspense. In a few seconds he returned, bringing an open letter in his hand. " Here is the last letter," said he, "ever I received from my brave and only brother; a short extract from which will serve fully to clear up the whole of this very curious business." lie then read as follows: — "Thus, you see, that for the last fortnight the hardships and perils we have encountered have been many and grievous ; but TO-MORROW will be dccisivc one way or another. I have a strong prepossession that I shall not survive the battle ; yea, so deeply is the idea impressed on my mind, that with me it amounts to an absolute certainty; therefore, I must confide a secret to you which none in the world know, or in the least think of, save another and myself. I Avas privately mar- ried before I left Scotland to a young lady, lovely in her person, and amiable in her manners, but with- out any fortune. We resolved, for reasons that must be obvious to you, to keep our marriage secret, until I entered to the full possession of my estate, and if possible till my return; but now (don't laugh at me, my dear brother), being convinced that I shall never return, I entreat you, as a last request, to find her out and afford her protection. It is probable that by this time she may stand in need of it. Her name is Amelia M' y, daughter to the late mer- chant of that name of the firm M' y and Reynolds. She left her home with me in private, at my earnest request, though weeping with anguish at leaving a younger sister, a little angel of mercy, whom, like the other, you will find every way worthy of your friendship and protection. The last letter that I had from her was dated from London, the 7th of April, on which day she embarked in the packet for Leith, on her way to join her sister, in whose house, near Briistol'ort, you will prolwiMy find her. Farewell, dear brother. Comfort ouriuother; and 0, for my Bake, cherish and Hupijort my dear wife ! We have an awful j>roKpe<'t \n.' " - ' ■ . are a handful of brave determined fr.- I to conquer or die together." The old lady now snatched little (itorgc up in her arms, prcs.scd him to her boKum, and hhed -il"""' ••"••• of tears over him. — "He ih indeed my . he is! he is !" cried ebe. " My own dear di«>interc8t- edly adopted and brought up the heir of Karlb&ll, shall still be his mother, if she will aecept of a heart that renders her virtues evcr>' homaire. an ' ' * !i uni.-fon with her uwii fu cvcrv tdiu- carl ring she wore on her finger, and finally fell to adjutitim; some of little George's clothes. They were all silent — it was a quakcr meeting, and might bare continued bo much longer, had not the spirit fortunately moved Meg. " By my certy, laird ! but ye hae made ber a good offer! an' yet she'll pretend to tarrow at takin't ! Hut ye' re sure o' licr, tak my word for it. Ye dinna ken women. IJlcss ye ! the young hizzies mak aye the greatest fike about things that they wish maist to hae. I ken by mysel — when Andrew l'istolft used to come stamplin in to court me i' the dark, I wad hae cried (whispering), ' C»et away wi' ye. ye l)owled-likc shurf !— whar are ye coming pechin an' fuffin' to me?" Blcs.s your heart ! gin Andrew had run away when 1 bade him, I wad hae run after him, an' grippit him by the coat-tails, an' brought him back. Little wist I this morning, an' little wist mae than I, that things war to turn out this way. an' that Jcany was to be our young lady ! She was little like it that night she gaed away greetin wi' the callant on her back ! Dear Rob. man. quo' I to my billy, Avhat had you and my lady to do wi' them ! Because her day and yours are ower. do ye think they'll no be courting as lang as the warld stands; an' the less that's said about it the better— I s-iid sae!" "And you said truly. Meg," rejoined Lindsey. "Now, pray. Miss Jane, tell me what you think of my proposal *" " Indeed, sir," answered she, " you overpower me. I am every way unworthy of the honour you propose 84 A TALK OF IM:NTLAN1). lor iiiv ai."LT|ilaiuT ; hui a.s I raiiuni part witli uiy dear little (Jt'or^a-, witli your h-avi- I will ntay witli my lady and take care of liiiii." " Well, I consent that ymi shall stay with my mother as her couii>anion. A lon^'cr ae(|uaintance li waH not many ni<'ii(iio •iiiiii >>ii.- .iiiii,ii>i< ji.iir were united in tlie liondn of matrimony, ami they arc Htill living', ctitc'emeu^t\, imt in a manner so confused and indetinile, that it is impos- sible to comprehend either the connection of the in- cidents with one another, or what inference he wishes to draw from them. The facts seem to have been these. Mr. John llaliday having been in hiding on the hills, after the battle of I'cntland, became imjia- tient to hoar news concerning the sulTering of his brethren who had been in arms, and in i)articular if there were any troops scouring the district in which he had found shelter. Accordingly, he left his hid- ing-place in the evening, and travelled towards the valley until about midnight ; when, coming to the house of Gabriel Johnstone, and perceiving a light, he determined on entering, as he knew him to be a devout man, and one much concerned al)Out the suf- ferings of the Church of Scotland. Mr. Haliday, however, approached the house with great caution, for he rather Avendcred why there should be a light there at midnight, while at i.ke same time he neither heard psalms singing nor uie accents of prayer. So, casting off his heavy shoes, for fear of making a noise, he stole softly up to the little window from whence the light beamed, and peeped in, where he saw, not Johnstone, but another man, whom he did not know, in the very act of cut- ting a soldier's throat, while Johnstone's daughter, a comely girl about twenty years of age, was stand- ing deliberately by, and holding the candle to him. Haliday was seized with an inexjiressible terror; for the floor was all blood, and the man was strug- gling in the agonies of death, and from his dress he appeared to be a cavalier of some distinction. So completely was the Covenanter overcome with horror, that he turned and fled from the house with all his might ; resolved to have no participation in the crime, and deepl}^ grieved that he should have witnessed such an act of depravity as a private deliberate mur- der, perpetrated at such an hour, and in such a place, by any who professed to be adherents to the reformed religion of the Scottish church. So much had Hali- day been confounded that he even forgot to lift his shoes, but (led without them; and he had not run above half a bowshot before he came upon two men htustening to the house of (Jabricl Johnstone. As s; .1 .1 1.. it had only the efl'cct c: dearer to them. The longed-for night of the meet- ing in the old hay-banj at 1> : " i it waa attended by u still grciitcr u .....: on the preceding. A more motley rruup ran hardly be conceived than apjicared in the bom ' it, and the lamps Ix^ing wi ' ' ' - he ap- pearance of the aH^• z. It was, however, obaen'ctl, that about the middle of the Bcr\icc, a nunil)cr o! slouch lx»nnets, and w-.u.. ^ ; .. them, who placed thcuisclvca in c'' ' " ' i:- taking notes. Ik-forc Mr. ^ ^ w: last prayer, however, he desired the men to unooter. wliich they did, and the Ber\'ice went on • ! but no Booncr had the minister pmnoHnc Amfti, than the group of late comers thn cloaks, and drawing out awords and pi^tola. their commander, one Gciund !>• whole congregation, in the ki:.., . -.''. A scene of the utmost confusion ensued: the lights being extinguished, many of the :i burst through the roof of the old bam in v* < r^ 'auc- tion, and though many shots were firetl at tlicm in the dark, great numbers escaped : but Mr. Living- ston, and other eleven, were regained pr; il conveyed to Eno of the quuted po^sugeii runs thus : — •And while we have thus ample exjierience of the rJ'ecU of sin, we have also ubuudauec of examples Bet before us of sin itself, yea, in its most hideous aspeet; for behold how it abounds amoni? us all, but chiefly amoni; the rulers and uoldes of the land! Dare I mention to you those crimes of theirs w hieh cause the sun of heaven to blush and hide his head as ashamed of the sicrht of their abominations .' Dare I mention to you the extent of their blas- jiliemies a-jainst that Ciocring, and wantoimess: and, above all, their trampling: upon the blood of the covenant, and pourintjout the blood of saints and martyrs like water on the face of the earth < Because of those the land mounicth, and by those, multitudes, which no man can numl»er. arc j)luni;iii;^ their touls into irretrievable and eternal ruin. But some say, O these are honounible men! amiable, upright, and nood moral men— though no great professors of reliirion. But 1 say, my breth- ren, alack and wcll-a-day for their ui>rightne8S and i honour! which, if ever they come to be tried by the test of the divine law, and by tiie example of him who was holiness itself, will be found mLscraljly short- coming. So true it is that the kings of the earth have combined to j)lot against the Lord and his anointed. Let us, therefore, join together in break- ing their bands and ca.sting their cords from us. As for myself, as a member of this poor persecuted ("hurch of Scotland, and an unworthy minister of it, 1 hereby call upon you all, in the name of God, to set your faces, your hearts, and your hands against all such acts, which arc or shall be passed, against tlie covenanted work of reformation in this kingdom: that we hero declare ourselves free of the guilt of them, and pray that God may put this in record in heaven. " These words having been sworn to, and Mr. Liv- ingston not denying them, a sharp debate arose in the council what punishment to award. The king's advocate urged the utility of sending him forthwith to the gallows; but some friends in the council got his sentence commuted to banishment ; and he was accordingly banished the kingdom. Six more, against whom nothing could be proven, farther than their having been present at a conventicle, were sentenced to imprisonment for two months ; among this number Haliday was one. The other five were condemned to be executed at the cross of Edinburgh, on the 14th of December following; and among this last unhappy number was Mr. John Lindsay. Haliday now tried all the means he could devise to gain an inter^-iew with Lindsay, to have some explanation of the extraordinary scene he had wit- ' ill the cottage at midiii;.'iit, fui u liail ma-le il impre.-:.-ioii upon his mind, and he never eouhi get rid of it for a moment ; having still in hiH mind'H eye a lieautiful country maiden Ktandiii;^' with a pleased face, holding a candle, and l..iiidsay in the uieantimc at his horrid task. II Ih endea- vours, however, were all in vain, for they were in diMcrent prisons, and the jailer paid no attention to his reijuest.s. But there was a gentleman in the privy council that year, whose name, I think, wa« Gilmour, to whose candour Haliday conceived that both he and some of his asscH-iates owec well to in<|uire into while the possibility of doing so remained, for the access to it would soon be scaled for ever. The gentleman at- tended immediately, and Haliday revealed to him tlie circumstances previously mentioned, stating that the murderer now lay in the Tolbooth jail, undtT sentence of ileal li. liilmour api>eared much interested, as well as astonished at the narrative, and taking out a note- book, he looked over some dates, and then observed, "This date of yours tallies exactly with one of my own, relating to an incident of the same sort, but the circumstances narrated are so difTerent, that I nuLst conceive, either that you are mistaken, or that you are trumjnng uj) this stnrv to s.n ( n ..^iiMif' other guilty person or persons. ' Haliday disclaimed all such motives, and perse- vered in his attestations. Gilmour then took him along with him to the Tolbooth prison, where the two were admitted to a private inten-iew with the prisoner, and there charged him with the crime of murder in such a place and on such a night ; l»ut he denied the whole with disdain. Haliday told him that it was in vain for him to deny it, for he beheld him in the very act of perjietrating the murder with his own eyes, while Gabriel Johnstone's daughter stood deliberately and held the candle to him. "Hold your tongue, fellow!" said Lindsay, dis- dainfully, "for you know not what you are saying. What a cowardl}' dog you must be by your own account! If you saw me murdering a gentleman cavalier, why did you not ru.?h in to his assist- ance?" "I could not have saved the gentleman then," said Haliday, "and I thought it not meet to inter- meddle in such a scene of blood." "It was as well for you that you did not," said Lindsay. "Then you acknowledge being in the cottage of the dell that night ]" said Gilmour. "And if I was, what is that to you ? Or what is it now to me, or any person ? I vas there on the night specified; but I am ashamed of the part I there acted, and am now well requited for it. Yes, requited as I ought to be, so let it rest; for not 87 THE ETTRICK SHEI'IIERD'S TALES. one syllabic of the transaction shall any one hear from me." Thus they were obliged to leave the prisoner, and forthwith Gilmour led Haliday up a stair to a lodg- ing in the Parliament Square, where they found a gentleman lying sick in bed, to whom Mr. Gilmour said, after inquiring after his health, "Brother Robert, I conceive that we two have found out the young man who saved your life at the cottage among the mountains." "I would give the half of all I possess that this were true," said the sick gentleman; " who or where is he?" "If I am right in my conjecture," said the privy councillor, "he is lying in the Tolbooth jail there under sentence of death, and has but a few days to live. But tell me, brother, could you know him, or have j'ou any recollection of his appearance ?" "Alas! I have none!" said the other, mourn- fully, "for I was insensible, through the loss of blood, the whole time I was under his protection ; and if I ever heard his name I have lost it : tlic whole of that period being a total blank in my memory. But he must be a hero of the first rank ; and therefore, O my dear brother, save him what- ever his crime may be." "His life is justly forfeited to the laws of his country, brother," said Gilmour, "and he must die with the rest." "He shall not die with the rest if I should die for him," cried the sick man, vehemently; "I will move heaven and earth before my brave deliverer shall die like a felon." "Calm yourself, brother, and trust that part to me," said Gilmour; "I think my influence saved the life of this gentleman, as well as the lives of some others, and it was all on account of the feeling of respect I had for the party, one of whom, or, rather I should say two of whom, acted such a noble and distinguished i)art toward you. But pray un- deceive this gentleman by narrating the facts to him, in which he cannot miss to be interested." The sick man, whose name it seems, if I remcmlier aright, was Captain Robert Gilmour, of the volun- teers, then proceeded as follow : — "There having been high rewards offered for the apprehension of some south - country gentlemen, whose correspondence with Mr. Welch, and some other of the fanatics, had been intercepted, I took advantage of information I obtained regarding the place of their retreat, and set out, certain of appre- hending two of them at least. "Accordingly I went off one morning about the beginning of ?s ovember, with only five followers, well armed and mounted. We left Gilmerton long before it was light, and having a trusty guide, rode straight to their hiding-place, where we did not arrive till towards the evening, when we started them. They were seven in number, and were armed with swords and bludgeons : but, being apprised of our approach, they fled from us, and tfxjk shelter in a monuie. iii' which it was impossible to follow thera on bonseba/i > But perceiving three men more on another bill, I thought there was no time to lose: hu givinp one of my men our horses to hold, the re>>l of uh ad- vanced into the morass with drawn t«wordH and loaded horse pistols. I called to thcni to surrender, but they stood upon their guard, determined on resihi ance; and just while we were involved to the knt in the mire of the monujs, they broke in ujjon i; pell-mell, and for about two minutes the enpiL'c , ment was verA' shaqi. There wa* an old man Btruck \ me a terrible blow with a bludgeon, and wa« ju about to repeat it when I lirought liini down with a sliot from my pist(d. A young fellow then ran .if ' me with his sword, and as I still stuck in the mo^ I could not ward the blow, so that he got a fair stroke at my neck, mcanintr. without doubt, to rut off my head ; and he would have done it had his sword been shar]'- As it was. he cut it to the lion and opened one of the juL'ular veins. I fell, but ui\ J men firing u volley in their fac-es at that moment 1 they fled. It seems we did the same, without h'- of time; for I must now take my narrative from ll report oi others, as I rememl>er no more that pa£M-ercciv- ing a party coming running down a hill. a*« witli the intent of cutting off their retreat, and losing :\ hopes of saving my life, they carried me into a O' tage in a wild lonely retreat, commended me to tl care of the inmates, and. after telling them n name, and in what manner I had received my deai wound, they thought jiroper to pronde for their ov. s;ifety. and so escai)ed. "Tiie only inmates of that lonely house, at le;i at that present time, were a lover and his migtre> both intercommuncd Whigs; and when my men 1< me on the floor, the blood, which they liad hither' restrained in part, burst out afresh and deluged ti floor. The young man said it was best to put n out of my pain, but the girl wept and prayed hii rather to render me some assistance, 'd Johnir man, how can you speak that gate ?' cried she, "sui pose he be our mortal enemy, he is ay ane o" God creatures, an' h;is a soul to be saved as well a* eith you or me : an' a soldier is obliged to do as he bidden. Now Johnny, ye ken ye war learned to i a doctor o' physic : wad yc no rather try to stop tl blooding and save the young officers life, as eithi kill him, or let him blood to dciith on our floite of my fccl>lc strus- glcd, who knew not cillier wluit I was doing or suf- ferintr, seweil up the hitleoiis j^ash in my tliri)at ami neek, tyiujj every stitch by it!>eir; ami the house not being able to produce a pair of scissors, it goems that he cut otf all the odds and ends of the stitching with a large, sharp gully knife, and it was likely to have been during the operation that this gentleman chanced to look in at the window. He then bathed the wound for un Imur with cloths dipped in cold water, dressed it with plaster of wood-betony, and put me to bed, expressing to his sweetheart the most viviil hopes of my recovery. ''These operations were scarcely finished, when the maid's two brotliers came home from their hid- ing-place ; and it seems they would have been there much sooner had not this gentleman given them chase in the contrary direction. They, seeing the Hour all covered with blood, imiuircd the cau.se with wild tre- pidation of manner. Tiicir sister was tiic first to in- form them of what had hai)pened; on which both the young men grii)ped to their weapons, and the eldest, Samuel, cried out with the vehemence of a maniac, 'Ble.s.sed be the righteous avenger of blood! llool Is it tiicn true that the Lord hath delivered our greatest enemy into our hands!' 'Hold, hold, dearest brother!' cried the maid, spreading out her arms before him, ' Would you kill a helpless young man, lying in a state of insensibility ! What, al- though the Almighty hath put his life in your hand, will he not require the blood of you, shed in such a base and cowardly way !' '"Hold your peace, foolish girl,' cried he, in the same furious strain, 'I tell you if he had a thousand lives I would sacrifice them all this moment! AVoe be to this old rusty and fizenless sword, that did not sever his head from his bod}-, when I had a fair chance in the open field! Nevertheless he shall die; for you do not yet know that he hath, within these few hours, murdered our father, whose blood is yet warm around him on the bleak height. ' '"Oh! merciful heaven! killed our father!' screamed the girl, and flinging herself down on the resting-chair, she fainted away. The two brothers regarded not, but with their bared weapons, made towards the closet, intent on my blood, and both vowing I should die if I had a thousand lives. The stranger interfered, and thrust himself into the closet door before them, swearing that, before they com- mitted so cowardly a murder, they should first make their way through his body. A long scene of ex- postulation and bitter altei'cation then ensued, which it is needless to recapitulate; both parties refusing to yield. Samuel at the last got into an ungovern- able rage, and raising his weapon, lie said, furiously, 'How dare you, sir, mar my righteous vengeance when my father's blood calls to me from the dreary heights ?- Or how dictate to me in mj- own house 1 Either stand aside this moment, or thy blood be upon thine own head ! ' ••I 11 eril.' "Samuel retreated one step to have full Bway for his weapon, and the fury depicted on his countenance proved his deterniiinition. Hut in a moment, bis gallant opponent closed with him, and holding up his wrist with his left hand, he with the right be- stowed on him a blow with such energy, that he fell Hut on the floor, among the soldier's blood. The youngest then ran on tiieir antagonist w ilh his sword, and wounded him, but the next moment he was lying beside his brother. He then disarmeil them both, and still not thinking himself (juite safe with them, he tied both their hands behind their backs, and had then time to pay attention to the young woman, who was inconsolable for the loss of her father, yet deprecated the idea of murdering the wounded man. As soon as her brothers came fairly to their senses, she and her lover began and expos- tulated with them on the impropriety and unman- lincss of the attempt, until they became all of one mind, and the two brothers agreed to join in the de- fence of the wounded gentleman from all of their own party, until he was rescued by his friends, which they did. But it was the maid's simple eloquence that finally prevailed with the fierce Covenanters, in whom a spirit of retaliation seemed inherent. "'O my dear brothers,' said she, weeping, 'calm jourselves, and think like men and like Christian.?. There has been enough o' blood shed for a'e day, and if ye wad cut him a' to inches it couldna restore our father to life again. Xa, na, it couldna bring back the soul that has departed frae this weary scene o' sin, sorroAv, and sufTering; and if ye wad but mind the maxims o' our blessed Saviour ye wadna let re- venge rankle in your hearts that gate. An' o'er an' aboon a', it appears that the young officer was only doing what he conceived to be his bounden duty, and at the moment was really acting in defence of his own life. Since it is the will of the Almighty to lay these grievous suflferings on our covenanted church, why not suflfer patientlj^ along with your brethren, in obedience to that w ill ; for it is na like to be a private act of cruelty or revenge that is to prove favourable to our forlorn cause.' "When my brothers came at last, with a number of my men, and took me away, the only thing I re- member seeing in the house was the corpse of the old man whom I had shot, and the beautiful girl standing weeping over the body ; and certainly my heart smote me in such a manner that I would not experience the same feeling again for the highest of this world's benefits. That comely young maiden, and her brave intrepid lover, it would be the utmost ingratitude in me, or in any of my family-, ever to forget ; for it is scarcely possible that a man can ever be again in the same circumstances as I was, having been preserved from death in the house of the man whom my hand had just deprived of life." 89 12 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. Just as he ended, the sick nurse peeped in, which she had done several times before, and said, "Will your honour soon be disengaged, d'ye think? for ye see, because there's a lass wanting to speak tiU ye." "A lass, nurse? what lass can have any business with mel what is she like I" "Oo 'deed, sir, the lass is weel enough, for that part o't, but she may be nae better than she should be for a' that ; ye ken, I's no answer for that, for ye see, because like is an ill mark : but she has been aften up, speering after ye, an' gude troth she's fairly in nettle-earnest now, for she winna gang awa till she see your honour." The nurse being desired to show her in, a comely girl entered, with a timid step, and seemed ready to faint with trepidation. She had a mantle on, and a hood that covered much of her face. The privy councillor spoke to her, desiring her to come forward, and say her errand; on which she said that "she only wanted a preevat word wi' the captain, if he was that weel as to speak to ane." He looked over the bed, and desired her to say on, for that gentle- man was his brother, from whom he kept no secrets. After a hard struggle with her diffidence, but on the other hand, prompted by the urgency of the case, she at last got out, "I'm unco glad to see you sae weel corned round again, though I daresay ye'll maybe no ken wha I am. But it Avas me that nursed ye, an' took care o' ye, in our house, when your head was amaist cuttit off." There was not another word required to draw forth the most ardent expressions of kindness from the two brothers; on which the poor girl took courage, and after several showers of tears she said, with many bitter sobs, " Thei'e's a poor lad Avha, in my humble opinion, saved your life, an' wha is just gaun to be hanged the day after the morn. I wad unco fain beg your honour's interest to get hia life Bpared." " Say not another word, my dear good girl," said the councillor, "for though I liardly know bow I can intercede for a rebel who has taken up amiB against the government, yet, for your sake and his, my best interest shall be exerted." "Oh, ye maun just say, sir, that the poor Whigs were driven to desperation, and that this young man was misled by others in the fervour and enthusiasm of youth. What eke can ye say ? but ye're good ! oh, ye're very good ! and on my knees I beg that ye winna lose ony time, for indeed there is nae time to lose ! " The councillor lifted her kindly by both hands, and desired her to stay with his brother's nurse till his return, on which he went away to the president, and in half an hour returned with a respite for the conA^ict, John Lindsay, for three days, which he gave to the girl, along with an order for her admittance to the prisoner. She thanked him with the tears in her eyes, but added, "Oh, sir, will he and I then be obliged to part for ever at the end of three days ?" "Keep up your heart, and encourage your lover," said he, "and meet me here again on Thursday at this same hour, for till the council meet nothing further than this can be obtained." It may well be conceived how much the poor for- lorn prisoner was astonished when his own beloved Sally entered to liim, with the reprieve in her hand, and how much his whole soul dilated when, on the Thursday following, slie presented him with a free pardon. They were afterwards married, when the Gilmours took them under their protection. Lind- say became a highly qualified surgeon, and the de- scendants of this intrepid youth occupy respectable situations in Edinburgh to this present day. 90 EWAN M'GxVBIIAR. In my peregrinations through the North Highlands I came upon a large and romantic lake, in the coun- trj' of the M'Kcnzies, called Luch Mari, or 8t. ^Mary's Loch, the same designation with that of my own beloved lake, but originating in a different language. It is one of the most romantic places in the world ; tspcckled with beautiful islets, and overhung by tre- mendous mountains, some of them quite spiral, and white as snow. I spent a numl)er of days about this enchanting lake, sailing, fishing, and shooting gulls, with the M'Kenzies of Ardlair, and M'Intire of Lut- terewc. With this latter gentleman I made a day's excursion towards the north part of tiie Lutterewe estate, and certainl}' was highly gratified ; for sueii groups of grandeur, horror, and sublimity I have never yet seen. Sequestered dell.s, surrounded by inaccessible cliffs, vistas of grim, vast, and yawning caverns, were everywhere opening upon us, so that we were soon entangled in a wilderness of wonders, out of which none but a well experienced guide could have extricated us. At length he said he would show me the greatest curiosity of all, and led me a long way to the south- west, to see a remarkable cavern. It was a place of horrid grandeur, and most difficult of access, and is called Uadha-na Kigh, or the King's Son's Cave. I asked Mr. M'Intire how it came to receive that dig- nified title. " I will tell you that," said he, "once we have got our dinner eaten and our whisky drunk;" and T saw by the quick and silent way in which he despatched his meal, that he weened he had recol- lected a theme which would please and interest me ; for a more obliging little fellow never breathed than John M'Intire. Before I had half done eating, he returned thanks very shortly in Gaelic, and thus began : — • " Well, do you know, sir, that you are now sitting in a place where some of the most remarkable events have happened that ever took place since the world was made ] Do you remember the steading grown green with age to which I bade you pay particular attention ]" I answered that I did, and would never forget it. " Well, in that sequestered home there lived, some time long ago, a young man and his mother, whose subsistence depended chiefly on hunt- ing and fishing ; but they had also a few goats, and among others a large and most valuable one, called Earba. She was the colour of a hind, a dim chest- nut, and almost invisible; and tradition says she gave more milk than any cow. She was a pet and well fed, and some of those animals will give more milk than could well be believed I)y a Sassenach. Well, l)ut all at once Earba begins to give less and less, to the great consternation of old Uighrig, who fed and better fed her favourite to no purpose. She complained to her son Kenet of the astounding cir- cumstance ; Ijut he only laughed at her, and said she was not very easily jileascd with the (juantity of milk, that she had not fed poor Earba well enough, or the good creature had perhaps been unwell. "The next day when Kenet came in from the hills, his mother says, ' I tell you, Kenet, something must be done about Earba, else we may all starve. I declare she has not given me a green-horn spoonful of milk this morning. ' '"That is very extraordinary, mother, 'said Kenet, ' but how can I help it ] ' " ' Why, the truth i.s, Kenet, that I am sure the fairies milk her, or else she has picked up some poor motherless fawn, for it is a kindly creature ; and that either some fairy or this motherless fawn sucks her evening and morning. For, do you know, Kenet, that though she comes evening and morning for her meals, yet she gives me nothing in return for them. Besides, she shows a sort of impatience to get away, and does not lick my hand as she was wont to do ; and then she takes always one path, up through the middle of these rocks, and I hear her often bleating as she ascends; but, plague on her, nobody can keep sight of her. ' "'It is very singular indeed,' says Kenet; 'we must tether her. ' " 'No, no, son Kenet, I cannot consent to that. Were we to put a rope about poor Earba's neck and tether her, it would break her heart, and she would never come home to us again. I'll tell you what yoii must do, Kenet ; you must watch her the whole day, and never let her know that you see her, for it is a cunning beast ; and if she knows that you see her, she will not go near her fairy or her fawn, but wait till it be dark, and then give us the slip. ' "Kenet promised that he w'ould, and early next morning went and hid himself among the rocks that overhung his cottage, to cheat Earba. He also took a lump of dried salmon with him, that he might not be hungry for a whole day, determined to find out Earba's secret. Nevertheless, for all his precaution she cheated him; she went by paths on which he could not follow her, and before he got round l)y passable parts of the rock he had lost sight of her ; and, when once lost sight of, Ht was almost impos- sible to discover her again, owing to her invisible 91 THE ETTIllCK SHEPHERD'S TALES. colour. She actually appeared often to vanish when scarcely a bow-shot off among the rocks. " ' It will be as well for us to keep on good terms with you, Earba,' said Kenet to himself, 'for if it should come into your head to absent yourself, long would it be before we found you again. But I'll be about with you ! for I'll watch till you return, and see where you come from, for you will pay us a visit for your meal.' " Kenet watched and watched, but he might as well have watched for a spirit. The first sight that he saw of her she was with his mother on the green at the cottage door. Kenet was terribly chagrined at being thus outwitted, and more so when he re- turned to his mother and learned that Earba had not given a green-horn spoonful of milk, having been newly sucked. "They could ill subsist without Earba's milk: further exertion was necessary; so Kenet went higher up among the rocks next day. He saw her pass 1)y him, but again lost her. He went farther and far- ther on the track, till at last he saw her enter this very cavern. Kenet, quite overjoyed, came posting to the foot of the rock there, where we began to climb, and called out in his native tongue, ' Hilloa, dear Earba ! are you in ? Come out ! come out ! ' Earba came forward, and looked over at him from this very spot, uttering a kindly bleat, and then posted down the rock to her owner. ' What have you got in there, dear Earba ? I must see what j'ou have got in there. ' Earba looked up in his face with a countenance of the utmost distress. He began to climb, Earba mounted the rock like lightning before him, and placed herself there on the verge, and with a decided inveteracy defended the mouth of the cave. She popped her master on the forehead as it reared above the verge, gently at first, but when he tried to force himself up she smote him hard, letting him know that there he should not come ; and as he had no footing he was obliged to retreat. "As soon as he got fairly down upon the green sward there beneath, she came at his call, and ac- companied him on his way home, but left him. Her secret was now discovered, and she did not choose to trust herself any more in the power of her owners. What was to be done ] Their darling and chief sup- port was lost to them, and that by a sort of mystery which they could not comprehend. They slept none all that night, consulting what was best to be done, and at length came to the resolution to go together and storm the cave. Kenet hesitated ; but the curi- osity of his mother prevailed, though she attributed it all to necessity. So, after stuffing her lap with all the herbs and good things that Earba loved, the two sallied out at dawn, and reached this cave by sunrising. They had resolved to take Earba by sur- prise; but a woman's tongue, even in a whisper, long as it is, proved not longer than a goat's ears. Before they were half-way up by diflferent routes, the one coming by that step there, and the other by this one here, Earl>a appeared on the verge Mith looks of great uneasiness. She answered to her name by a shrill bleat; but when Oighrig held out kail-bia'. - to her, and the finest herbs, hhe would not la-i. them, but stood there tramping with her foot and whi-stling through her nostrils, determined to resist all encroachments on her premihcs to the death. " But instinct is unfairly opposed to reason : by throwing a noose over her horns, and holding down her head, Kenet succeeded in mounting to this plat- form where we sit. Till tliat instant all Lad been quiet; but, when the goat fell a struggling and bleat- ing, there issued from that dark comer there a beau- tiful little child, creeping with great velocity, and crjing out 'Mam-mam, mam-mam.' " 'Sirre gleidh Dia more I' roared Kenet, and half threw himself over that jirecipice, not taking two steps on the whole. Oighrig still held by the rope that kept down Earba's head ; and abusing her eon for his cowardice in no very measured terms, ordered him to come and hold Earba, and she would enter the cave herself. ' Sithiche, sithiche ! le mair Dial' shouted Kenet, and made signs for his mother to run fbr her life. '"What, you fool!' cried Oighrig in her native tongue, ' and do you think a fairj' would l>e bo un- reasonable as to wreak any vengeance on us for claim- ing our own 1 Come and hold down the rope here, and keep that pcncrse beast in order, and I'll face the fairy.' " Kenet took a long grip of the rope at the bottom of the rock, and Earba, finding that he now had it in his power to pull her headlong over, stood quiet, fetill bleating always in answer to the child's ' mam- mam.' But when Oighrig succeeded in getting up here, where my foot is placed, there the goat was standing with her head held down, and there on that spot was the loveliest boy sucking her that ever the eye of woman beheld : so Oighrig said, and so I be- lieve she thought. She started back as she saw, and held up her hands at such an extraordinary sight, crying out — ' Did not I tell you, Earba. that you were sucked by the fairies .'' "Oighrig, I believe, never told her any such thing: but, though convinced in her own mind that the lovely child was a fairy, there is something in wo- man's feeling heart that clings to a fellow-creature in extremity. It is out of her power to abandon such a being, whatever privations she may sutler in her efTorts to mitigate human suffering. But let a helpless infant once come in her way, then all the sympathies of her generous nature overflow as with a spring-tide. A lovely boy sucking a goat in a cave of the wilderness was more than poor Oighrig's heart could stand — she flew to him, snatched him up in her arms, and shed a flood of tears over him, ex- claiming — ' Be you a fairy, or be you a fiend, you shall lie in my bosom and have good Earba for your nurse still. Blessings on you, poor and kind-hearted 92 EWAN MOABllAK. Kiirbii, for preserving the life of this dear child I' •Aiiain bhur ceiuluich coinhiiuich neamhuidh.' ' "The child held out his hands to Earlta, wept, and continued to cry out ' mam-mam,' while poor Earba answered every cry with a bleat. Oighrig caressed the child and blessed him, and promised him that he shoulil lie in her bosom and be fed with Earba's milk, and ride upon her l>ack on a pretty level green. The boy would not be comforted nor soothed, but screamed to be at Earba; and so ()ii,'h- rig set him down, when he instantly clasi)ed his little arms round the animal's neck, and laid his cheek to hers; she muttered sounds of kindness over him and licked his hands. Kcnet now ascended into tlic cave, but was in utter terror for the fairy, and kci)t wildly aloof, threatening at the same time to fling the crea- ture headlong over the rocks. "' But you shall first fling the motiicr that bore you over the rocks,' cried Oighrig. ' Would you take the life that God has preserved by a miracle, or dash an innocent babe to j)icces that a brute beast has taken i)ity on and saved .'" " ' Do you think that being would da.sh to pieces?' said Kcnet. ' A fairy dash to jneces I You may throw him over there, he will light on a bed of down. You may throw him into the flame, he will mount up into the air like a living spark, and laugh at you. You may throw him into the sea, he will swim like a marrot. Do you not see his green dress, his flaxen hair, and light blue eyes ?— a fairy, as I breathe ! ' '"He is no such thing, hind, but as good flesh and blood as you ;"— ' and a great deal better,' cried a voice from that darksome den, right behind Kenct, who almost jumped out of his skin with fright. And instantly there rushed forth a comely girl to the heart of the stage here, as we may call it. Her air was wild, her apparel torn, and famine painted in her youthful features, which, nevertheless, bore de- cisive traces of youth and beauty. 'The child is mine ! ' cried she. ' The dear babe is mine ! in woe and in weakness have I watched over him ; and jour- neyed both by sea and land to save his dear life, until now that my strength is exhausted, and had it not been for this dear creature, which I wiled and bribed into the cave for our assistance, we should both long ago have perished of want." ' ' ' Your child, dear heart ! ' said Oighrig. ' If he had been your child would you not have nursed him yourself, and not set him out to nurse on a poor old woman's goat, which is her principal dependence? Your son, indeed ! Kow, I wish I were as sure of 1 I am not sure if this is the veiy expression used by Mr. M'Intire, not being a Gaelic scholar, but it is something like it ; for he used in his narrative some strong short Gaelic sen- tences, which he swore would not translate, and I believe it. One time I was with a party of gentlemen in Balquhidder, and after dinner, the reverend clergyman of the parish told us a story of a Balciuhidder lad and a young game cock. It was no story at all. I wondered at it. " It is impossible to tell it in English," said he, and told it shortly in Gaelic, with a triumphant look. The effect was like electricity. The Higliland gentlemen rolled upon the floor and laughed at it. living in heaven :i~ ili.ii \ciii mv.r b-nl ■.>_ i]nUl in your life' '•The girl blushed cxcL-edingly, and hid her face and wept. But the sight of this youthful and half- famished beauty wrought a groat change in Kcnet's mind with regard to tlie child of the fairies. He now jicrceivcd a glinuner of human nature to beam through the mystery, or rather through the eyes of a lovely female, which often convey powerful argu- ments to the hearts of young men. "'Come, come now, mother, don't be going too strictly into your researches; for though you be ex- ceedingly wise in your own conceit, yet you may be mistaken. Many a mother has had a child who could not nurse it, and so young a one as she is may well be excused. < >ne thing only is certain at pre- sent, and that is, that tiie helpless couple must go home with us, for we cannot leave them to perish here. ' " 'And that is most certain, indeed,' said Oighrig, wijiing her eyes ; ' and CJod be blessing you for a dear lad for first making the propcsal ; for if you had left them here I would have stayed with them. And now I know that when mercy, and kindness, and necessity retjuire it, you will hunt double and fish double, and we shall live more sumjituously than ever we did before. ' '"Ay, and that I will, motiicr. And now, M'Gabhar (son of the goat), come you on my back, and we'll march in grand battle array home.' "Kenet had now got a new stimulus. His success in hunting and fishing astonished even old Oighrig herself, who daily declared that if Kenct had ten of a family it would be all the same to him, for he would maintain them all, and more. The girl's name was Flora; and .she told them that the boy's Christian name was Ewan, but she would not say the patronymic of either, so the boy got the name of M'Gabhar until his dying da}'. ' ' They lived as happily together as ever a little group did in such a wilderness; Earba got kids of her own, and Ewan herded and fed them, with a daily acknowledgment of their fraternity. Flora grew as plump as a doe in autumn, and far, far too lovely for the peace of poor Kenet's heart. From the moment that he first saw her in the cavern here, when she came out of that dark hole, ■with her ragged array and dishevelled locks, there was a spontaneous leaning of affection towards her, which at once dis- armed him of his rancour against the child of the fairies : but now, when well fed and living at ease, and in the full blow of her beauty, Kenet found him- self fairly her slave. Though he had never spoken of love to her, there were, nevertheless, a kindness and suavity of manner expressed towards him in all their field labours and daily transactions, which made him hope and believe that the affection between them was mutual. But before entering on such a serious concern as a life-rent lease of Flora, he, like a duti- ful son, thought proper to consult his mother about it. 93 THE ETTIUCK SHEI'HKUD'S TALES. ' " Do you think Flora is really the mother of little Ewau? because, if she is, it is not fair to call him M'(!al)liar— he should be called M'Aillaidh (son of the beautiful). Tell me truly what you tliink of this, mother.' '" Do I think that you are the mother of the boy, son Kcnef? That would not be a very natural tliought for me to take up, would it 1 Then you arc just as much the mother of the boy as maighdcan Flora is. Do you think I have lived ho lont,' in the ^yorld and not know oigh neochirramach from bean muither ? Just as well as you know a red deer from a goat, Kenet; and you may take my word for it that Flora is a virgin as pure as on the day that she was born.' " 'I rejoice to hear you say so, my dear old mother; for I am going to take Flora for a wife to me, and I should not have much liked to take another man's wife, or his mistress, in that capacity.' "'You take Flora for a wife, son Kenct ! You may as well think of taking the queen of heaven for a wife, Avhich is the moon. Cannot you perceive that Flora is a great-born lady, and doubtless the daughter of a king; and for a poor young forester to think of marrying a king's daughter is a vain thought. That sword and mantle, which she preserves witli such care for the boy, and which were his father's, sliow that he is at least the son of a king; and I have no doubt that she is his sister, wlio lias (led with the boy from some great and imminent danger — for she has told me that both their lives dopcntl on the strictest concealment. Let us therefore be kind to them and protect them in close concealment, and our fortunes by and by will be made. But, as I said before, you may as well expect that the moon will stoop down to be your wife as that Flora will ; so never bring your kind heart into any trouble about that.' " Tills was a cutting speech to Kenet, and made his spirit sink within him, for he had calculated on the beauty as his own, thrown as she was on his special protection. But he bowed to his mother's insinuation, and remained respectful and attentive, sighing for love in secret, and cherishing the danger- ous passion more and more, but never made mention of it to Flora. Young Ewan grew apace, was a healthy and hardy boy, of a proud, positive disposi- tion; and though clad in the homeliest mountain array, had an eye, a form, and an expression of fea- tures which could never be mistaken for a peasant's child ; for over all this country the two classes are a distinct species. "They were surprised and greatly deranged one day by the great Lord Downan, the chief, coming to their cottage witli his train ; nor did they ever see Kim till he alighted at the door; and Kenet being one of his own foresters, he entered without cere- mony, and jocosely blamed him for not being out with them at the hunt. Kenet excused himself in an embarrassed, confused way, as not knowing of it ; but Lord Downan, casting \ns eyes on the Ixautifi. and blushing Flora — 'Ah, Kenet! I excuse .vou, .' excuse you,' exclaimed he ; ' 1 did not know ■ ' brougiit a wife home to Corry-dion ; and, word, Kenet, a prettier one never tripped orcr tl. hills of Luttcrewe. How comes it that I kuc^ nothing of this (' "'Oh, you do not know the half that ia dui;' among your mountains and forests, my lord,' sai Kenct. " ' But I ought to have known, and to have be<-; at the wedding, too, you know, Kenct;" said Ix)r . Downan. ' You have not t< i your < ! right there. But pray, tell n.. . .. , ^.^ "■ • flower; for I am sure she was not a Kent else my eye would have caught her before now. "'No; I got her not so far f' ' Kenct, terribly perplexed, and cha; "'I perceive there is some secret here, Kenct,' said Downan; 'but with your chief there ought t be nunc. Tell me, then, where you found thii- maiden, for I do not think she is of my vaseab : and 1 have a peculiar reason for wishing to know where you got her, and who she is.' " 'I got her on your own lands, my lord. She is of your own clan, for anything I know to the con- trary ; and you know my wife must be your vasNil. "'Your wife, Kenct? No. tha' " annot !« your wife ; she was formed for the of a lord or a king." '"Then, where is this boy come from, my lord, if she is not my wife {' "'Not from you. It is a mystcrj-. I perceive that well enough; a runaway storj' — a matter cfore 1 sever your held from your body at one stroke.' "Kenet trembled, for he h-id nothing to tell, and knew not what to say; but Flora sprung fon»anl. and kneeling, with tears in her eyes, she implored him to leave her with her poor husband and child, for that her life was bound up in them; and for him to take the wife of a poor forester of his own to his lordly halls would bring disgrace upon himself, and ruin her own peace of mind for ever." "Lord Downan raised his eyes with astonishment. 'I cannot comprehend this!' exclaimed he, ' Your address proves it to me beyond a doubt that you arc of the best blood of the land, or of some other land, 94 EWAN M'GAIJilAU. for your tongue diftcrs from ours. But the avowal, from your own li[ts, that you are the wife of my own young forester, confoundu me. Yet I do not believe it; women are deceitful. CJo with me. Flora, I will be kind to you ; and whatever has been your fate, you may confide in my honour.' "Then all the little grouj) set up a lamentation; and Kenct, in the plenitude of his nuKcry, ex- claimed, 'And poor little M'CJabhar, what will be- come of you!' "At tiic name. Lord Downan started again to his feet. 'M'Clabhar! What is the meaning of that name]' cried he. "There is something ominous to our family ami name in that patronymic; for there i« a legend of a tiiousand yeai"8 whicli l)carB that " 'The Bon of the goat shall triumphantly bc'ir Tho mountain on tianie and the horns of the «lcor — From forest of Lojne to the hill of Uen-Crobhun— From mountain to vale, and from oceau to ocean.' 'Thou art a stem worthy to be looked after, little blue-eyed M'Uabhar; the first, 1 am sure, whoever bore the name. So thou and thy lovely ]irotccti-c«s shall both go with me.' "'I will not go, my lord; that is peremptory," said Flora. ' If you take me, you shall force me ; and if you proffer force, I'll die before I yield. So take your choice— to leave mc at peace, or kill both me and my dear boy. ' '"I yield for the present,' said Lord Downan, 'for forcibly on a woman shall my hand never be laid. But, Kcnet, I trust the beautiful pair with you, and keep them safe till my return, as you shall answer with your head. I will make inquiries, and see them soon again ; and, lovely Flora, what- ever your secret may be, you may depend on my honour. 1 make a present to you of the best stag of my quarry, to help your fare, and hope soon to place you in a situation that better becomes your rank and condition ; ' and then kissing her, he bade her adieu; but left a bold kinsman with them as a guard upon both, being a little jealous of their future movements. ' ' Their situation was now most critical, and Flora's distress extreme ; yet she showed no signs of it before Hector, Lord Downan's friend, who accompanied Kenet to the fishing and hunting, and both were equally well received when they came home, and kindly treated. The circumstance of having been acknowledged as the husband of Flora by her own lips, had raised the poor fellow's spirits, so that, for all their jeopardy, he perhaps never was so happy. But one evening when they came home, all the three were a-missing. Kenet called here and called there; and then, with troubled looks, said, 'they will be out milking the goats and will be home anon. God grant they may not have wandered among the rocks. ' "'Is not tliis some stratagem, Kenet V said Hec- tor; 'for it appears strange to me that two women and a boy should desert by themselves, without any to protect them ; therefore, take you care and do not you desert too, else the best shaft that I have shall overtake you." •"As I live and breathe,' said Kcnet, 'any inten- tion of desertion was utterly unknown to mc ; and, therefore, I am certain, that if they are gone, they must have been carried off by furce. AVe will search to-morrow, and if we find them not we will l)uth haste to my lord for aseistancc. If my wife, my child, and my parent, are lost, what is to become of me I ' "The two young men vent to no bed, nor slept they any that night. They went often to the door and called, but they were only mocked by a hundred ei'hoes from the rocks that surrounded them. Even Earba answered not to her name ; and that was the first circumstance which made Kenet suspect some deep-laid and desperate i)lot. "Next morning they were standing ready at break of day to begin the search. Kenet had strong hopes that he should find them once more here in Tol-au-Kigh; but Hector was sulky and ill-hum- oured, suspecting that he was duped, and likewise that his neck might suffer on account of his remiss- ness. "Kenct knew that no living man was aware of the cave, and there were many hundreds of yawning openings among the rocks much liker a cave than it, he was therefore very cautious how he approached it in view of Hector; but found means in the course of the day, to make a signal, which was answered, and then he knew all was right. The only remain- ing difficulty now was to get quit of Hector; but that proved easier than was apprehended, for he vanished that very day on the hill, and hasted home with the news to his lord, convinced that he was duped, and that the party had planned an escape to another country. " What to do the party knew not. They could not abide in the cave, for Kenet durst not go out either to fish or to hunt, and they were terrified for the sloth-hounds; so they decamped that night and vent down to the shore, w-here they hid themselves, and waited the appearance of some boat to take them from Lord Downan's dominions, that being their chief concern for the present. Flora having imbibed a terror for that family which was to the rest quite unaccountable. Earba followed them with her two remaining kids, she being still as much attached to Ewan as any of them. "The next day, towards evening, a vessel ap- proached as from the coast of Skye, and came into Pool-ewe, where she cast anchor, and a boat came towards the shore. Kenet and Flora went down, hand in hand, to ask for a passage to the islands, old Oighrig remaining on the top of the promontory, with the boy, the goats, and the stuff, until the two returned to help her to remove them. But never, till the barge's prow was within half a stone-cast of the land, did Kenet and Flora know or suspect that 9.^ THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. tliis was a party of Lord Downan's men, sent for the express purpose of preventintj tlieir escape; wiiile another party, with the slotli-hounds, were behind them. The two took to their heels and fled like two deers taken by surprise; but tlie roug'hness of the ground entangled the maiden ; they were soon over- taken, seized, and carried to tlie vessel, with loud rejoicings of the crew for their instant success; but oh ! what a grievous scene it was to the two cap- tives, as well as to Oighrig and little Ewan, to be separated from them, and know not to what quarter of the world they were taken. Flora's distress it is impossible to describe; she wept inces.santly, and called on the name of the boy; and had Lord Downan been tliere, he doubtless would have caused his men 1o return for Oighrig and the boy; but as their lurd's great anxiety seemed to l>e the attainment of the young lady and his disingenuous forester, the men returned Avith their prize, looking for nothing further. "Oighrig, altogether furlorn and destitute, wist not what to do. She thought of returning to her cot, but, with her baggage, was not able; neither had she any mode of subsistence when there. All places were now alike to her, only she wished to sail or to travel southward after her son and darling Flora. Some of her poor clansmen on the shore protected her and her little store, consisting of three goats, three baskets, and a small locked chest or cage, in which were the boy's sword, mantle, and some jewels, for several days; and at length they spoke a vessel, which promised to take them to Castle Downan, where Oighrig was sure she would hear some news of her son, cither good or bad* IJut, whether by chance or design, certain it is they took the hapless pair into the country of a great chief, plunderer, and frcel)00ter, called Colin Cillespick. "Oighrig and Ewan were taken by the captain of the vessel and deposited in one of his out-houses, with their three goats ; but before he left them he searched all their baggage; and. what Avas his aston- ishment when he found the scarlet velvet mantle of state, all fringed and bound with pure gold, and the sword with a handle of gold and ivory, and some mystic characters on it! The captain then adjured Oighrig to tell him who this boy was ; and she for herself having no secret to keep, told him all — that he was the king's son, and that she found him in a cave with that same old goat nursing him. "The man was amazed, as may well be supposed. He made straight to his chief, Colin ilore, Avith the story and the trophies, Avho Avas no less amazed than he ; and being certain that he had a great prize in his poAver, he lost no time in providing liberally for the boy. He placed Oighrig in a little hut beside his castle, provided Avell for her goats, and gave her a cow ; and EAvan he took into his own family, and brought him up Avith his own sons in all the liberal and Avarlike arts, Avith liberty to visit his old protectress daily. "But, as the pro\'erb goes, 'blood ig thicker tlian water.' Oighrig grew restless and impatient to Icara something of the fate of her own son Kcnet ; and find- ing that the great Colin disapproved of it, for fear of the secret of the illustrious boy being discovered to a rival chief who apj^earcd to haA'c prior claims, the poor old matron decami)ed by herself; and wliat became of her, or whether she reached Castle Dowuan or not, tradition has brought down no record. "But young Ewan, in the meantime, grew in strength and in favour with all. There wa« none who could match him in Avarlike exercises, though these Avere practised CAcry day at the castle of Colin. "A great and l)loody Avar now commenced between Colin More and the king of the country that should have been Ewan's own, of which he kncAv nothing. Lord DoAvnan Avas joined Avith Colin More in this great enterprise, Avhich they hoped to accomplieU easily, a queen (lady) only being at the head of the enemy's affairs. They took one Avhole kingdom from her, Avhich they plundered and burned (pro- bably Mull); and then, proceeding to the main- land Avith a fleet under Avhich the (Kcan groaned, they Avent into a long bay Avhich Avimlctl twenty miles into the country, and there they landed 20,000 men, Avho immediately began to burn and plunder, Avithout opposition. " At night the chiefs and a few followers went to their ships for the night, as a safe and comfortable retreat. Their army Avas encampetl at from ten to twenty miles' distance, having seen no appearance of a foe. But before daybreak the chiefs and their attendants got a disagreeable Avakcning by the lady's captains, Avho had come quietly up the loch by night, and inclosed the fleet of their enemies with fcAv on board to defend it. The conquest was easy. They boarded, and took CA'cry man of them prisoners, not above tAventy being slain in a fruitless attempt at defence. Colin More Avas taken. Avith two of his sons, and EAvan M'Gabhar. Lord DoAvnan also, and three of his brothers, Avith sixty gentlemen besides, were made prisoners. The land forces were attacked at the same time, and, though taken by surprise, they defended thcmseh-es stoutly, retreating toAvards their ships, ^[ost of their captains Averc slain ; and Avhcn the retreaters reached the head of the bay, expecting encouragement and aid from their chiefs, they were saluted with the hurrahs of their enemies. They had no more poAver; they Avere pursued and slaugh- tered like sheep, and those who escaped were hunted from day to day, till fcAv of all that puissant anny were left alive. "When the orders came from the Scottish court for the prosecution of this Avar, and the great clans began to arise, Ewan was all fire and eagerness for the glorious enterprise, having got the command of a thousand men. During the bustle one moniing. a Highlander came to him and profiered himself as his page : he Avas of middle age. rather small rf stature, and not like a form calculated for the battlc- 96 EWAN M'OABHAE. lieKl, which Ewan toKl him by way of rojoction. But every sul)se(tuent ihiy tlio youn;:: hero found this pa,u:c in wailing, and ready to assist with everything, whether ealled or not ; so that he soon contrived to establish liiniself in tlie good graces of liis master, wlio felt his services and manner peculiarly agree- able to him, and finally he gave him the charge of making up his baggage and attending to it. "The nol)le3 and chiefs were conducted prisoners before that gallant and ruthless queen. They found her seated on high beneath a canopy of ermine, sup- ported by great numbers of her diiefs and kinsmen. She rose and made a long and vehement speech to them, accusing them as the slaves of a tyrant, and of having persecuted, hunted, and destroyed every remnant of her royal race ; but she naid that now the judgment of Heaven had overtaken them, and her word was, Vengeance for vengeance ! "She then gave orders that the next moniing, beginning at nine of the clock, the whole of the pri- soners should bo brought again into her presence, and hanged by sevens at a time, beginning with the youngest, tliat tiic fathers might have the pleasure of beholding the dyin^ throes of their sons, and that the old men should be reserved for the last. " Her guards and executioners were then ordered to begin, who, selecting the seven youngest, led them across the court to make their obeisance to the queen before they were hung up. No sooner had tiiey made their appearance tiian the queen's hands began to move slowly upwards, her colour went and came, her bosom palpitated, her lips quivered, and at length she shrieked out, ' O God of heaven ! what do I see ! Stop the execution — stop! ' and down she fell in a swoon. Her maids came to her assistance, and now a hundred shouts rent the air — ' A M'Olaw ^lore! a M'Olaw More! ' (a son of Olaw the Great) — and in- stantly all the queen's chiefs and kinsmen were kneeling around one of the condemned prisoners. This was a tall, goodly, and graceful youth, who approached at the head of the other six, clothed in his father's scarlet robe of state, and his ancient sword of state by his side. It w-as Ewan. There was no mistaking his identity by any one who had seen his father in the days of his prosperity and glory. His mother's heart at once acknowledged her son ; and ere our young hero could comprehend what was in the wind, his hands were loosed, and he was borne on the arms of kinsmen, seated on his father's throne, and acknowledged as sole lord and governor of the country, while the shouts of 'A M'OlaAV More!' still increased, till all the rocks round the castle of Dunskaigh rang, and the firmament was rent. " This great noise and hubbub brought the queen to herself, who again mounted the temporary throne. 'Give place, young stranger!' cried she, 'I yield not the throne of my husband's ancient house on the shalloAV ground of a mere personal likeness with those of a pilfered robe and sword. That you are my husband's son my own heart tells mej but my own Bon you cannot be, for my child, my beloved Ewan, was foully murdered in his bed by hired rulhans and conspirators, whom 1 had blindly trusted, and with his innocent life the last lineal heir of the great M'Olaw perished. Therefore declare your lineage and your name, or dare not to approach this honoured an4 dangerous seat ! ' And saying this she again seated herself on the regal chair. " 'Madam, I was hurried, I know not why, from the foot of the gallows to that dignified chair,' said he, *to which I claim no pretensions. I am called Ewan M'tialjhar. Of my lineage I know nothing, nor is there any one here who can prove it. ily lot has been a strange one ; but I know, from one who has long been lost, that this robe and that sword were my father's.* "The assembled crowd once more began to shout ' A M'Olaw More ! ' But the queen ordered silence, and declared tliat though her senses convinced her of the truth that the youth was a son of M'Olaw, yet unless he was her own son he could not be the heir of his father, and no illegitimate should ever sway that ancient sceptre. "A lady clothed in dark silk was now admitted, who, kneeling at the queen's knee, said, in a vehe- ment voice, so loud that all the va-ssals might hear, ' Madam, I appear as an important witness here to- day : 1 am Flora — your own youngest sister Flora ! and that gallant youth who stands by your side is your own son Ewan, the only surviving son of the great M'Olaw.* "The queen then embraced her son and sister altcmately, and placed Ewan on his father's throne amid the most extravagant shouts of approbation. Flora then related in their hearing how that love Bad whispered to her that the conspirators were in the castle who had undertaken, for a great bribe, to murder at night that last remaining stem of a dan- gerous house, and how she gave up her bed to the wife and child of one of the conspirators, whose cruel deaths satisfied the ruffians and procured them their reward, while at the same time it prevented any pur- suit or subsequent search after Flora and her precious charge, though of that circumstance she remained long ignorant, which kept her in great alarm. The rest of her story has already been related, saving the last scene. When she heard that Ewan was going to engage in that unnatural and exterminating war against his mother and kinsmen, she left her husband and family, and, in the habit of a page, had accompanied her young hero on the enterprise. She had' taken care to bring the precious proofs along with her, and, as a page, her own hands had arrayed him in the very mode in which his father was wont to wear them, certain of the effect. " Ewan's first act of authority was to go and loose all his condemned associates with his own hands. Their joy and astonishment may well be conceived. He entertained them gallantly at his castle for many days, and there a friendly league was framed which 97 13 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. has preserved the peace and tranquillity of those ; bravery and policy greatly increased the dominions realms to this day. Ewan afterwards married Mary, i of that potent house ; so that the old jtrojjhecy re- Lord Dowuan's youngest daughter, and by his lalingto the 'son of the goat' wa.^ literally fulfilleersevcrancc, to use his own expression, he ran her down in the course of one week. He opened his proposals in presence of the king and queen, and encouraged by their approbation pressed his suit so effectually that the young Elizabeth, not being able to ofifer any plausible reason why she could not consent, and weening that it would be bad manners to give a disinterested lover an absolute refusal, heard him at first in thoughtful silence, and in a few days finally acquiesced, though Polmoi)d was considerably past the bloom of youth. Every young lady is taught to consider marriage as the great and ultimate end of her life. It is that to which she looks forward for happiness, and in which she hopes to rival or excel her associates ; and even the first to be married in a family, or court, is a matter of no small consideration. These circum- stances plead eloquently in favour of the first lover who makes the dear proposal. The female heart is naturally kind and generous — it feels its own weak- ness, and its inability to encounter singly the snares and ti-oubles of life ; and in short, that it must lean upon another, in order to enjoy the delights most congenial to its natural feelings, and the emanation of those tender affections, in the exercise of which the enjoyments of the female mind chiefly consist. It is thus that the hearts of manv vounir women bc- 98 Tin-: BIMDAL OF POLMOOD. come by degrees irrevocably fixed on those, whom they were formerly' wont to regard with indifference, if not with contempt ; merely from a latent principle of generosity existing in tlie original frame of their nature; a principle which is absolutely necessary to- wards the proper balancing of our respective rights and pleasures, as well as the regulation of the con- duct of either sex to the other. It will readily be conjectured, that it was the power of this principle over the heart of young Elizabeth, that caused her to accept, with such apparent con- descension, the proposal of marriage made to her by the Laird of Polmood ; and this, without dou])t, in- Huenccd her conduct in part ; but it was only to her mind like the rosy streaks of the morning, that va- nish before a brighter sun-rise. From the second day after the subject was first proposed to her, Pol- mood was of all things the least in her mind. Slie thought of nothing but the splendour of her ap- proaching nuptials, the deference that would be paid by all ranks to the lovely bride, and tlio mighty con- quest she was about to have over all her titled court associates, every one of whom she was told by tiic queen would have been blithe to be the wife of Pol- mood. Elizabeth had been brought up an eye-wit- ness to the splendour of a court, and had learned to emulate, with passionate fondness, every personal qualification, and every ornament of dress, wliich she had there so often seen admired or envied. H er heart was as yet a stranger to the tender passion. If she felt an impatience for anything, she knew not what it was, but believed it to be the attainment of finery and state; having never previously set her heart upon anything else, she thought the void which she began to feel in her heart was in consequence of such privations. Of course her bridal ornaments — the brilliant appearance she would make in them — the distinguished part that she was to act in the ap- proaching festivity — her incontested right of taking place of all those court ladies, to whom she had so long stooped, and even of the queen hei-self — the honour of leading the dance in the hall and on the green, as well as the procession to the chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes, and the more distant one to the shrine of St. Bothans — these gay phantoms wrought so powerfully upon the mind of the fair Elizabeth, as to set aside all intervening obstacles which placed themselves in array before the wedding; and the line beyond it vanished from her mind's eye, or on!}' attracted it occasionally bj' a transient meteor ray, which, like the rainbow, retired when she ap- proached it, refusing a nearer inspection. Polmood became every day more enamoured of his betrothed bride; and indeed, though she was little more than arrived at woman's estate, it was impossible not to consider her as a model of all that was lovely and desirable in woman. She played upon the lute, and sung so exquisitely, that she ra- vished the hearts of those who heard her ; and it is even reported, that she could chann the wild beasts and birds of the forest, to gather around her at even- tide. Her air and countenance were full of grace, and her form displayed the most elegant symmetry. Her colour outvied tlic lily and tlie damask rose; and the enamel of her eye, when she smiled, it was impossible to look steadfastly on. Instead of any interchange of fond endearments, or any inquiries about the mode of life they were in future to lead, in all their short conversations, she only teased Polmood about such and such articles of dress and necessarj' equipage, and with proposals for plans of festivity and pleasure of such a nature, as had never before entered our forester's head. He however yiebled to everything with cheerful com- placency, telling her that, as she had been bred at court and understood all those matters, and as the king and court were to be their guests on that occasion, everj'thing should lie provided and executed accord- ing to her direction.s. He would then kiss her hand in the most affectionate manner-, while she would in return take her leave with a courtesy, and smile so bewitchingly, that Polmood's heart was melted with delight, and he congratulated himself as the happiest (jf men. At one time, in the height of his ardour, he attempted to kis.s her lips, but was aston- ished at seeing her shrink involuntarily from his embrace, as if he had lieen a l)east of prey ; but as she instantly recovered her gaiety, this was no more thought of, and everything went on as usual. CHAPTER IL When the news came to the courtiers' ears, that Elizabeth was instantly to be given away by the king, into the arms of Polmood, they were all not a little startled. For even those who had never de- signed to take any particular notice of her, could not bear the thought of seeing such a flower cropped by the hand of a country baron, and removed from their circle for ever. Even the lords who had spouses of their own were heard to say, "that they ^vished her well, and should rejoice at seeing her married, if it conduced to her happiness ; but that indeed they should have been glad of her company for a few years longer, for, upon the whole, Polmood could not have taken one from them who would be as much missed." These remarks drew sharp re- torts from their ladies. They wondered what some people saw about some people — there were some people in the world who were good for nothing but making a flash, and there were others so silly as to admire them. Happy at getting quit of so formidable a rival, the news of her approaching marriage were welcome news to them — they tossed up their heads, and said, "it was the luckiest occurrence that could have happened to her ; there was no time to lose : — If Polmood had not taken her from the court in that 99 THE ETTIUCK SHEPHERD'S TALES. manner, possibly no other would, and she would in all probability soon have left it in some other way — there were some who knew, and some who did not know about those things." Alexander, Duke of Rothesay, was not at that time along with the court, though he arrived shortly after, else it is conjectured that his violent and enter- prising spirit would never have suffered the match to go on. Having had al>undance of opportunities, he had frequently flattered Elizabeth, and from her condescending, and, as he judged, easy disposition, he entertained no doubts of gaining his dishonoura- ble purpose. Young Carmichael was with the king; and when he was told, that in a few days his dear Elizabeth was to be given in maniage to his kins- man Polmood, together with the lands of Fingland, Glenbrcck, and Kingledoors, as her dowry, it is im- possible to describe his sensations. He was pierced to the heart, and actually lost for a time all sense of feeling and power of motion. On recovering a little, he betook himself to the thickest part of the wood, to ponder on the best means of preventing this marriage. Elizabeth had before appeared to his eyes a gem of the first water; but when he heard of the sovereign's favour, and of the jointure lands, which lay contiguous to his own, he then saw too late the value of the jewel he was about to lose. He resolved and re-resolved — formed a thousand desper- ate schemes, and abandoned them again, as soon as suggested, for others more absurd. From this tur- moil of passion and contrivance, he hastened to seek Elizabeth; she was constantly surrounded by the queen and the court ladies; and besides, Polmood was never from her side; therefore, though Car- michael watched every moment, he could not once find an opportunity of imparting his sentiments to her in private, until the very day prcNious to that which was fixed for the marriage ceremony. About noon that day, he observed her steal privately into the linn, to wash her hands and feet in the brook — sure such hands and such feet were never before, nor since that time, bathed in the Crawmclt burn I Thither Carmichael followed her, trembling with perturbation ; and, after begging pardon for his rude intrusion, with the tear rolling in his eye he declared his passion in the most ardent and moving terms, and concluded bj' assuring her, that without her it was impossible for him to enjoy any more comfort in this world. The volatile and unconscionable Elizabeth, judging this to be matter of fact, and a very hard case, after eyeing him from head to foot, observed carelessly, that if he got the king's con- sent, and would marry her to-morrow, she had no objection. Or, if he chose to carry her off privately that night, she hinted that she was willing to ac- company him. "Either of those modes, my dear Elizabeth," said he, "is utterly impossible. The king cannot and will not revoke his agreement with Polmood; and were it possible to carry you away privately to-night, which it is not, to do so in open defiance of my sovereign, would infallibly procure me the distinguished honour of lo.-:ing my head in a few days. But you have everything in your jxiwer. Cannot you on some pretence or other delay the wedding ? and I promise to make you my own wife, and lady of my extensive domains, as soon as cir- cumstances will permit." Elizabeth turned up her blue eyes, and fixed them on the summit of the dark Clockmore, in a kiad of uueaiiy reverie; ebc did not like that perm'iJision of circumstances — the t«rm was rather indefinite, and sounded like something at a, distance. Upon the whole, the construction of the sentence was a most unfortunate one for CarmichaeL The wedding had taken such absolute possession of Elizabeth's mind, that she thought of nothing else. The ardent manner and manly beauty of Carmichael had for a moment struggled for a share in the move- ment.s of her heart, which even in its then fluctuat- ing state never lost its hold of the favourite object. But the mention of the v:eddinfj brought all the cherished train of delightful images with it at once; nor could she connect it with that hated word delay — a verb which, of our whole vocabulary, is the most repugnant to every feeling of woman. The wedding could not be delayed! — All was in readiness, and such an opportunity of attracting admiration might never again occur; it was a most repulsive idea; the wedding could not be delayed ! Such were the fan- cies that glanced on Elizabeth's mind during the time that she sat with her feet in the stream, and her lovely eyes fixed on the verge of the mountain. Then turning them softly on Carmichael, who waited her decision in breathless impatience, she drew her feet from the brook, and retiring abruptly, said with emphasis, '"I wish you had either spoken of this sooner or not at all." Carmichael was left standing by himself in the linn like a statue; regret preying on his heart, and that heart the abode of distraction and suspense. The voice of mirth, and the bustle of preparation, soon extinguished in the mind of Elizabeth any anxiety which her late conversation had excited there; but the case was widely different with Car- michael. The lady's visible indifference for Polmood, while it somewhat astonished him, left him assured that her affections were yet unengaged; and the possession of her maiden heart appeared now to him an attainment of such value, that all other earthly things faded from the comparison. The equivocal answer with which she had left him, puzzled him most of all ; he could gather nothing from it unfr.vourable to himself, but to his hopes evervthing, as she went away seemingly determined to follow the path chalked out to her by her royal guardians. He stalked up the glen, at every two or three steps re- peating these words, "I wish you had mentioned this sooner or not at all." He could at first decide upon nothing, for his ideas were all in confusion, and the business was of so delicate a nature that he dui-st not break it to anv of the courtiers. Tha 100 THE BRIDAL OF POLMOOl). resolutions which he at last came to were therefore of a hasty and desperate nature; but what will not love urge a man to encounter ! On his return to the castle he found that orders had been given to spend the remainder of the day in such sports as in tliat country they were able to practise, by way of celel)ratini;- the bridal eve. They first had a round of tilting, from which King James himself came off victorious, owing, as Avas said, to the goodness of his charger. I'olmood's horse Avas very untractable, and Avhen it came to his turn to engage Avith Carmichacl, the latter unhorsed him in a Aery rough and ungracious manner. Polmood said he Avas nothing hurt; but Avhcn he arose, the ladies being all on-lookers, his cheek was burning Avith A'exation and anger. There Avcre no plaudits of a})probation from the ring, as Carmichacl ex- pected there Avould be, for all the company Aveened that he had acted rather unhandsomely. He, how- ever, Avon the race fairly, though nine lords and knights started for the prize, and held liim at Acry iiard play. Marr, in particular, kept so stoutly by iiis side, that in the end he lost only by one step. When Carmicliael received the prize from the fair hand of Elizabeth, he kissed it, pressed it hard, and, with a speaking eye, pointed to a pass among the mountains of the forest, pronouncing at the same time in a Ioav Avhisper the Avords ' ' to-night. " Eliza- beth courtseyed smiling, but in so careless a manner that he doubted much if slie comprehended his meaning. The sports went on. A number were by this time stripped in order to throw the mall. Each candi- date was to haAc three throAvs. When the rounds AA-cre nearly exhausted, his majesty continued fore- most by a foot only; but Carmichael, by his last throAv, broke ground a fcAV inches before his mark. It Avas then proclaimed that if there Avcrc no more competitors Carmichael had gained the prize. Polmood had declined engaging in the race, though strongly urged to it. He had taken some umbrage at the manner in Avhich Carmichael had used him in the tournament. He likewise refused to enter the lists on this occasion : but when he saw the king beat by Carmichael, and that the latter was about to be proclaimed victor a second time, his blood Avarmed — he laid hold of the mall — retired in haste to the footing j^ost, and threAv it Avith such violence that he missed his aim. The mall took a direction exactly on a right angle from the line he intended ; flew over the heads of one-half of the spectators, and plunged into the river, after having soared to an immense height. The incensed forester having at the same time, by reason of his exertion, fallen head- long on the ground, the laughing and shouting were so loud that the hills rang again, while some called out to measure the altitude, for that the bridegroom had won. He soon recoA-ered the mall ; came again to the footing post ; thrcAV off his blue bonnet ; and, Avith a face redder than crimson, flung it a second time Avith such inconceivable force, that, to the as- tonishmcnt of all the beholdei's, it Avent about one- third further than any of tlie rest had cast it. Pol- mood Avas then proclaimed tiie victor with loud and reiterated shouts. His heart Avas a prey to every passion in its fiercest extreme. If he Avas alTronted before, he Avas no less overAvhclmcd Avith jileasure when presented with the prize of honour by his ador- able Elizabeth. But here a ridiculous circumstance occurred, Avhich hoAvever it is necessary to relate, as it is in some measure connected Avith the following CA'ents. The gray stone on Avhich Queen Margaret and the beautiful Elizabeth sat, during the celebration of those games, is still to be seen at the bottom of the hill, a small distance to the eastward of the old castle of CraAvnielt. The rest of the ladies, and such of the nobles as did not engage in those violent exer- cises, are said to have leaned on a bank beloAv : but the situation whicli the queen and the bride held fairly overlooked the field Aviiere the sports were. For lack of a better seat, on this stone was placed a small panncl or sack filled Avith straAA'. 'Sow it so happened that the prize for the victor in throAving the mall vras a love knot of scarlet ribbon, and two beautiful plumes, Avhich branched out like the horns of a deer. When Polmood Avent uji to receiAC the prize from the hands of his betrothed and adored bride, she, in a most becoming manner, took his blue bonnet from his hand, and fixing the knot and the plumes upon it in a most shoAvy and tasteful mode, placed it upon his head. Polmood, in the most courtly style hcAvas master of, then kissed her hand, boAved to the queen, and placed Elizabeth by her side on the seat of straAv. But Avhen he faced about, the appearance which he made struck every one so forcibly, that the Avhole company, both men and Avomen, burst out into a roar of laughter; and Carmichael, in whose heart a latent grudge was still gaining ground, valuing himself upon his Avit, cried out, " It is rather a singular coincidence, Polmood, that you should place Mistress Elizabeth upon the straw, and she a pair of horns on your head, at the same instant." The laugh Avas redoubled — Pol- mood's cheek burned to the bone. He could not for shame tear off the ornaments which his darling had so lovingly and so recently placed in his bonnet, but he turned them to one side, at which the laugh was renewed. He was anything but pleased at Car- michael. CHAPTER III. The next trial of skill was that of shooting at a mark ; but in this the competition was of no avail. Polmood struck the circle in the middle of the board each time with so much exactness, that thcA* were all astonished at his dexterity, and unanimously 101 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. j-ielded him the prize. It was a silver arrow, which he also received from the hands of Elizabeth. Car- michael, having been successful in his former philip- pic, took occasion to break some other jests on that occasion, too coarse to be here repeated, although they were not in those days considered as any breach of good manners. Sixteen then stripped themselves to trj' their skill in wrestling, and it having been enacted as a law that he who won in any one contest, was obliged to begin the next, Polmood was of course one of the number. They all engaged at once, by two and two, and eight of them having been overthrown, the other eight next engaged by two and two, and four of these being cast, two couples only remained. Some of the nobles engaged were so expert at the 'exercise, and opposed to others so equal in strength and agility, that the contests were exceedingly equal and amusing. Some of them could not be cast until completely out of breath. It had always been ob- served, however, that Polmood and Carmichael threw their opponents with so much ease that it appeared doubtful whether these opponents were serious in their exertions, or only making a sham wrestle ; but when it turned out that they two stood the last, all Avere convinced that they were superior to the rest either in strength or skill.. This was the last prize on the field, and on the final throw for that prize the victory of the day depended, which each of the two champions was alike vehemently bent to reave from the grasp of the other. They eyed each other with looks askance, and with visible tokens of jealousy; rested for a minute or two, wiped their brows, and then closed. Carmichael Avas extremely hard to please of his hold, and caused his antagonist to lose his grip three or four times, and change his position. Polmood was however highly complaisant, although it appeared to ever}' one beside that Carmichael meant to take him at a disadvantage. At length they fell quiet ; set their joints steadily, and began to move in a circular direction, watching each other's motions with great care. Carmichael ventured the first trip, and struck Polmood on the left heel with considerable dexterity. It never moved him; but in returning it, he forced in Carmiehael's back with such a squeeze that the by-standers affirmed they heard his ribs crack ; vrhipped him lightly up in his arms, and threw him upon the ground with great violence, but seemingly with as much ease as if he had been a boy. The ladies screamed, and even the rest of the nobles doubted if the knight would rise again. He however jumped lightly up, and pre- tended to smile; but the words he uttered were scarcely articulate. A squire who waited the king's commands then proclaimed Norman Hunter of Pol- mood the victorof the day, and consequently entitled, in all sporting parties, to take his place next to the king until by other competitors deprived of that prerogative. This distinction pleased Elizabeth more than anvthing she had vet seen or heard about her intended husband, and she began to regard him as a superior character, and one whom others were likely to value. The ruling passions of her heart seem to have been hitherto levelled only to the at- tainment of admiration and distinction, an early foible of the sex, but though a foible, one that leads oftener to good than evil. For when a young female is placed among acquaintances who know how to estimate the qualities of the heart, the graces of a modest deportment and endearing address, how- then does this ardent and amiable desire of rendering herself agreeable stimulate to exertions in the way of goodness I But, on the contrary, Avhen she is reared in a circle where splendour is regarded as the badge of superiority, and title as the compendium of distinction, it is then, as in the case of the beau- teous Elizabeth, that this inherent principle "leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind." The flowers of the forest and garden are not more indicative of the different soils that produce them, than the mind of a young woman is of the company she keeps. It takes its impressions as easily and as true as the wax does from the seal, if these impressions are made while it is heated by the fire of youth ; but when that fire cools, the impressions remain, and good or bad remains indelible for ever. With how much caution these impressions ought at first to be made, let parents then consider, when on them depends not only the happiness or misery of the individual in this life, but in that which is to come ; and when thousands of tlie same stock may be affected by them from generation to generation. When Polmood went up and received the final prize from the hand of Elizabeth, she delivered it with a smile so gracious and so bewitching that his heart was almost overcome with delight ; some even affirmed that they saw the tears of joy trickling from his eyes. Indeed his love was from the beginning rather like a frenzy of the mind than a passion founded on esteem, and the queen always remarked that he loved too well to enjoy true conjugal felicity. When Carmichael perceived this flood of tender- ness and endearment, his bosom was ready to burst, and he tried once more to turn the laugh against Polmood by cutting jests. The prize was a belt with seven silver buckles; and when he received it from Elizabeth, Carmichael cried out that it was of suffi- cient length to go about them both ; and that Pol- mood could not do better than make the experiment ; and when he once had her buckled fairly in, he would be wise to keep the hold he had, else they would not lie one flesh. The sports of the evening were closed with a dance on the green, in which the king and queen and all the nobles joined; The king's old harper was then placed on the gray stone and the sack of straw, and acquitted himself that evening so well, that his strains inspired a hilaritj' quite unusual. It being so long since such a scene was beheld in Scotland, scarcely will it now be believed, that a king and 102 THE BRIDAL UF POLMOOD. queen, with the lords and ladies of a court, ever danced on the green in the wild remote forest of Meggat-dale ; yet the fact is well ascertained, if tra- dition can be in aught believed. Nay, the sprightly tunes which the king so repeatedly called for that night. O'er the Bogrjn, and Cutty's Wedding, re- main, on that account, favourites to this day in that country. Crawmelt was then the most fa^'ourite hunting retreat of the Scottish court, on account of the excellent sport that its neighbourhood, both in hunting and angling, afforded; and it continued to be the annual retreat of royalty, until the days of the beauteous and unfortunate Queen Mary, who was the last sovereign that visited the forest of ^leg- gat, so long famed for the numbers and tleetness of its deer. James and Elizabeth led the ring and the double octave that evening ; and so well did she acquit her- self, that all who beheld her were delighted. Pol- mood made but an indifferent figure in the dance. The field on which he appeared to advantage was overpast, that of Elizabeth's excellence Avas only commencing. She was dressed in a plain white rail: her pale ringlets were curled and arranged with great care, yet so, that all appeared perfectly natu- ral. Her movements were so graceful, and so easy that they looked rather like the motions of a fairy or some celestial being, than those of a mortal com- posed of flesh and blood. The eyes of the nobles liad certainly been dazzled while they gazed at her, for they affirmed that they could not convince them- selves that the grass bent beneath her toe. The next to her among the court ladies, both in beauty and accomplishments, Avas one Lady Ann Gray, a great favourite with the king, and of Avhom it was supposed the queen had good reason to have been jealous; but she being a lady of an easy and unas- suming character; never showed any symptoms of suspicion. During the dance, however, it was ap- parent that the king's eyes were oftener fixed upon her than either upon his partner or his queen. They continued their frolics on the green till after the setting of the sun, and then, retiring into the pavi- lion before the castle, they seated themselves pro- miscuously in a circle, and drank large bumpers to the health of Polmood and Elizabeth, and to other appropriate toasts given by the king ; the ladies sung — the lords commended them — and all became one flow of music, mirth, and social glee. Carmichael alone appeared at times absent and thoughtful, which by the king, and all the rest, was attriljuted to the defeats he received in the sports of the day ; but his intents towards his kinsman Pol- mood were evil and dangerous, and there was nothing he desired more than an occasion to challenge him ; but no such occasion offering, as the mirth and noise still continued to increase, he slipped away to his chamber in the castle without being missed. He lay down on his bed, dressed as he was, and gave himself up to the most tormenting reflections. The manner in which he had been baffled by Polmood in the sports hung about bis heart, and much he feared that circumstances had lessened him in the eyes of the young Elizabeth, and exalted his more fortunate rival. Polmood had not only baffled and dishonoured him in presence of all the court, but was moreover on the very eve of depriving him of one he believed more dear to him than life — it was too much to be patiently borne. In short, love, envy, revenge, and every passion were up in arms, exciting him to counteract and baffle his rival, with regard to the possession of Elizabeth. The night A\as short ; it was the last on which she was free, or could with any degree of honour be taken possession of; that opportunity once lost, and she was lost to him for ever. The result of all those reflections was, a resolution to risk everything, and rather to die than suffer himself to be deprived of her without an effort. CHAPTER lY. The castle of Crawmelt was fitted up in such a manner as to accommodate" a great number of lodgers. In the ui)permost story wei"e twelve little chambers, all distinct from one another; in each of these was a bed laid with rushes, and above these, by way of mattress, a bag filled with a kind of light feathery bent, which they gathered on the hills in abundance, and which made a bed as soft as one of down. When the queen and her attendants visited the hunting quarters, that floor was given Avholly up by the gentlemen, who then slept in the pavilion or secondary castle ; and each lady had a little cham- ber to herself, but no curtains to her bed, nor any covering, save one pair of sheets and a rug. The rushes were placed on the floor between a neat seat and the wall, and this was all the furniture that each of these Little chambers contained, each bed being only intended for the accommodation of one person. The king's chamber was on the second floor. In it there was a good bed, well fitted up, and on the same flat were five other little chambers, in one of which lay Carmichael, with his bosom in a ferment. Shorth' after his retreat from the pavilion, the queen and ladies, judging from the noise which the wine had excited, that it was proper for them to retire, bade the jolly party good-night. The king, the lord-chamberlain, and a few others, having con- veyed them to the bottom of the staircase, they compelled them to return to the rest of the com- pany in the tent, which they knew they would gladly comply with, and proceeded in a body to their attic storj'. In the meantime Carmichael, hearing their voices apjiroach, began to quake with anxiety; and plac- ing his door a little open, he stood by it in such a 103 THE ETTUICK SHEIMIEUU'S TALES. way that he could both ece and hear them without l of the blast is overblown, your kind god-mother, the queen, will l>c hajipy to receive you a^in i* • her arms and household, a« I.Ady Ilyndfurd." 1 title sounded charmingly in Elizabeth'* ear*— she smiled — t'armichael, ' ' _' it, pursued '' theme. "Consider," <■ l he, "which of • two titles is most likely to command respect at court — the plain, common, vulgar de-' ElizaliCth Hunter of rolmoo." It was all over with Tolmood— Llira bcth uttered a sigh of ii title three or four times i a^kcd what courw} he proi>oeed for their procednrr "Come directly with me to my chamber," said he: "I will funiish you >v-'' ■■ • <■ — i .». have a couple of good 1 readiness — we shall patu the steps of (ilcndearv before tl>e rising of the Kun. and diw the king, and all his court, of a wc*. _ : — " Wcilding!— I>isapi>oint the king and all hih court of a wetlding for oncci" — unfortunate rash c\ ' ' !* ' ! ' ' '- -' ro. i u- term " . ich. It glanced on Elizabeth's mind like eloctricitr, and came not alone, but with all its ' delights. "We shall have no wcd<;..... .- — she. " Perhaps wc ftiay contrive to have one b\ and by," said Cannichacl. EliaaWth sighed deeply. and rested her rosy cheek • ' . • • > while the pressure of her »1 her fair breast. Whether she was at that time !■:. merits of each side of the alternative w : in her ofl'cr has never yet l>ccn thon. tained: for at that instant they were alanne«l b\ hearing the king tapping at seth. The door of the apartment in which they stood not l>eing quite cl '" they were greatly alamKxl, as they knew not v, was the matter, but, as they h.id good reason. dreadecen more alert than her lover, they would certainly have l>een caught iii that questionable condition. But the r. ■■'' ' woman is ever fruitful in cxiKHlients^ Itisw 104 THK HHIDAL OP POLMOOI). to IhIu'UI with wliat readiness they will often avert the inorit riiuiden und t'utul 8ur|irirse8, even before the other sex have leiriure to think of their danger. In proportion with the liability of eensure to which they arc exposed, and the dangerous effects of tliat censure in their future respectability and moral conduct, is bestowed tliat superior activity in managing all the little movements and contingents of life. If it were not for this inventive faculty, many thousands of female characters would be ruined in the eyes of the world, tliat arc fair and unblamcublc, and which this alone enables the lovely wanderer aujong snares and toils to preserve without bleiuish, till tlic dangerous era of youth and inex- perience is overpast. There being, as wa.s oli.served, not u moment to lose, so neillicr was there a moment lost from the time that Eli/.ai>eth was fully apprised of the danger to which they were both expose*!. She flung oflT her rail, uncovered her bosom, and extinguished the light in her chamber, all ere Cannichael couhl once move from the sjMit. Dctennined to make one effort for the |>reservation of her honour, and the life of a lover who at all events had treated her with respect, she placetl herself close behind the door, awaiting the event with finnness and resolution. Hut here we must leave them for a few minutes, till wc ex- plain the cause of this indecorous invasion. CIlVrTEU V The party that conveyed the queen and her ladies from the pavilion to the castle on the way to their chambers having returned to the rest, they all, at the king's request, joined in drinking a bumper to the bride's hcaltii. Polmood in rctunj proposed one to the queen, which was likewise drunk off; the health of all the ladies was next drunk, and after- wards several of them by name, and amongst others the beautiful Madam Gray. By that time the most steady were affected by the fumes of the wine, and some of them were become considerably drunk. The battles of the bygone day, in their various sports, were all fought over again, and every man was stouter and swifter in his own estimation than his com peel's. Many bets were offered, and as readily accepted, without ever being more thought of; even the lord- chamberlain Hume, who was by no means a strong man, proffered to wrestle with Polmood for 1000 nierks. The latter paid little attention to all these rhodomontades, having entered into a close and humorous argument with his majesty, who was rallying him most unmercifully about his young wife, and who at length, turning to him with a seri- ous countenance, "Polmood," said he, "you have forgot one particularly important and necessary cere- mony, and one which, as far as I know, has never been dispensed with in this realm. It is that of asking the liridc at parting with iicr on the bridal eve if she had not rued. Many a bridegroom has been obliged to travel far for that very purpose, and why should you neglect it when living under the same roof !" Polmood acknowledged the justice of the accusation, and likewise the fact that such a custom was prevalent, but excused himself on the grounds that if she had relenteil she hail plenty of opportunities to have told him so. His majesty however i>ersisted in maintaining that it was an omission of a most serious nature, and one that gave her full liberty to deny him to-morrow even before the |>rient, which would jirove an awkward business, and that therefore he ought, in conformity with the gcHxI old custom, to go and ask the quct-tion, even though the laceforc him. Eliza- beth at that moment put her face and naked bosom bye the edge of the door full in his view, and in- stantly pushed the door in his face, exclaiming, " What does your majesty mean 1 I am undressed ; you cannot come in now." And having by this manoeuvre, as she particularly intended, put out the light, she waited the issue; but instead of being agitated with terror, as most women would have been in the same situation, she could scarcely refrain from laughter; for the king, instead of returning her any answer, fell a pufficg and blowing at the wick of the flambeau, thinking to make it rekindle, but not being able to succeed, he fell a groping for his companion. " Confound her, Polmood, ' said he, "she has extinguished our light; what shall we do now?" "We had better ask the question in the dark, if it please your majesty," said Polmood. "No," said the king, "come along with me; we will try to get it relumined:" then groping his way along with Polmood at his back he tapped at every chamber door he came at around the circle, asking each of the ladies if she had any light. Several denied, but at length he came to one, below which on stooping he espied a little glimmering light, and having by this time learned what lady was in each chamber, he called at that too, but was not a little startled at hearing the voice of her within — it was the queen — but, affecting not to know, he lifted the 105 14 THE ETTRICK SHEPHEKD'.S TALES. latch, and pretending great modesty did not so much as look in, but only held in the torch with tlie one hand, begging of her to relight it, which she did, and returned it to his hand. Carmichael having by these means escaped quietly and with periect deliberation to his own chamber, Elizabeth laid herself down, not a little pleased at the success of her expedient, but somewhat astonished at this extraordinary scrutiny. The two champions returned to Elizabeth's door; the king tapped gently and asked if she was in undress still. She begged a thousand pardons of his majesty for the trouble she had caused him, which happened solely from the circumstance of his having surprised her in dis- habille; and told him that he might now enter, and let her know what his royal pleasure was with her. James entered cautiously, keeping his flambeau behind him in case of further accidents, and then began by asking pardon in his turn of Elizabeth for his former abrupt entrance; but seeing that her door was not altogether shut, he said he judged the chamber to be unoccupied — that he had come at her lover's request, in order to be a witness to a question he had to propose to her. He then desired Polmood to proceed, who, stepping forward much abashed, told her bluntly that all he had to ask was, whether or not slie had repented of the promise she had made him of marriage .' Elizabeth, jiot having been pre- viously instructed of any such existing ceremony in Scotland, did not readily comprehend the meaning or drift of this question ; or else, thinking it proper to avail herself of it in order to provide for cer- tain sul)scquent arrangements which had very lately been proposed to her, answered with perfect good humour that she understood Polmood had himself relented, and wished to throw the blame upon her. "I therefore tell you, sir," said she "that I have rued our agreement, and that most heartily." " Bravo ! " cried the king as loud as he could shout, pushing Polmood out at the door before him. He then closed it, and without waiting a moment ran down the stair laughing, and shouting aloud '• Hurra I hurra! The bride has rued! the bride has rued! Polmood is undone." He hasted to the pavilion, and communicated the jest to his nobles, who all laughed abundantly at Polmood's expense. The staircase of the Crawmelt castle was in one of the turrets, and from that there were doors which opened to each of the flooi^s. The upper story that contained the twelve chambers in which the queen and ladies were that night lodged, was fitted up so that it formed a circle. All the chamber doors were tulate on the subject. Elizabeth, perceiving that he was somewhat intoxicated, desired him to withdraw, for that it was highly improper for him to remain there in the dark alone, and added that ehe would tell him all about it to-morrow. Xow Polmood was not only half drunk, but he was besides greatly stunned with the answer he had received ; and moreover, to add to his misfortune, the king had either in the midst of his frolic shut the door behind him, or else it had closed of itself. The consequence of all this was, that when Polmood tunied about to depart, he soon discovered that it was like to be a very intricate business. By means of going round the circle with one band pressed against the wall, he found that the doors were all shut, and that there was no possibility of distin- guishing one of them from another. He could easily have opened any of them, because none were bolted ; but in doing so he had no assurance that he would not light upon the queen or some sleeping countess, which might procure him much di.sgracc and ridi- cule. He was a modest bashful gentleman, fearful of giving offence, and would not have been guilty of such a piece of rudeness for the world : he knew not what to do ; to call was in vain, for the apart- ment was vaulted below, therefore he could alarm none save the ladies. He had but one chance to find the right door for twelve to go wrong; the odds were too great for him to venture. He would gladly have encroached again upon Elizabeth, but he knew no more of her door than the others. There is everj- reason to believe that the fumes of the wine tended greatly to increase Polmood's dilemma. Be that as it may, he could think only of one expedient whereby to extricate himself from his whimsical situation, and the idea had no sooner struck him than he proceeded to put it in practice. It was to listen at each door if there was any person breathing within, and if there was no person breath- ing within he thought he might conclude that to be the door he wanted. To effect this with more cer- tainty, he kneeled softly on the floor and laid his ear close to the bottom of each door, creeping always to the next as soon as he had di.scovercd that a lady was within. It was a long time ere he could be satisfied of some, they breathed go softly. He kept an account in his memory of the doors he passed, and had nearly got round them all when he heard, as he thought, a door softly and cautiously opened. Ifo light appearing, Polmood judged that he was overheard, and that this was one of the hidies listen- ing to what he was about. He was on the point of at equal distances, and the door which led to the I speaking to her, and begging for pardon and assist - staircase was exactly in the circle with the rest, and in every respect the same. Now, Polmood not being at all satisfied with the answer he had received from Elizabeth, and unwilling to return to the company without some fui'thcr explanation, turned round as the king departed, dark as it was, and putting his mouth to the latch-hole of the door, began to e.xpos- ance, when he heard the sound of footsteps approach- ing behind him. He was resting on his hands and knees at a chamber door, with his head hanginsr down in the act of listening: he kept his position. pricking up liis ears, and scarcely able to hear for the palpitations of his heart ; but it was not long ere a man stumbled on his feet, fell above him. and 106 THE BRIDAL OF rOLMOOD. crushed hia face against the floor. Polmood swore a loud oatli, and lieiiij; irritated he hiid furiously hold of the stranger's heel, and endeavoured to detain him ; but he wrenched it from his grasp, and in a moment was gone. Polmood then judging that it must have been some one of the courtiers stealing to his mistress, and hearing the door close behind him, hasted to his feet and followed the sound, hoping to escape after him— opened tlic same door, as he thought, and rushed forward ; but at the third step ho foundered over something that interposed his progress, and, to his utter confusion, found that he had alighted with all his weight across a lady in bed, who screamed out murder, fire, and ravishment in a voice so loud and so eldritch that Polmood's ears were deafened, and his joints rendered powerless through vexation and di.smay. He tried to get up and escape, but the injured fair laid hold of his coat, pulled it over his head ; and as he scorned to hurt her, or resist her frantic violence by violence in return, in that manner she held him fast, continuing all the while her outcries. The rest of the ladies awakening, set up one universal yell of murder — sprang from their beds and endeavoured to escape, some one way and some another, running against each other, and screaming still the louder. Their cries alarmed the guards, and these the courtiers, who all rushing in promiscuously with lights, beheld one of the most ludicrous scenes ever witnessed by man — a whole circular apartment full of distressed dames, skipping into their holes as the light ap- peared like 80 many rabbits ; and in one apartment, the door of which was shut, but to which they Avere directed by the cries, the right honourable Lady Hume holding the worthy bridegroom, the invincible Norman of Polmood ! with his coat drawn over his head in her own bed-chamber, and abusing him all the while as a depraved libertine and a ravisher. Polmood was speechless, or at least all he attempted to advance by way of palliation was never once heard, so loud was the mixed noise of laughter, ridicule, and abuse; and the king with a grave face observ'ed, that unless he could give security for his future good behaviour he would be obliged to confine him in the keep until such time as he could be got married, that then perhaps the virtue of other men's wives might be preserved from his outrageous violence. CHAPTER YI. The transactions of that night were not brought to a conclusion by the unlucky adventure of the Laird of Polmood. On the contrary, that was only a prologue to further mistakes, of greater atrocity, and of consequences more serious. The king did not again return to the pavilion, but retired to his chamber as they came down stairs. The Earl of Hume, having got extremely drunk, and fallen into an argument with another knight, who was much in the same condition, about some affair of border chivalry, of which their ideas totally dif- fered, they were l>oth become so warm and so intent ui)on the subject, that tliey never once perceived wiicn the late alarm was given, nor when the com- pany left them, in order to succour the distressed ladies. But when they returned with Polmood guarded as a j)risoner in jest, and related the cir- cumstances, the earl got into a furious passion, and right or wrong insisted on running Polmood through the body. "What, sir!" said he: "because you cannot get a wife of your own, does that give you a right to take violent possession of mine? No, sir! draw, and I'll give you to know the contrary; I'll can-e you, sir, into a great number of pieces, sir." When the earl was in the height of this passion, and had stripped off part of his clothes to fight a duel with Polmood by torch light, one of the lords whispered in his car, that Polmood only mwlook the bed, that was all ; and that Lady Hume had acquitted herself in such a manner, by taking him prisoner, that it reflected immortal honour upon her and all her connections. This pleased the lord-chamberlain so well, that he was never weary of shaking hands viith Polmood, and drinking to him; but he did not forget to ob- serA'e each time, that he thought Polmood would take care in future how he mistook Lady Hume for another. The carl grew every minute more and more pleased on account of his lady's intrepid be- haviour, and being a sprightly ingenious gentleman, began singing a song, which he swore w-as extem- pore, and which was indeed believed to be so by all present, as none of them had ever heard it before. It is said to be still extant, and to be yet sung in several parts of Scotland, which certainly is not very probable. It began "I hae ane wyffe o' mi ain. " In short his admiration of his lady arose to such a height, that he took up a resolution to go and spend the remainder of the night in her company. A number of his merry associates encouraged this pro- posal with all the plausible arguments they could suggest, reminding him that the chamber was in sooth his own — that he had only given it up in favour of her ladyship for a few nights, and she could in nowise grudge him a share of it for one night, espe- cially as there was no rest to be had in the pavilion. Thus encouraged, the earl arose and went towards the castle, singing with great glee — " I bae ane wyfiFe o' mi ain ; I'll be beliadden til nae bodye ; I'll nowtlier borey nor lenne, Swap nor niffer wi' nae bodye." The porter and gTiards at the gate objected to his admission, and began to remonstrate with his lord- ship on its impropriety : but he drew his sword, and swore he would sacrifice them, every mother's son. 107 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. if they oflfered to debar his entrance to his own wife. It was in vain that they reminded him there was no room in her ladyship's apartment for any person beside herself, which they said he himself well knew. He called them liars and officious knaves, who med- dled with matters about which they had no business; said it was his concern to find room, and theirs to obey his orders, or abide the consequences; at the same time, he fumbled at his sword-hilt, in order forthwith to begin the slaughter of the porters : and as they Avere afraid of resisting the determined re- solutions of the lord-chamberlain, they suffered him to pass, after leaving his sword behind him, and pro- mising on his honour to make no noise. The earl, by dint of perseverance, found his way, amid utter darkness, to the upper story of the castle, where his beloved lady and her fair associates were all enjoying sweet repose after the sports and merri- ment of the late day. He entered with great caution — counted the doors to the right hand with accurate exactness, in order to ascertain his lady's chamber — opened the door softly, and advanced stooping, in search of her lowly but desirable couch — but when he proceeded to clasp her in his arms in a transport of love and admiration — "0 horrible! most horri- ble!" he found that she was already lying fast locked in the arms of a knight. It is impossible to con- ceive the fury into which this discovery threw the enamoured earl. He entertained not the slightest doubt but that it was Polmood, and resolving to make an example of him, he laid hold of him by the beard with one hand, and by the throat with the other, determined to strangle him on the spot. But the desperate inamorato sprung ui^on his assailant like a tiger from his den — struck the lord chamber- lain violently on the head — overturned him on the floor, and forthwith escaped. The earl followed as fast as he was able to the door— gave the alarm with a loud voice, and hastily returned to secure the other accomplice in wickedness and shame. He flung himself upon the bed — laid violent hands upon her — swearing that she too should not escape, and that he would inflict upon her the most condign punish- ment. The lady l^ore all with silence and meekness, until she heard the rest of the courtiers approaching, and then she took hold of him by the hair of the head with both hands, held him down thereby, and screamed as loud as she was able. The waggish lords, who had excited the earl to this expedition, certain that in the state he then was, he was sure to breed some outrage in the castle, were all in waiting without the gate, ready to rush in on the least alarm. Consequently it was not long before they entered with lights, and among the rest the king in his night-gown and slippers. They entered the chamber from which the cries proceeded; and, to their no small astonishment, discovered the lord-chamberlain engaged in close combat — not with his own lady, as he had unwarrantably supposed— but with the beauteous Lady Ann Gray, who was weeping bitterly, and crying out to revenge her on that wicked and barbarous lord. The merriment of the party at this discovery would have been without bounds, had not the king ap- peared to be seriously displeased. He ordered Lord Hume to be carried down stairs instantly, and con- fined in the keep until he should answer for his con- duct. The earl attempted to remonstrate ; assuring his majesty that he had only mistaken the bed; but his ebriety being apparent, that had no effect upon the king, who declared he could not suflfer such liber- ties to be taken with any lady under the royal pro- tection with impunity, and that perhaps the lord- chamberlain might have yet to atone for his rude- ness and temerity by the loss of his head. The courtiers were all astonished at the king's peremptory manner and resentment, as no one could for a moment suppose that the earl had indeed any designs upon the person of Lady Ann Gray; and when at length he protested that he actually caught another man in the chamber with her, the king was still more wroth, asserting that to be impossible, guarded as the castle then was, unless it were him- self who was there, which he hoped Lord Hume did not mean to insinuate in the presence, or at least in the hearing, of his royal consort — that, as far as he knew, there was not another knight within the walls of the castle, and that such a malicious attempt to asperse the young lady's honour was even worse than the other crime. ' ' Let the castle be instantly searched," cried he, "and if there is no other person found in it, save the ladies, and those now admitted, I shall order the head to be taken from this un- courtly and slanderous earl early in the morning. Was it not enough that he should attempt the viola- tion of a royal ward, of the highest birth and re- spect, but that, when frustrated, he should endea- vour to affix a stain upon her honour, and in the accusation implicate his sovereign 1 Let the castle be searched strictly and instantly." The earl was confined in the keep — the castle gate was double guarded — the castle was searched for men throughout, and at last Carmichael was found concealed in his own chamber, and half dressed. No doubt then remained with the cour- tiers that he was the guilty person with regard to Madam Gray. The king appeared visibly astonished when Car- michael was discovered, but affecting to be of the same opinion as the rest, he accompanied them down stairs — locked Carmichael in the keep beside the lord-chamberlain — dismissed the rest to the pa- vilion, charging them on pain of death not to at- tempt entering the gate of the castle again, till once they received his orders ; and having caused it to be locked, he retired to his apartment. The displeasure of the king jarred on the minds of the hitherto jovial party. Their organs of sensa- tion Avere benumbed at once, and their risibility completely quashed. They durst not even speak 108 THE BRIDAL OF POLMOOD. their minds freely to one another on the subject, afraid of having their remarks overhauled at next day's examination; but they all judged Carmichael to be in a bad predicament, considering how great a favourite Lady Ann was with the king. It Avas then first discovered, that Carmichael had been absent from the pavilion, from the time that the ladies retired, and how long previously to that could not be recollected ; consequently they were all satisfied that they were two lovers, and that the meeting had been preconcerted, although their pas- sion had hitherto been concealed from the eyes of all the court. The whole matter appeared now to them perfectly obvious; whereas there was not a single incident save one, on which they put a right construction. A short and profound sleep ushered that group of noble sportsmen into the healthful morning breeze of the mountain, and the beams of the advancing sun, and finished the adventures of that memorable night, but not their consequences. The examina- tion which follows in the next chapter, will assist somewhat in the explication of the one, and the subsequent narrative of the other. CHAPTER VII. Fair and lovely rose that morning on the forest of Meggat-dale — it was the third of September — the day destined by the king and queen for the marriage of their beloved Elizabeth. The dawning first spread a wavy canopy of scarlet and blue over all the eastern hemisphere ; but when the sun mounted from behind the green hills of Yarrow, the fairy curtain was up- drawn into the viewless air. The shadows of the mountains were then so beauteously etched, and their natural tints so strongly marked, that it seemed as if the mountains themselves lay cradled in the bosom of the lovely lake; but while the eye yet rested on the adumbrated phenomenon, the spectre hills, with all their inverted woods and rocks, melted away in their dazzling mirror. It was a scene that might have stirred the most insensate heart to raptures of joy; yet the Queen of Scotland and her ladies were demure and sullen, even though their morning walk was over a garnish of small but delicate mountain flowers, belled with the dews^of heaven — though fragrance was in every step, and health in every gale that strayed over the purple heath. The king and his nobles were even more sullen than they. The king took his morning walk by himself — his nobles sauntered about in pairs, but they discoursed only to their hounds, whose gambols and mimic hunts were checked by the unwonted gloom on the brows of their masters. The two aggressors were still lying in the dismal keep, both in the highest chagrin ; the one at his disappoint- ment in love, the other at his disgrace. Such are the motley eft'ects of intemperance, and such the importance attached by the inebriated fancy to trifles, which, in moments of calm reflection, would never have been regarded. The king returning, threw himself into his easy chair ; the queen paid her respects to him, and inter- ceded for the imprisoned lords. He ordered them to be brought before him, and summoned the rest of ■ the nobles to attend. When the news of the ex- amination spread the ladies came running together, some of them dressed, and some only half-dressed, to hear it. A trial of a delinquent who has come under any suspicions with respect to their sex is to them a most transcendent treat. But the king rising, beseeched them kindly to withdraw, because, in the course of elucidating the matter, some things might be expressed offensive to their modesty. They assured his majesty that there was no danger of such a circumstance occurring; but he persisted, and they were obliged to retire. The king first called on Polmood to give an ac- count of all that befell him in the vault of the twelve chambers ; and how he came to make the unman- nerly attack on the Lady Hume, all which he was required to answer on oath. The speeches which follow are copied literally from the handwriting of Archemhald Quhitelaiu airtshdeiken of Lowden and cekreter to kinge Jemys. The MSS. are now in the possession of Mr. J. Brown, Edinburgh, and fully confirm the authenticity of the story, if any doubts remain of the tradition. The first, as being the most original, is given at full length ; it is entitled, Ane speetsh and defenns maide by Normaund Hun- tyr of Poomoode on ane wyte ofroyet and lemanrye with Elenir Ladye of Hume. "Mucht it pleiz mai sovrayne lege, not to trowe sikkan euil and kittel dooins of yer ain trew cervente, and maist lethfu legeman ; nor to lychtlefye myne honer sa that I can ill bruke; by eyndling, that, withoutten dreddour I shulde gaung til broozle ane fayir deme, ane honest mannis wyfl"e, and mynnie to twa bairnis ; and that in the myddis of ane loftful of queenes. I bond haife bein dementyde to kicke ane stoure, to the skaithinge of hir preclair pounyis, and hairshillynge myne ayin kewis. Kethynge mai lege was ferder fra myne heid thanne onye sikkan wylld sneckdi-awinge and pawkerye. But quhan yer maigestye jinkyt fra me in the baux, and left me in the darknesse, I was baiss to kum again wi' sik- kan ane ancere ; and stude summe tyme swutheryng what it avysat me neiste to doo in thilke barbulye. At the launge, I stevellit backe, and lowten downe, set mai nebb to ane gell in the dor, and fleechyt Eleesabett noore to let us torfell in the waretyme of owir raik. But scho skyrit to knuife lownly or sic- carlye on thilke sauchning, and heiryne that scho was wilsum and glunchye, I airghit at keuillyng 109 THE ETTRICK SHErilERDS TALES. withe liirr in that thraward pauglity moodc, and liaidna langer to haigel. But ben doitrifyed with thilke drynke and sachless and dizzye with lowtyn, and thilke lofte as dcrke as pick, I tint ilka spunk of ettlyng quhair the dor laye. And thaun I staupyt and gavit about quhillc I grewe pcrfitlye donnarit, and trowit the castil to be snuiffyng and birlyng round ; foreby that it was heezing upon the tae syde, and myntyng to whommil me. I had sccndil watherit a selwyn raddour, but boddin that 1 wad coup, that I muchtna gie a dooffe, 1 hurklit litherlye down, and craup forrct alang on myne looffis and myne schynes, hcrkyng at ilka dorlief gyffe ther was onye ane snifteryng withyn side. Outhir I owirharde, or thocht I owirharde sliepyng soughs ahynte thilk haile, and begoude to kiep sklenderye houpes of wynning out of myne revellet fank unsperkyt with scheme or desgrece. Ben richt laith to rin rashlye, with ane posse, on the kyttes or the chaftis of thilke dcir eichil kimmers, that war lying doveryng and snuffyng, and spelderyng, reke- lesse and mistrowyns of all harmis, I was eidentlye hotteryng alang with muckle paishens. I was lyiuge cndslang at ane dor, quhan I harde ane chylde un- haspe thilke sneck, as moothlyc as ane snail quhan scho gaungs snowking owir thilk droukyt swaird; but thilk dor gyit ay thilk tothcr whcsk, and thilk tother jerg, and core I gatttyme til syne mysel, ane grit man trippyt on myne feit, and fell belly flaught on me with ane dreadful noozle, quhille myne curpin was jermummlyt, and myne grunzic knoityd with ane cranch against thilke lofte. 1 cursyt him in wraith, and mynding to taigel him, claught baud of his kootc whilke 1 gyit ane hele of ane nibble. Oorc I gatt to myne knye he elyit, garryng thilk dor clashe ahint him. I strifflit till thilke samenplcsse as gypelye as I culde — puit up thilk samcn dor as I thoucht and ran on — but quhair suld I lichte ! but on thilke dafte syde of ane fell madamc ! Myne held mcllyt thilk biggyng, and I was klien stoundyt and daveryt. Myne ledde sychit and mummlyt, pittyng me in ane dreidfulle fyke ; and sae fummylyng til ryse, scho trowit I had bein gumpyng, and sett up sic ane yirlich skrighe that my vcrie sennyns sloomyt and myne teith chackyt in myns heid. Scho brain- zellyt up in ane fooryc and dowlicappyd me, and ben richt laithe to lay ane laitless finger on her, I brankyt in myne gram, and laye smooryng quhille ye claum fra the barmykene and redde us. Thys is tliilke that he asked pardon of Lady Hume, her majesty, and all the ladies. The lord-chamberlain was then called up, and being accused of ^' Mitslefryt racket and 'jruetonie aasault on thilke body of Lady Anne fJr^y." he began as follows : — "Mai maiet grashous and soveryne lege, I do humblye beseetsh yer pardonne for myne grit follye and mismainners, and do intrete you til attrjbut* thatn haile frolyke to yer majestye's liberalitye, and no til nae roode and wuckit desyne. I hae nae plcy to urge, only that in fayth and troothe I mystuke thilke bed, as myne ayin guid deme, and Lady Grey well baith well allow ; and gin I didna fynde ane man in thilke bed " Here it appears the king had interrupted him ; for there is no more of this speech in Whitlaw'e hand, save some broken sentences which cannot l»e con- nected. His majesty is said to have called out angrily, "Hold, hold, no more of that: we have heard enough. Carmichael," continued he, turning about to him, "tell me on your honour, and tell me truly ; were you in the room of the twelve chaml>cr8 last night in the dark, or were you not?" Car- michael answered, with great promptness, that he was. " Was it you who stumbled over Polmood ?" "It was, indeed." "Then tell me, sir, what was your business there?" Carmichael bowed, and bcgired to be excused, assuring his majesty that, though he would willingly yield his life for him, that secret he would not yield at that time. ' ' I thank you," said the king, " I know it all. 1 am glad you have some honour left : had you publicly divulged your motives, you should never have seen the noon of this day. Carmichael ! you have been ungrateful, unwary, and presumptuous ! I have trusted you near my person for three years, but we must take care that you shall never insult royalty again. Conduct him to the keep till our farther pleasure is manifested. ^ly lord-chamberlain, you must ask pardon of iladam Gray, the queen, and all the ladies." The nobles did not comprehend the king's awards, but he knew more, and saw farther into the matter than they did. CHAPTER Tin. hale and leil troothe, as I houpe for merse bye ouir blissyt Ladye. " The lords ha^^ng, by desire, retired, the ladies were The king then asked him if he was certain it was next sent for, and examined one by one, after being a man that stumbled over him in the dark ? Pol- ! informed that none of them were required to divulge mood swore he was certain, for that it was weightier \ anything relating to themselves, but only what they and stronger than any three women in the forest, and besides he was farther certified by feeling his clothes and leg. The king still continued to dwell on that subject, as seeming to doubt of it alone; but Polmood hanng again SAVorn to the certainty of the whole, he was dismissed and forgiven, on condition heard passing with regard to others. There was such a flood of mystery and surmise now poured in upon the king, that ho felt himself utterly at a loss to distinguish truth from fiction. According to their relations there had been great battles — men cursing and swearing, and occasionally 110 THE BRIDAL OF POI.MOOD. liiUiiig down uiioii the Hoor with such a shock as if the roof of tho castle hud fallen in. 'J'here were besides whisperinfjs lieard, and certain noises which were well described, but left to the judge for inter- pretation. In a word, it appeared from the relations of the fair enthusiasts, that all the nobles of the court had been there, and the king himself among them; and that every lady in the castle had been engaged with one paramour at least — the narrator always excepted. James would gladly have put a stop to this torrent of scandal and insinuation, but, having once begun, he was obliged to hear them all out; each being alike au.vious to vindicate herself by fixing the guilt upon her neighbours. One circumstance however came out, which visibly artected James. It was aflirnied by two dillerent ladies, one of whom at least he had good reasons for believing, that there was actually one in the chamber with Elizabeth, when he and rohnood came up in their frolic, and when she contrived so artfully to extinguish the light. Several circumstances oc- curred to his mind at once in confirmation of this accusal, but he affected to receive it with the same indifference that be received the rest. He cast one look at Elizabeth, but he was too much of a gentle- man to sutler it to remain — he withdrew his pierc- ing eye in a moment — smiled, and asked questions about something else. When they had done, Eliza- beth rose to explain, and had just begun by saying, "My dear lord, it is very hard indeed that I cannot pay my evening services to the Virgin, but I must be suspected of " Here she paused, and the lively and petulant Ann Grsiy, springing up and making a low courtesy, said, in a whimpering tone, "My dear lord! it is very hard indeed, that Car- michacl cannot pay his evening services to a virgin but he must be suspected of " The manner in which she pronounced this, and in particular the emphasis which she laid upon the concluding prepo- sition, set all the ladies a giggling ; and the king, being pleased with the sly humour of his favourite, and seeing Elizabeth put to the blush, he started up, and said, "There is no need of any defence or apology, my dear Elizabeth ; I am too well convinced of your purity to regard the insinuations of that volatile imp. We all know whereto her sarcasms tend ; she has the Earl of Hume in her mind, and the gentleman who knocked him down last night ; she wishes you to be thought like herself, but it will not do. We shall soon see you placed in a situation beyond the power of her wicked biting jests, and of court scandal ; while she may continue to sigh and ogle with knights, wreck her disappointment on all her acquaintances, and sigh for that she cannot have." "'Heigh-ho!" cried the shrewd minx, in a tone which again set all the party in a titter. After this, the king, having dismissed them, sent for Carmichael, and said to him, " Carmichael, I am shocked at your behaviour. The attempt you have made on a royal ward, on the ver}^ eve of her marriage witii a man whom we esteem, manifests a depravity of mind, anil a heart so dead to every sense of gratitude, that I am ashamed at having taken such a knight into my household. Wiiatever were your motives for this disgraceful and clandestine procedure, whether the seduction of her person or of her affections from the man who adores her, and who has obtained our sanction to her hand, they must have been wrong, and far from that line of respect which, in return for our confidence, it was your boundcn duty to pursue. I therefore will, that you immediately quit, for the space of three years, the society of which you have been an unworthy mmbcr; and if at any time within that period you are found within twenty miles of our residence, your life shall answer for it — this I shall cause to be pro- claimed to the country at large. I desire to hear no entreaty or excuse. ' Carmichael bowed, and retired from the presence in the utmost trepidation. He and his groom, the only attendant he had, were both ready mounted in less than ten minutes; and being driven, in some degree, to a state of desperation, he rode boldly up to the castle gate, and desired a word with Elizabeth. This was a most imprudent action, as it in some degree divulged the cause of his expulsion from the court, which it was the king's chief design to con- I ceal, or gloss over with some other pretence. When the squire in waiting carried up his demand, Elizabeth was sitting between the queen and the Lady Hamilton ; and acting from the impulse of the moment, as she too often did, she was rising to comply with the request, when a look from the king, which she well knew how to interpret, caused her to sink again into her seat, like a deer that has been aroused by a false alarm. " What answer shall I return!" said the squire, who had only witnessed her spontaneous motion, but received no order: "that Mistress Elizabeth has nothing to say to him," said the king. The squire returned down stairs. "Mistress Elizabeth has nothing to say to you, my lord." Carmichael turned his horse slowly around, as if not knowing what he did. "AVas it she that returned me this answer?" said he ; "Yes sir," said the man, walking carelessly back into the castle. That word pierced Carmichael to the heart; he again turned his horse slowly around, and the porter said he seemed as if he had lost sight of the ground. He appeared desirous of leaving some message, but he rode oflf without uttering another syllable, and instead of shaping his course homeward as was expected, he crossed the iMeggat, went round the Breaken Hill, and seemed bound for the border. Though it is perhaps understood, it may not be improper here to mention, that when Carmichael escaped from Elizabeth's chamber in the dark, and had slunk quietly down to his own, in a few^ minutes he heard the king come running down the stair, laughing, and calling out that the bride had rued ; and not ha-ving the slightest suspicion that Polmood 111 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. would remain among the ladies in the dark, he judged him to have gone along with the king. He was extremely happy on hearing the king exclaim- ing that Elizabeth had taken her word again, not doubting but that it was in consequence of the con- versation he had with her ; and in order to strengthen her resolution, or prevail upon her instantly to elope with him, he took the opportunity of stealing again to her apartment before any other irruption of the revellers into the castle should take filace. But in his way, and when at the very point at which he aimed, he stumbled upon the forlorn Polmood, whose voice and grasp he well knew, and from whom he narrowly escaped. Carmichael was now gone, and Elizabeth did not believe that any person knew of her amour with him. She thought that the king was merely jealous of him and Lady Ann Gray; yet she could not help considering herself as the cause of the noble youth's disgrace, and for the first time in her life felt her heMrt interested in the person or concerns of another. Perhaps her passion for admiration prompted the feeling, for the circumstance had deprived her of a principal admirer; but it is probable that a senti- ment more tender mixed with the regret she felt at his departure. The king, who perceived well how matters stood, was considerably alarmed for his fair ward, both on account of her bewitching beauty and accomplish- ments, and her insatiable desire of excelling all others of her sex ; but more on account of her rash thoughtless manner of acting. He entertained no doubt of her stainless purity, but he knew that a great deal more was required in order to maintain her character uncoutaminated in the eyes of the world — ^that caution and prudence were as requisite as the others, and that purit}' of heart and inno- cency of intention, instead of proving shields against the aspersions of calumny, often lead to that gaiety and freedom of demeanour, which attract its most venomous shafts. Of this caution and prudence Elizabeth seemed destitute. Her own word, with that of both her royal guardians, was pledged to Polmood, yet notwithstanding all this, he dreaded that she had admitted a knight into her chamber at midnight, and had artfully effected his escape, within nine hours of the time appointed for her nuptials. He could not judge Carmichael's preten- sions to have been honourable from his manner of proceeding, and he trembled for the impressions he might have made upon her inexperienced heart, subversive of honour, faith, and vii'tue; especially when he considered the answer she had returned to Polmood the very minute after Carmichael had left her. As for Polmood, he had, as yet, no suspicious of Carmichael nor any man living ; but the answer he had received sunk deep into his heart, for he abso- lutely adored Elizabeth, and feared he had offended l.er by some part of his behaviour, and that she had actually repented of her promii»e to him on that account. He knew not to whom first to addrcBB liimself, and wandered about all that morning, with a countenance so rueful that nothing in this age will ever compare with it. The king put his arm within Elizaljeth'g, and led her to the balcony. The day was clear, and the scene on which they looked around, wild and roman- tic. The high mountains, the straggling woods, the distant lake, and the limpid river, with its hundred branches, winding through valleys covered with brake and purple heath, whose wild variety of light and shade the plough never marred ; — the kid, the lamb, the leveret, and the young deer, feeding or sporting together in the same green holt, formed altogether a scene of rural simplicity, and peaceful harmony, such as the eye of a Briton shall never again look upon. "We shall have a sweet day for your wedding. Elizabeth," said the king. P^lizabeth cast her eyes towards the brow of the hill, where Carmichael had but a few minutes before vanished, and remained silent. The king was agitated. "It was an effect- ual rub you gave the bridegroom last night," con- tinued he; "I owe you a kiss, and a frock of purple silk beside, for it. I would not have missed the jest for a hundred bonnet pieces, and ag many merks to boot; you are a most exquisite girl." Never was flatterj' lost on the ear of a woman, especially if that woman was possessed of youth and beauty. Elizabeth smiled and seemed higlily pleased with the compliment paid to her ingenuity. "What a loss it is," continued James, "that we cannot pu.>li the jest a little farther. Suppo.crceivc the decay of the one save only by the growing Ijcau- ties of the other. " The tear rolled in Polmood's eye. Elizabeth was only intent on the manner in which she stood, and on ordering her downcast looks and blushes aright ; she thought not of the petition but of the compliment paid to her beauty. Soon were they aLrain on horseback, and ascending the high hill of Falscat they dined on it-s summit by the side of a crystal spring. From that elevated spot they had an immense and varictl prospect, which in all directions was intercepted only by the blue haze, in which distance always screens herself from human vision. The whole southern part of the king- dom from sea to sea lay spread around them as on a map, or rather like one half of a terrestrial globe — Where oceans roUetl and rivers ran, To bound the aims of sinful man. Man never looked on scene so fair As Scotland from the ambient air ; t»'er valleys clouds of vapour rolled, While othere tieanied in burning gold ; And, stretching far and wide Iwtwecn, Were fading shades of fairj- green. The gKissy sea that ro\ind her quakes ; Her thousand isles, and thousand Lakes ; Her momit;iins frowiiing o'er the main ; Her waving fields of golden griin : On such a scene, so sweet, so mild. The radiant sunbeam never smiled : But though the vales and frith of Lothian lay stretched like a variegated carpet below his feet on the one side, while the green hills and wa\ing woods of Ettrick Forest formed a contrast so noble on the other, it was remarked that the king fixed his eyes constantly on the fells of Cheviot and the eastern bordere of England. Did he even then meditate an invasion of that country ? Or did some invisible power, presiding over the mysteries of elicitation 114 THE BRIDAL OF roLilUUl). and Bvmpathy, draw his thoiiu;ht3 irrcsiritiljly away to that very spot wliero liis royal and goodly form was 80 soon to lie in an untimely grave? Towards the evening,', in cndeavourini^ to avoid a morass the whole party lost their way; and the king, pereeiving a young man at a little distance, rode briskly up to him in order to make in(|uiries. Tlie lad, who was the son of a farmer and herding his father's sheep, seeing a cavalier with a slouchetl hat galloping towards him, judged him to be one of a troop of foragers, ami throwing away his plaid and brogues he took to his heels and tied willi precipita- tion. It was in vain that the king shouted and called on him to halt, he only fled tlie faster ; and James, who delighted in a frolic, and was under the necessity of having some information concerning the way, seeing no better would, drew his sword and pursued him full speed. As the youth ran towards tlie steepest part of the hill, the king, who soon lost sight of his company, found it no easy matter to come up with him. But at last the hardy mountaineer, perceiving his pursuer hard upon him, and judging that it was all over with him, faced about, heaved up his baton, and prepared for a desperate defence. Whetlier the king rode briskly up in order to dis- arm him at once, or whether, as he pretended, he was unable to stop his horse on the steep, could not be determined, owing to the ditlerence of the relation when told by the king and the shepherd, but cer- tain it is that at the first stroke the shepherd stunned the king's Spanish bay, who foundered on the heath and threw his ritler forward among the feet of his antagonist. The shepherd, who deemed himself fighting for life and salvation, plied his blows so thick upon the king's back and shoulders that, if he had not previously been quite exhausted by running, he had certainly maimed the king. But James, feeling by experience that there was no time to parley, sprung upon his assailant, whom he easily overthrew and disarmed, as being completely out of breath. "What does the fool mean?" said the king; " all that I wanted of you was to put us on our way to Peebles, for we have entirely lost both our path and our aim." "But you must first tell me who you are," said the youth; "I fear you have no good design on Peebles." "We are a wedding party going there to make merry. The king and queen are to meet us and honour us Avith their company; and if you will go along and direct us the way, you too shall be our guest, and you shall see the king and all his court." " I can see plenty o' fools without ganging sae far," said the shepherd; " I account that nae great favour; I have often seen the king." "And would know him perfectly well, I suppose V "Oh, yes; I could ken him amang a thousand. But tell me, are you indeed Scotsmen!" " Indeed we arc; did you not see many ladies in company '!" " I am sorry for putting you to sae muckle trouble, sir; but wha ever saw a Scot wear a bonnet like that!" " Come, mount behind me and direct us on our way, which seems terribly intricate, and you shall be well rewarded." The youth mounted, bare-legged as he was, behind the stalwart groom without further hesitation. Tliey soon came in sight of the comjjany, who were wailing the i.ssue of the pursuit : the king waved his slouched hat, and called on them to follow, and then rode away at a distance before, conversing with his ragged guide. The eminence where the party dined is called the King's Seat, and the glen where they found the shepherd the Wnddiiujefa Hope to this day. CHAPTER X. The road which they were now obliged to follow was indeed intricate; it winded among the brakes and woods of Grevington in such a manner that, if it liad not been for the 8hei)herd, the royal party could not have found their way to the town of Peebles or the castle of Nidpath that night. James and the shepherd led the way, the latter being well acquainted with it, while the rest followed. The two foremost being both on the same horse, con- versed freely as they went. There being a consider- able difference in the relation which the parties gave of the particulars of this conversation, the real truth could not be fully ascertained ; but the following is as near a part of it as could be recovered. KitKj. — "So you know the king well enough by sight, you say V Shep. — ' ' Perfectly well. ' ' "Pray, what is he like?" "A black looking, thief-like chap, about your ain size, and somewhat like you, but a great deal uglier. " " I should like of all things to .see him and hear him speak." "You would like to see him and hear him speak, would you ? Well, if you chance to see him, I will answer for it, you shall soon hear him speak. There's naething in the hale warld he delights sae muckle in as to hear himself speak — if you are near him it will gang hard if you hear onything else ; and if you do not see him, it will not be his fault ; for he takes every opportunity' of showing his goodly person." "So you have no great opinion of your king, I perceive." " I have a great opinion that he is a silly fellow; a bad man at heart; and a great rascal." " I am sorrj' to hear that from one who knows him 115 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 80 well, for I have heard, on the contrary, that he is accounted generous, brave, and virtuous." " Ay, but his generosity is a' ostentation — his bravery has never yet been weel tried ; and for his virtue — God mend it." "Well, siiepherd, you know we may here sjjeak the 8entimcnt.s of our hearts freely; and whatever you say—" " Whatever 1 say ! I have said nothing which I would not repeat if the king were standing Ijcside me. I only said his courage has not yet been tried — I say sae still; and I said, for his virtue, God mend it. Was that wrong] I say sac still, too — I would sa3' as muckle for any person ; of you, or even my own father. The truth is, I like James Stuart weel enough as my king, and would fight for him to my last breath against the Englishmen ; Ijut I am unco angry at him for a' that, and would as wil- lingly fight wi him. If I had got him amang my feet as I had you lately, mercy ! how I would have laid on!" " Ha ! you would !" "That I would ! Hut by the by, wliat makes you wear an iron chain? you have not killed your father too, have you ? Or is it only for the purpose of car- rying your master's wallet." " No more; only for carrying my master's wallet." "Ay, but the king wears ane sa.\ times as big as that of yours, man — Was not that a terrible busi- ncssl How can we cxi)cc't any ble.ssing or good for- tune to attend a king wlio dctlironed and murdcreii his father? for j'e ken it was the same thing as if he had done it wi' his ain hand." " It is well known that his father was mucii to blame; and I believe the king was innocent of that, and is besides very sorry for it." "Though he was to blame, he was still Ins fatlier - there's nae argument can gang against tiuit ; and as to his being sorry, it is easy for him to say sae, and wear a bit chain over his shoulder, as you do : but I firmly believe if the same temptation and tlic same opportunity were again to occur, he would do the same over again. And then, what a wicked man he is with women ! He has a very good tiueen of his ain, even though she be an Englishwoman, which is certainly wonderful ; nevertheless, she is a very good queen ; yet he is so indillerent about her, that he is barely cinl, and delights only in a witch- ing minx that they ca' Gray — Gray by name, and Gray by nature, I wad reckon. What a terrible sin and shame it is to gallant as they do! I wonder they two never think of hell and purgatory." " We must allow our king a little liberty in that way. " "Yes; and then he must allow it in others, and they in others again — you little think what a wicked prince has to answer for." "Are such things indeed reported of the king?" " Ay, and in everybody's mouth. Fy ! fy ! what a shame it ia ! If I were in his place J would ' shu the Heron away,' an the auld song gays — Pray did you never hear tlie song of ///^ I/trun Mhich one of our shepherds made; a strange chaj) he i conceal frac his sight. I could show him eomc Ecene> that would convince him what s<»rt of a king he is.' The slicphcrd, al>out this time, obscning that one of the troop behind them continued to sound a buck- at equal intervals, with a certain peculiar lilt, a- the king what the fellow meant. The king answcii-i "That he was only warning Mc«« John and the weddingcrs to be ready to receive them. And you will soon sec them," continued lie, "eoiniiiir U> n • us, and to coneen despatched to provide accommodations at Nidpath. the towns- men had dressed themselves in their best robes, and were all prepared to rei-eive their royal I" ' with every demonstnition of joy ; and. on ;..... the well-known sound of his bugle, they repaired to meet him on a moor south of the river. The king being still foremost, rode up into the midst of his loyal burgesses without being discoveretl. and. in- deed, without being regarded or looked at; then. wheeling about his horse, he made a halt until his train came up : the barelegged youth was still riding at his back on the same horse. The shepherd could perceive no king, nor anything like one. save Polmood. on whom the eyes of the t^iwusmen were likewise fixed as he approached ; yet they could not help thinking their king was trans- formed. The courtiers with their attendants s?rcat allair to be goiiiiX on. '• Are ye l)lind ! neii^iibour, tak afi' that ui;ly slouched hat of" yours, man," sai«l he to his com- panion, and at tlie same time pushed it off with one of his arms. The kini^ catciicd it between his hands as it fell. " To whom shall I take it off, sirrah ! — to you, I suppo.se," said lie, ami put it delilierately aveni^ed on him for L'allini^ him in smii a merciless manner, and sent a messent^er to him that nijfiit, informing him that he would be brought to the scaf- fold ne.\t day; but that if he had any message or letter to send to his father, the king would despatch a courier with it. The youth replieil, that if the king would send a messenger with the letter who could read it to his father, he would certainly write one instantly ; l)ut that his father could not read. The messenger, knowing that the king was particu- larly (lesirous of seeing the writing and compdsition on again. This incident di.seovered his majesty to i of a shepherd, and of comparing it with those of his all present, and a thousand shouts, mixed with a i clerks, i)romi.sed that such a mc8.senger should be thoH.sand bonnets, scaled the firmament at once. . The dreadful truth now ghimed upon the shep- herd's mind like tiie bolt of heaven tiiat iireludes a storm. The station which his companion held in the middle of the ring - the (jueen by his side— the heads uneovcreil. and the iron chain, all con- firmed it. He sprung from his seat, as the marten of the (irampians springs from his hold when he smells the fire- darted throuirh an opening in the circle, and ran across the nuw^r wilii inconceivable swiftness. "Hold that ra-scal." cried the king; •'lay hold of the villain, lay hold of him." The shepherd was jnirsued by man, horse, and hound, and soon overtaken and secured. Their majesties entered the town amid shouts and acclamations of joy; but the unfortunate shepherd was brought uji a prisoner in the rear by four officers of the king's guard, who wore highly amu.sed by the different pa.ssions that agitated his lireast. At one time he was accusing himself bitterly of folly and stupidity; — at another, lauijhing at his mistake, and consoling himself after this manner: •'Weel, the king will hang me the morn, there is no doubt of it; but he canna do it for naething, as he does to mony anc, sent w ith it. The shepherd wrote one without delay, which the man took, and carried straight to the king. This letter is likewise inserted in Mr. Hrown's book of ancient manuscrijjts, but it seems to have been written at a much later i)eri(Ml than many others that arethere; the spelling issomewhat more modern, and the ink scarcely so yellow. The following is a literal copy : — " I)r faythr. im in l>e haiiv'i' the nmrn. ior dad- dinge of the kingis hate ; for miskaing iiim to his fes aliynt his bak ; for devering his whors, and lay- inge on him with ane grit stick, i hojjc el no be ve.xt, for im no theefe; it was a sayir battil, an a bete him dounc wis dran sorde; for I miskent him. if it hadna bin krystis merse, ad kild him. mi muthr 1 be wae, but ye men pleis her, an il be gled to se ye in at the dcth, for i wontc er Idissyng. im no feirit, but yit its ane asom thynge; its no deth it feirs me, but the cftir-kum garis my hert girle. if kryste an his muthr dinna do sumthin for me thcr, i maye be ill im er lukles sonne, ^ illem mora to "Villcm mora of kreuksten." When this letter was read to the king and his courtiers, instead of laughing at it, as might have that is some comfort; by my faith. I gae him a j been expected, they admired it, and wondered at hearty loundering; he never gat sic dadds in his life i the shepherd's profound erudition; a proof that — let him tak them." Again, when he spoke or , learning, in those days, was at a very low ebb in thought of his parents, his heart was like to burst, i .Scotland. After locking him into the tolbooth of Peebles, they i left him to darkness and despair; while all the rest were carousing and making merry, and many of \ them laughing at his calamitv. The kiiig, whose curiosity had been aroused, made inquiries concerning the name, occupation, and qualities of this youth, and was informed that his name was ^loray (the same, it is supposed, with Murray); that he was a great scholar, but an idle, useless fellow ; that the old abbot had learned him to sing, for which every one valued him ; but that, unfortunately, he had likewise taught him the un- profitable arts of reading and writing, in which alone he delighted; and it was conjectured he would end in becoming a warlock, or studying the black art. The king, though no profound scholar himself, knew well the value of education, and how to esti- The messenger was despatched to his father; and the old mail and his wife, on receiving the news, repaired instantly to Peebles in the utmost conster- nation. They were, however, denied access to their son, until such time as he appeared on the scaffold. A great crowd was by that time assembled ; for be- sides the court, all the town people, and tho.se of the country around, were gathered together to see poor William hanged. When his father and mother mounted the steps, he shook each of them by the hand, smiled, and seemed anxious to console them ; but they both turned about and wept, and their utterance was for some time quite overpowered. They had been given to understand that the king would listen to no intercession ; for that their son had uttered sentences of a most dangerous and fla- grant nature, in which they were likely to be in- mate it in others. He was therefore desirous of j volved, as ha\'ing instilled such sentiments into his trying the youth a little further, and of being j young mind. But when they learned from his own 117 THE ETTUICK SHEPHEKirS TALES. moutlj, that he Lad committed the assault on the per- son of his niajciity under a mi.stake, and knowing how justly their son had blamed his conduct and govern- ment, they eould not help considering it extremely hard, to bring a valuable youth thus to a shameful and public execution for such an ofrence. The motlicr cried downright, and the old man with diffi- culty restrained himself. He did not fall at the king's feet, nor attempt speaking to him, as juilging it altogether vain and unpnjfitable; but he turneil on him a look that said more than any wordii could express : and then, as if hopeless of njcrcy or justice from that quarter, he turned them to heaven, un- covered his gray head, and sinking on his knecu, invoked the justice and forgiveness of the Almighty in strong and energetic terms. This was tlic lan- guage of nature and of the heart; and wiicn he prayed, there was no cheek in the a8»eml)ly dry, save those of the king and courtiers. " What hard hearts these great folks have," said the country - people one to another. The usual ceremonies being all got over, William's face was at length covered— the executioner wa.'* just l)roceeding to do his duty—thousands of burgesses and plebeians were standing around with bare heads and ojjen mouths, h(dding in their breath in awful 8usi)ense— the women had turned tiieir backs to the scafFold, and were holding down their faces, and weeping — the parents of the youth ha«l taken u long farewell of him, when the king sprung forward to the scene of action. "Hold!" said he, "tliis fellow, traitor as he is, has liehavcd him.'ielf throngliout Avith some degree of spirit, und liierefore he shall not die like a common felon — No." continued he, unsheathing his sword, "he shall die by the iiund of a king. Kneel down, William. I command you'" William, whose senses were all in confusion, and w ho I'clt the same kind of sensiitions as he some- times wont to do in a dream, kneeled implicitly down on tlie boards, and held forward his head, inakiug a long neck that his majesty might get a fair blow at it. The king, either inadvertently or in a frolic, laid the cold blade of the swonl for a moment upon his neck. William imagined his head was ofV, and fell lifeless upon the scalfbld. The king then crossed him with his swortl — "iljse up. Sir William Moray," said he; " I here create you A knight, and give to you, and yours, the lantls of Crookston and Newbey, to hold of me for ever." The old farmer and hjs wife uttenni both au invol- untary cry, between a sigli and a shout : it was something like that which a drowning person uttei-s, and they were instantly at the kings feet, clasping his knees. The crowd around hurled their caps into the air, and shouted until the hills rang again, " Long live our gracious king!— long live our good king James!" When the tumult of joy had somewhat subsided, it wiis observed that William was lying still upon hia face. They unbound his hands, and desired him 1 to rise; but he neither auHWcrcd nor regarded ; aud, on lifting him up, they saw with a-' he was deaVhen the king laid the cv. ., r .. . , i uj>on his bare neck, it wajs observed that he gave m viulent shiver. The poor youth imagined that bis head was then struck ofT, and to think < ' ' longer in ftUcii circumstanccti waji out of the 'j HO be died with all manner uf dccoruin; and it u believed he wouM never more have revived, if the most vigorous meahures bad not l*e«Q reported to. King James, who wrta wtdl versed in everj thing re luting to the human frame, wa« the best surgeon, ji und the most hkilful |' ' ' " ' succeeded at la.* t in rcr' then, eo strongly waH hia fancy imprcwicd with the reality of his di^.■>4)lution, that he could not be con vinced that he wai< not in a world of hpint«. and that all who surrounded him were gbo«>u. When he came to understand bis real situation, and waa in fonned of the honours and lai. " by the king, he wept out of g;. . .. .._ observed, that, "ajltr all, the truth tuld aye br»t." (II Al'TKK M. William, the shepherd, l»ein|f now n]otaraori>b<>: into Sir William Moray, was equip|*ed in |>r babiliaients. and intnMluixsl at iMurt liy hik ii< >• title. He often astonii-hitl the cxairtiers, and pu< them quite out of countenance, by his blunt anromise«l to sing to him on their way to Pceldft" William hesitated, bin-' ' ' ' ' but, the more averse li. clamorous the company grew for his song. This practice is toofre«)uont even to this day. an . it is one which neither betokens generosity nor l' sense. It often puts an unoffending youth, or ;■ ble young lady, to the blush, and lays them undt r the necessity of either making a UmA of th' " or of refusing tho.«e whom they wish to ol..- to appear prudish, when in fact nothing is farther from their hearts. The custom can never lie pro ductive of any good; and. in the instance above al ludcd to, it was the cause of much shame and di.- 18 THE HI{II)AL OF P(»LM wha, ami uuulilo til lu.ld l(>i(j,'iT out, livifiiii, ami with ii fuce ^luwiiii; with Hhaiiic, u |ml|iitutiii|j^ heart, and a ful- tcriii^j tonifuc, hiuij,' tlie following old Imlhul. The writer of thiri tale iu |turti»-ularly ha|i|>y at having it in hiit |K>Wfr to prenent hit* readin* with a geniiino ami ori^'imil c«)jiy of tluM eelehrated aiu-ieut «t>nt;, save that he cannot aimwer preiiKoly for havint? reail or i'oj)ie«l it exactly. He referx them, however, to the original nianiiMeript in the |>o(u«eM4ioii of .Mr. J. Brown, now living in Uiehnu>n« rather, from tradition, and ((uotcil falMoly ; hut the meaning of it, like that of niany an ancit-nt alleirory. nceinx never lo have l»eet> at all under-t«H>d. It may not he improiK-r here to mention, that the only ai-e«)unt that can lio ohtained of thes<' ancient M.SS. in, tliat they l»clonged to the house of Manh. atid were found in the euHtle of Drumlanrig. TlIK IIKHONE. » VKIIY AN* ll;XT »«!«U. I l-hi- tlu' llUIlili" "II ?' T* ! 1 1 II' I II Ki^'Wi* tlio III! r. 4» w IDelto .' Strcwo till' tyiiio in tliu Bmiimnl.' iH.uir; For the dene fiilli'< iiniMto m tli" iiiiiiiut^ciiii ycllnl Fnr invir gmlu k_vir.;i« !'• tin- t:r<'iiiwuiio ^'^ii> hirro leiio, A:c, Woil mot (oliu niche, fur nclio wetin well. Ilo aleipi* hi« Iniio in tha funwto »lipilo! Ak'ke ! and nlii I for oiiir giide kynifo I llu «l(i« uii the fogco, and drinkin tlio «|iryiit:i- : Ne lunle, no url, to lie liin lydc, Hut niio hoiinye i> ' )>y liiii iiydu : And, < • ! that i>-, ■ nliin ; And his oo w;ul g.im^ the doy limkc iy»ltJ 1 And thrr mIhi juiue ami giidet\u )i luir, WitM uU klwldt) (iiiir with the lillo (Iniiir : .\ml in tlutt bouir ther wiui nne Imlde, With nilkino acheiti*. and Hcile diiiio kpnxlde; .\iiil in thiiko b<«l ther tnie niie knichtv. 1It;ht«.' .Viid by thi- licddtvityile ther ittude niie iteup, And tlioru'ii italo ane lell niaydoiie, Withe ailveru nodil, and nilkone threde, , Stomniyiige the ouiidin <|uhan they did bludo. The // r/iK acho Huppyt, the Hrratu ncXm Howe, Anil iiclio nkyrit at l>i>ggu ipiheryn iicho grewo. lly leke, or tanio. m-lio itoiulitna rv»t«.', N '" kliifte hirre dowyo uate; ^ iiiu fy ttyng Hc'hnldo, l>ut II iir and the nilkenu Iwdde .\nd ;i I :\ri! rirnl .'iy<> who U-erit, And Ibi I. .1.1.1, \' iliit and Jiysrit, .Villi nyo who till II fnvir. And the kiiii'htc ho iiivit tu iwu him: there; For, •) ■ liirrK i|iiliite and kiinilye bn-iKte, Wiui iniftt' AH llif duiii" of the milniiiii nenle ! Hut the maydriiv that wiicliit him nichtc and ilnye, She Khu'd and ahu'd (he lltn.ne awnyo ; l-cil Virtiii- " ■- •!■ •• f lyir niayiliii nenie, .\lid MVir -- for the kiiichtin blenie ! But the // "• ■' ►- ii" ll.ippyt, and the lltrone ».ho lluw, .\ml acho ilabliyt the fa>lr nu>>ile blak nnd bleuu; .\- ' ■,■■■■ Mv breiato-bcnc; A 1 'I I 1* ■ Iho l« • ■ «itlic ane ailkliiu utryn^'e, .\iiil t:. Ilolgit with niic hen. iim « Mil.- • o; quhao will wcnle the wrfouednj <> '. <|iihae will ahii the /liroitr awaye : Now the blak kokko muutii in hi« flutliir dcipo; The piwntro rokia the ro»'en to Hlei]ic ; The wiiiMWe coiirin on hi* glittye ateno, fur It* greiiie withe the dewe of the jaiipyng maine ; Till- <-.'ill tii.-iye i;aii)iu in hii yeniiito riven. .\: iiid the rayiiiM of hevin ; 1 .' ke hirre brei»te rif niilke, Hut tl: in hirre liele of nilke. nie . .it hirr ijille m? fayir, Tlio" vcnnim of ookiii and teiliii wan there. He akyrit to trowc tx.-the diile and payne. Tli.-it Ilia hertia blude sliulde |>Aye the kene; But the threidia fre ilka ound ache drewe, And aye the reide blude niiiiie anewe; The ether lies leyne in the lyonis laire. And that blude shall flowe for cvennaire. Now, liMine the hiiiide on the tassilit moore, Orein growls the birke in the cfMinie »e niellu! And tiolde withe rewe the greinwiide Ixjuir, Qiihau the dewe falljs softe in the uiuie-beime yello. CHAPTER XII. The youth sung thi.s ballad to a wild melody, that was quite ravishing, though it might be paid that he chanted rather than sung it ; but he had proceeded only a short way with the second sentence, which relates to the page, when Madam tJray began to look this way and that way, and to talk flippantly, first to one person, then to another; but seeing that no one answered, or regarded her, and that all were 119 THE ETTUICK KMKl'HKHDH TAI,|-X attentive to the Kutip, hHc roue hiiHtily and rctire- douhtlcHrt a moral allef^ory, to which the hard liaji been led by a reference Uj Home ancient tale. I l>e- Hcech your majenty, that our young friend may, at my reijuest, lie pcnuitted to go <»n with it." The (|uccn |irclended ihuH not to underritand it, that hhe might have the plcaHure of hearing it out, and of witncHHing the triumph of truth and virtue, over a heart Hubject inluiiild jierceive the poet's aim, alliinuuii that \\x-> t««< up- jiarent to be easily mintaken. Jamen, who was a notable judge u{ the ) heart ever nine*; for there in nutbinic tLkt mu murh coil - the happint-M! of ijj> |- aui - i to nee them ri>:htol. li. ... time, it in iie4.-cM«ry thiil I khould Luve tome eri- denecti of the truth of your nuitcuiciii, aitd for thai ney in . I>c aneye witncNH to the existing grievaocci of which you complain >• ly. It : I have uia . an*i«>.- ijiy courtient; and though it taineon the old shepherd lno merks a year, which she pai«l out of the rcnt.s of her own dowry lands. Tlic king, who was always prone to justice ujxtn due consideration, and taking a retn>s]H'cl of all that had pa.-^.^icd, became convinceil tliat William wished him well ; and that the obstinacy he mani- fested with regard to the song, in persisting in it. and refusing to leave any part of it out. originate*! in his gooil-will, and the hopes he enfertaineil of reclaiming hia sovcRMgn to virtue. The result of these rellcctions was, that William was one day sent for to his majesty's closet, and ad- mitted to a private eonversjttion with him. The king, without once hinting at any former displea- sure or misunderstanding, addivs,scd him to the following purpose: -"My worthy and ingenuous young friend, do not you riMnember. that on the first day of our aci|viaintance. while on our way to IVebles. you hinted to me. that great inj\iries wore frequently done to the common i>eoi>le under my government, by some of their chieftains and feudal barons! This information has jueyivl upon my nir only attendant and InN will viitit the lialU of the ureal and the rofUffca o( th. • ih all raalu ' Hji iiccn pttulo. vining wlut character to aMuime; but unonttA theai all, I am |iartial to (hat of a Ira miT: •- ' \' n. .. .*ty lung* ■ violin: therefore no ot w be come fortune-tellerH. will uiawer oa ao vcll: thc Lit' .»n a«Kume occarioii. " cin-uni- !<> accorxl." He wa> the project ; protniacd all manner of diligence and Boerecy, and c\ - ingenuitr and concern aliout 1..- i It would lie far : vi relate circumntan- tially all the fcaatn. revels, and toumanicntn. which prevailiNl at 1' ' ' ' ' of the royal par . ... -- mood, where the festival and the hunt eloMd for that soa*«M»: suffice it. that they were n' splendid: and while tlv ■ ' • Kli/JiKMh w.ns fully sr.i ration of all who Iteheld her, l>oth high and low. It may likewise lie ; place, that Alex.inder. .., joined the party shortly after i \'al at ^ path, his attentions to Klicat>eih were i: renewe*!. and were indeed so marked, that tht > » > r> 120 i!ll. IJlilUAl. *»1 l'ul..MiMiii, obviouri to tlif oye* of ull ilie oinirt. Kotlit-iuiy wjw a ] The H-urioii for rut tlrt-w to h iloi-^- the paUuulttiiil k'o^^Hlly youiii< mail, ami full lth«T to the I' ...» hunt Wiw 1.. i year in the fure«t of kiiiK; ami it wajt tiMi apparent thai Kli/alK-lh M'a« ". l.ile the tinckell wok raiMNl at two in (hf hii^'hly plea.Hcy her «iile. In all their Mralkii aixl revelit a)M)ul the ImnkM uf the Tweeil, I'dImi'mmI wah rather like an whl jKTHon -like lUMnethiiii; l>orrowetl, on uhioh no aceoiint \rai* rtct nilher than he who (p\ve the entertainment, and on wboMe aeeuunt they were all nirt. When ' ' ' 1 1 her lord or lover l>y her niilc, Kli/Ji I of walkini; arm in ann wilh PoInuHxl, a ' •' Dollar law uj. ' ' f 4(>0 i; Mhalday, to "dn irwith) ,d horn." The einde of gathereru still eamo elo»er and doner, until at last wmic hiindrt^lH of deen* aii'i roea were Kurruundod on the ^reen hill Uhind the <;ihtlc of Crawuielt, which is natueiii a Id he diiilinguiHh n gold chain from one that wax only gilt! What omipany wan he for I 'i. in a eir^-le where every one wa« vying wU ..ilier in joweU' To flattery he wan an utter Htranger. for never had lie Hontenec tiavouringof that ingredient {laiwetl hia li|M« : IMP i'«nld he in any way t n>.wipotrn>wed phraM>»i, even to nitdnntf, ijrm'utMt, and affrttuiKtii.' He hung over Kli/alM'th while she playem|>any w-aa he for Kli7.Jkl>elh ? Man ix always itearvhing for happiiics.x here Indow; but blind- foliled by pa.^-^ion, he rum* headlong after the gilded shadow, until he either fallit into a pit, or stickH 80 fast in the mire that he \» unable to return. l*ol- mood had got a wife, and with her he thoiiL'lit he had got all the world— all that mortal eouM wixh for or desire ! 80 lovely, bo aocompliBhed, so ami- able—and 80 young! The first week of wedlock — the next— the honeymoon past over -and l\dmoofl did not remoml>or of once having bad his heart cheered by a ^mile from his beloved Elizabeth. In the hall, in the bower, and in the rural excursion, every knight had his contort or mistress hanging on his arm, but Polmood had nobody! He saw his jewel in the po.sscssion of another, and wa.s obliged to take himself up with any solitary gentleman like himself, whom he could find, to talk with hira about hunting and archery ; but even on these sub- jects his conversation wanted its usual spirit and fenour, and all the court remarked that Polmood teas become an altered man. the hurry, oml the biiKile were pnxligiouo. lit in, twenty- the rcFt year- II re- to re- 1;. : .. .;iid iluy nixtydifr wer< ' • four of which were fine old >■' ling* and dociL The r. • tirrelh • f the winter in not generally known. In the (c and lonely caivbo Mid that p0H8il)lc, kept up her HpiritH during tiie iirHt inontliH of her exile. But tiiia journey I'olniood liad pre- viouHly reBolvcd not to permit, lie had got enoufjh of cuurtierrt for tl»e prewent; and he well knew, that if he could not engage the ailectionH of ElizalK;th, when neither rout nor rival waH nigh, he would never gain theni by hurrying her again into the midnt of lieentiouHueiw and dihuipation. He per- ceived that, at the long run, he made rather an awkward figure among King JamcH'B courtiers ; nor could he niiiintain hiri conHcquencc among them in any scene wave the mountain Hjjort.s. He was deemed a moHt gallant knight among the inhabitantn of the forcKt ; but, in the polished circle of JamesH court, lie was viewed a.s little lictter than a navage. Kli/.abetii had long been making preparations for her intended journey, and about the close of l)eccm- bcr she projmsud (hat they should set out ; but Polmood jjiit it oil' from day to day, on one pretence or other, until the Christmas holidays arriveincKs a)>out her health; but sensible that her principal ailment was chagrin and disappointment, he continued firm to his purpose. \Ylun he went to sec her, she s<.>ldom spoke to him; but when she did so, it was with every appearance of e«|uaniiiiity. During (he remainder of tiio winter she in a state of moping melancholy, and tlr. - season when her heart first became susceptible of tender impressions. When all gaiety, hurry, and Inifitle were removed she began to experience those yearnings of I lie soul, which mutual endeanncntj* only can allay. The source of this feeling Eliza- beth had not jiliilosophy sullicicnt to discover; but it led her insensibly to bestow kindnesses, and to court them in return. She was; one jiveck attached to a bird with the most impatient fondness, the next to a (anio young doe. ami the next to a lamb or a little spaniel ; but from all tlicj^e her misguided att'cctions again reverted, untenanted and unsatis- fied. If there had not been something in her hus- band's manner rei>ulsive to her very nature, she must at that time have been won. Two or three times did Eliz.abeth manifest a slight degree of at- tachment, if not of fondiie.e rU'-- . . and his red carroty locLs hung over hiit earn and faoc in a manner that w;i- il a yellowish tint, i , _ . _. jf his hair, Ixith of which M«mcd unuatund. for hii eye and hiit featurm were fine, an<: .1 tall and athletic, 1 ■ • " ' •' '31 rendcri-il : . a- beth had oft^n obtcnred him, but idie nerer took any further notice of hiui tlian to turn awajr vith a Buiilc. Hric day, while sitting in her a{>artment alooe, pcnKivc and mclaiicholr, she caat her bine ejc* .... g|,e„w t! . 'unjf deer peeping frum the covert of the vood : Lul tbia liev had no channs for her. Tl.' >. and t'onncl the gardener wa* .•'..-. .. ,c- diatcly iK^forc it. She sal d«>»n to . and played one of her favourite and nrntit mournful old airs, ac< • up il with " ' • had begun il to amuse orcclr thought of what nhe did. till slie waa snqiriaod at seeing C'oanel give over .n f«>r»arxl . -n pcrvciving. that when she ceased, he viped a Icar from his eye- turned n»i: » hur- ried ]■■■ ■ '' ■ ••• '-lo of :.,. ^...^. ... r-!.,.! and ; >vork ; all the »1 OS if he knew not what he wa« doing. Thu marked attention of the 1 ' " ' ' ' ji- l»clli to pn.HX>cefore the fall of " out to w.alk in the ganlcn. res*'. conversiUion with this awkward bat 1 .g gartleucr. When she first cniii-i»;tlk at .t '• Connel stole some earnest Kxiks at her. she approached nigher. he never onee Kx»kcd up, and continue*! to delve with great .n~ " accoslcil him in an easv familiar wa.\ . .- . 122 Tin: BRIDAL 0? POLMOOD. hilt wWill ill i;areholdiii^' Kli/.ahelh'ii the white ruotx, fliiit^'in;; them into u huitket that ' improved ehariuM, and iM.>omin(; fondiieM of him ; for Htood IteHidc him, hut oi>cnc4i not hiti mouth. At ho he interpreted the feelint^H of her heart, wiiiili length Mlie a/iki-d him a (|iu-Htion whicli he eoiild imt ^avc hirth to thiri charming' vivacity- theM>, how- avoid aiirtweriiii,'. Me answered it; hut wiilmut ever, liad their ori;rin from a liouri-e qnite different turnim; IiIh face ahont, or lcM)kin;; up. When he i from that which he Hii]i|>ortcd. eeatted H|K'akiMir. Kii/ahelh fmiiid lierHelf in a dee|> '■ An woon art tliey were left alone, iii Ihi tiirt tnin- reverie her mind liad wandered, and rthe felt a.s if ! Mportx of hiH puKKioti he kit-ise^l her hand u^ain and strivini; to reeolleet something' which her rcmem- I a^^ain. She ehidcd him~Hhc wait indeed an^rry with hraiice could not pmnp. At eoiiHideral>le intervaU him hut what could Hhe do! Situateen rupture with jut often did nhe ex|>eriencc the name Hem-atiomt : ; him on account of any little iinprudcncieh; imi all thote scniiationri had HomethiiiK painful an well ax I wan Hoon forgot and forjjiven. Hut a lady ou^'ht hy plcaj,'uard airaiiint a lover'ii firxt unaceountahle. innovatioiirt. She who venturcH, in any way, to From that time forward the garden accmeertinc. ventureH to jday have hecome Klizahethn Imiiie; and Coiinel. the ' around the hole of the aitp, and to lay her hanut nhrewecreeive that in thi ' ■ ' ■ r.ir Hot hoay. there wag no criinii uei;an to liL-lii Me h;ul loni,' had rome faint unformed ap cx|H.'riencc a faint ray of happiiieH.s. I'ohiuMKl per prchenjiionH of Kli/.^theth having been the duke's ceived it. and wa.s ddiclitol ; while Coiinel the ;;ar mii*lr(i*H l>efore her i' and thont^'ht it wuh dener, on account of hin inc.ttimahle art in adminix- owini; to that circuni .... .hat the kin^^ had got terini; pleanure to a dcHpondiinr hcauly. nhared hin ' the marriage put suddenly over in the ahKcnce of nia.-itcr't) etsteem. I IJothcHay. and had ^vcn him ho larpe a dowry with Thincst jiasHcd on in iln.s nriinui. or«iili little her. It in caxy to itjnceive how palling Huch an variety, until the eiiehaviour at Nidpath, immeck. or for what puri'«^«'e. I'othctyiy should have come a Elizalteth was frantic with joy; she 8<,'areely knew fortnight earlier, he could not divine. Perhaps thcnc either what she wjls iloini; or siiyini; when Rothesay ■ Hunpicionn were not without foundation, ho far aii ali.i,'htey thcinselves. Her complexion had hc- eome a little languid ; hut the sudden How of spirits which she experienced lent a flush to her cheek, a fire to her eye. and a rapid ease and grace to her manner, which were altogether hewitching. Rothesay was a professed lihertine. and of course one of those who felt little pleasure in aught save those smiles, which he languinhetl for in vain, lie- stowed so lavishly ujion a gay, flip[iani courtier, his patience was exhausted, and from the hour of I'othc- .say's arrival the whole frame of his mind wa.s al- tered. The seeds of jealousy had now taken fant root ; his vigilance was on the alert to ascertain the dreadful truth, and every jiang that sho<^)k him whispered to his soul the most deadly revenge. His conversation and manners were, at hcst, not very refined : hut the niood and temper of mind in which he now was. added to his natural roughness a degree of asperity that was hardly endurable. I'olmoods 123 THE ETTRICK SHKPHERiys TALES. conipariy woh of course little courted by Rothesay and Elizabeth ; he diHcovered thi«, and Bet hiniKcIf only to keep a strict watch over all their motions. They were always to;?cther; tliey toyed, they sun;,', conversed in the arijour, walked into the wood, and sat by the side of the river. In Home of their ex- cursions, I'olmood could not follow them without quired the cause without )>ciag able to draw fn^u him any definile ani>wcr. One day Kli/.a>jc-th had left for a while the delight- ful treat of flippancy, banter, and ad cir "id lie needed not have given him this charge; for Con- | you leave them !" " It v.. . _ . ... . a, nel was more anxiously on the watch than Polmooe able to all^wcr \--<>r . iw.i;..i. «;iJ. .ff. tainty." " IJctwcen twoyoui.. .i«- ftositions it is the most delightful of ail ^ all the . ■' ^ ..... .,, once to i . .in, ad ■n and his lip and was silent— he wa« precisely of the same did you never hcc any man of your own age whom vou opinion, but could think of no cxpevci>roatliod, and rolmood, witii all his vigilcncc, had not hitherto discovered anything criminal in their intercourse. He had, however, witncs.sed some familiarities on the part of Kothesay in particular, which, if they did not prove, still led him shrewdly to susjHVt the worst. But now a new and most unexpected dis- covery was cflccted, wliich kindled his jealou.sy into the most furious and fatal llame. •V 111 .ke CII.VrTEK XIV. From the time that Rothesay arrived poor Connel seemed to labour under some grievous malady, and became thouglitful and absent. He took pleasure in nothing save herding his fair mistres.s and her spark; and it was evident to all the menials that some great anxiety preyed upon his mind. Eliza- beth too had observed this chance in her humble but ingenuous dependant, and had several times in- dear and distinct memory recnt. She made noan- — ' ' • in.. ■ at length a«\»ste«l him .. s "I to hear the history- of your own lore, Connel : that w (he chief jxdnt at which I aim." ".Xlaji' it \* nearly a blank, my dear lady. I love the nii*i swcol. the most lovely creature of her mx; but fate ha» ao orderecforeerer she got leisure to weigh circumM.anoe8 aright she waa bestowed uinin another." ".\nd do you still lor* her, even when she is the wife of another manV* "Ye*, madam, and more dearly than I ever loved her before. I take no delight in anything with which she is not connecto*!. I lore to see her. to hear her sjx^ak ; and (^ ! could I but contribute to her happiness, there is nothing on earth that I would not submit to." "Xow you tell ' ' V; such pure disinterested lovr on 124 Tin; IJUIDAI. ()!•' ruLMoul). tlic BCxcfi as lliai you prctriiil to." " Imlcetl but it ' foriiKil :i i>riu(i|>ul tliciiie of ciiiiverKatiijii Wtwoeii iloos, miulaiM. ' ■■ i liiiiiiot l)i'lievc it." " Yen, you will 800II iiolieve it, uuil I yan eu8ily couviuco you of tliut." On xuyiiig tliirt lie IoimciI u eiiiull tie tliut WQii bchiiul hid neck, and pulling; hid red l*eurd und wi){ over hiri head, there 8tood C'onnel, the elowniiih gardener, tran.sfonned into the nohle, the acconi plirthed youiiy Haron t'annirhael. Eli/ahelh w;iri «inj^iilar for her eool wniuovcd tem- per and predcneo of mind ; but in thi-s inHtuncc tdic Wild overcome with uistonihlunent, and for alHiut the her und (-'arniiehael. It vaui on purpoiio to prevent her if poKdible from falling into ItothcHuy'H MuarcM that Carniiihael hud at that tiinedii«'overed hiniHvlf; for he Huw tlial her condition and htuto of mind |>ccu liarly siilijected her to dun;;er, if not to utter ruin. The duke l>eing now deitrived of hin lovely companion all at once, wui* left li\ hiuirtelf to relied on the cauM.', and I'ulinood and he were freijucntiy tt>j(etiier, al- though they were not the mo8t social compunioUH in tiie wtirld. Kli/aboth haereeivcd thirt ehanf,'e and whh about to take leave of tlie dwellin^^M of men her b^inil.s upraised und her eyes fixed upon lier lover, wlio hod tfunk on his knecit at her feet ; fnmi him they were raised slowly anc jcaluuH of the comical red -headed gar- He attempted to speak and explain hid dener; but he nlirewrlly suspected that it was owing motives, but she interrupted him: ".Make haste and resume your mask, for if you arc diseovered we are botlj undone." So s;iying she hurried away from him, agitated as she had never been before. She tried to ponder, but dhe wa^i not used to it; she could reflect on wiiat was past with a hurried resile."*.-* survey, l)Ut no scheme or minle of procedure could slie fix on for tlic future. It was ujion the whole a sweet morsel, but it wan also mixed with to some insinuation of his that lie was thus baulked in hid amour, when he conceived the victory aa cer- tain us if it had been already won. Jealousy has many eyes, and is ever on the watch. Rothesay learned one day that Klizaltcth and her ganlener, who were seldom asunder, were to l»e em- ployed in g;itherinir w(M»dr:is|is for a deli<-atc pre- serve which she w;m busied in preparing, and having ohdcncd a brake near the ea«tlc where these ljcrrie« hittenie!«. The adventure had something pleas- were |>eculiarlyaliundant, he wa« adjured they would ingly romantic in it; yet she feareil she trembled deck that spot; so he went previously and hid him- for some consequence, but did not know what it j self in the middle of the thicket, where he heanl, was that dhe feared. , without licing obsened or euKi>cctcd, a full half In this mo«Ml she continued alHitit two hours, siiili- i hour's conversation between the lovers. He heard ing from place to place, rising, and as hastily silting his own ehanu-ter very freely treated, and bcsidca down again, till at last she sunk upon a couch quite exhausted, where she fell into a profound sleep. She had ail this while of restlessness Itccn endeavouring to form a resolution of banishing Caruiichacl in- sUiutly from her presence, but had not been able to eflFect it. There is perhaps no general rule more unexception- able than this, that when a woman awakens out of a sound and guiltless sleep her heart is prone to kind- ness and indulgence. In such a tender mood as this was Elizabeths resolution formetl w ith regard to her behaviour towards Cannichael. She had dreamed of him in her late sleep, and her fancy had painted him all that was noble, kind, and generous in man; every reflection in which she indulged terminated favourably for Carmichael, every query that she put to her own mind was resolved upon the most gene- rous principles. The consecjucncc of all this was, that long before evening she was again in the garden, and spent at least an hour in the company of the enamoured and delighted gardener. From that hour was Elizabeth estranged from Rothesay, for the delineation of his character now discovered the whole secret — at leant, he discovered that C'onnel the gardener was no other than Eliza- beths former lover, the banished Baron Cannichael. Chagrined at his utter di.sappointinent, and full of revenge at hearing his character and motives painted in their true cearer the singular circumstance, that C'onnel the g-anleiier was young Carmiehael of llyndfonl in disguise, than he formed resolutions of the most signal vengeani'c on the ini|>osfor. on Klizabeth. and on IxothcsHV also. The truth of the dukes statement hecouUl not iloubt. as a thou.sand things iH'curred to his mind in testi moMv of it; but he viewed this an.xious and a»'ri- monious act of «livulgement merely as the efl'ect of jealousy and rivalship: for with hin) n«» doubt re- mained but tliiit Hli/.abeth was alike erimiual with both. lie had, both now ami on a former iH'casion, witnessed her open dalliance.-< with lkothes;»y ; and when he considered how long he had boon duinxl by her and another paramour, by his former inveterate rival in disguise, it must be ackni>wloilu:ed. it was not without Kome reaiton that be now viewed hi* wife in the won*t light jx>i^ible. He pretended lo treat lUtheAay'v information wiib high euntcmpt, but the emotionji of bii> \xmri. nnAA not Ix; concealed. In a itbort time ' r be Kallied forth into the garden toilb a ' and swtird in liand. What might h.. conKcqueneeti cannut l^e determined, but it wm cer- tainly fortunate f' f the way, aii the c; . ^ . ,_.i wlierc be wan wont t a certain degree* tdie «ucceeded. I'ulmuod cc: 1 of a H ' '' the b.i' 1 wah .in hanere He returned lo tbe ball, ut down, drank weral cups of wine in a kind of d' ■ wcll-brp their e were such as he decnu« " i actions might Ik? fniught with iuij ... acted always as nature and feeling dir. considering farther. Thought Ics* but a mind n. - ' ■ ' i exist. Her . r storey, and w.ts the l>est in tbe ca*tle. and at tl.' pro-^ent time she h.id given it up for i dation of two ■'♦' 'l - roval familv. 1, , 12(i THE IJKlDAh «>F l'i>LMu(Jl). ditl not kiiow of tliirt linMiiiiHtaiioo, wjiu ii|t|>uiiite(l j in jix'ular nimxl to ret urn the Kaluto upon hU com to rilet-p iiniiiii); twi'lvc or fourteen othent in tenijHi- imnion'sriliK, Kotiie^as wineetl, |ireten awukc, rury liedri in the iniddle flat, und Kli/.alteth tmtk up and luiid with u lun^'uid vuiee, " Kli/.ul«eth, what do lier loduini,' with lier wuitin;? maids on u flmk bed I you mean, my jewel ! He (|uiet, I tell you, Kli/a- on the ^Tound floor. j U-th." "Ha' what in he thinkinj^ of ! ' Kaid Ham- Several of the noMex did nut undreKK, of whieh ilton ; " I HuppoHo he iinatfinen he is Hlecjiinj^ with nuinher i'ulniiHHl wan one, who riup|H>M.-niiK-r to relate to lie in her own ehamljer. on the mime Hat with the all the eonverKition that paKsed l»etween them; it ia king. Kolhcsay, and otherx of the royal line. Stronjj enou^'h to say that the eonfewwion whieh KotheKay &« evidenecj« had hitherto lieen a^ainist her, he had made wok untrue, like that of every libertine. He never heen aide to dim-over her in any very Idame r^iiil to |>ord Hamilton that he had hut jud^^ed t(K> aide Hitiiation ; yet he had not the leaj;e, reKolvini; to ^ive him poKC whereaj* they were only no in the brain of the fair play for bin life, and to kill him in open day. jealouM hurtband, who waM now too viiiibly in a Hlatc of di-raim'tinent. I'uhniHid eould not Meop, but wandercer to irter them lomjer to (;t>on in their wirkedneN.H under hiK own roof, he rc»iolvetin obli^'ed U> walk out went »tnii;;ht to the ehamlier of Kli ' "' uiicnitl the diHir, and entered. The nobk>. with their bm); journey, and mellowed with wine, either did not hear the slii^ht noise he made, or did not rejjard it. 4K.'in^ all wrapped in a pn»founil nleep. He 80on discovered that there were two in the bed; ••.\h' how happy a man you arc." said Hamilton; "butvoii: ■ ill comment ; whoeljHideM her buxband and myHcIf, ithc hax kept another |ianimour in flimfniw ever t|iearaneeH in woman mure." I'mI' ' -^'lane*! in Hpirit but unable to <-ontain him.v.: . .. r, he, luuttening down stairs, took a Hwonl from the armoury, and Nillicti out in hof>cs of meeting the liecntious pinlener. The fennent of ' ■ -Tiind was such that he did not know what be iliout. However, when he got into the ojKjn air, he grew better, and roved alioul at w ill, uttering his complaints to the trees and the winds, without disturbing any one but himself. But, what he little ecn in his hand. He stoon began to suspect that the other, who breathed uncommonly strong, was not Kli/a- beth. Determined however to aM-ertiiin the truth, he put over bis hand and felt his beardi-nl Hamilton, the constant companion of Rothesay, and as great a rake m himself. Un feel- ing Polmcmd's hand he aw ukc ; and thinking it was Rothesay who had thrown his arm over him, he pushed it away, bidding him keep his hands to him- eelf, and at the same time giving him a hearty shove or two with his elbow. It unfortunately happened that the amorous duke had at that very moment been dreaming of Eliza- beth; for the first word he pronounced on waking was her name. Some indeed allege that Rothesay was not asleep, and understood all that was going on, but that he was chagrined at his reception from Polmoo 1, and much more at being frustrate|»osal ; on the contrary, he wa« among the first that aiii»carc iai.i. tliut when any one Hjioke to him, lie noitlu'r heuni nor reyanled, and hin liuntin;^ cap wan chind. Hut it lieing the first day of the chase that year, they were all in high mettle, and the hunt c' unabated vigmir many new deer were slarlc | at last t(>rniinalcd around the lieightH nf . couth glen, called (iameshope. When the parties eamc HeveniUy to these heighlK. thc\ that the deer had taken shelter among HM-kii ind j jirecipices. from which it was not in their |Miwcr to drive them. Hcforo they got the lioumls ivilled in, i( wan wear- ing towards the evening. They wen>. aj* 1 said, greatly scattered stt also were the men. who Irvl followed the sound of the hounds and (he eeh<" nntil there scarcely n ■.,; ;■, . to awrertain the truth. What wa« thdr k ment, when, on a chme exnniiuition, tbcy fouud that the steed wa* w ' ' . • • mane, and sadu latter it appeareti that a iilifrfat effort M«ni««l to hare Itcen mac»'t«l \ On taking the niufter ii :> : ■' 1 that tither foar wen- *> " ' ' " ' L.nl II Sir Patrick llcpbum. and hb friend the l^rd of .\n r in doubt and It « •hmcn khould exert (henurUrs in t ■ manvof whoa WCT' _ .MI (hia waa pmrnpllr olieve' natural enough to supjM^se that some of the knighl.-J. being strangers on those mountains, would wander in tlio fog and lose their way: but the c«mi- pany were somewhat startled when it was rej^orted to them a little befiuv midnight that Polmtvxrs steed had come home without his master. This had rather a suspicious a|>pearanoe: for of all men it wa* the lea.-rieiM.dy the »auie un every one, even to the ninalleitt ilein, they euuld nut diMtinvruiith whuttc l>udieti they were which hud hccii found; and after they were borne to I'oIukmmI, undhul>Ji-> (< *ion. Iff ■ 1 ' - •« '-statin, what ha of the I Why hud ho aiNtented himself 1 or how waii it that he cuiild neither l>e found drud nor alive? There waa Hlill Kuntcthin^f inexidicuble in thi«. Fn>ni the finit moment that the rumour of thin catuiitroiihe reachetl the eiu^tle of l'olmou'icw with her. a rei|ueMt which Hhe had none couM : ' '• ' ' -nnine. A' ' '• ' ' -nply with; but the thou^'ht that they liud alii d, iVdnuxxl r now preyed ujH)n her mind, the identity of hiii moHter'a iword, and likewinc hiM | The more tho atToir wajt develu|K.clow rankM, The I^iinl of l^minirton w >< • ' • - •• ■. the foil - ■ - • irjMirt : the munler, and a hii,'h nward »«■< . .' thou 1 ii my huiiband, and I kincT for hiM apprehenxion, but all wax in vain; he \ know it. Ixt me never ace thy fae« a^in — fly thia plaiT, and for y-' ' 1 ■ i.r-n, 1 by the .. I • of the wnr ly cx|>cctoointe4l for mourn- ing in quictneML Rut just ax they were aliout to Uothej<»y ljo««URht of bin royal brother to liim to htay and keep KlizalKth company for !. ,0. .r,l. could never Ik* > The more lhi.-< .... - . diIi>-u^.^c that no r uhl be nupiHJxed to have a ' -ither of i, ■ ,,, .n hucH a blixnly butcth; but he judpeat her hirsb.ind w;i> out of the way. no one well enouirh. whatever women might pretend, that living knew of Carnii>hacl having lurked there so their real happincKs was so much connected with the long disguised, save Rothesay ; therefore, that he ' other sex, that without them they need not lie gaid might not aflront ElizalK-th. and that the object of i to exist. On the ground of these considcrationo, he his intended conect | court wai* at Edinburgh; but mm the t..,; .._ during the time whe remained at her cattle, and [ at C'rawinell, and within five mile* of biin, ibt aftcrwardd conduct her to court, where Hhe might , gcr of being dLicurcrcd kI that time «a« rvduu' .' lie introduced, eitlie'.> ruin to hiui and bia house would bare enaacd. ever, rather !■ iffled, he have hal! ' unwarrati •I tite i him u.picte Hov to a distempered mind. His atop wiis at one time a rvsolution, but it ia certain be kept alwara bia hurried and irregular; at another, slow and fi-cble; bn.»a»l swonl hid in ;. " "' " cnlran'-^ and again, all of a sudden, he would pause and , into the wiK«d of Toll. he atrmy*' . stand as still as death. He was looked upon as a j that way. he took it along with him l>clow bia pUid. fanatic in religion; but. as he otVercd harm to none, , A drvadful MiiK:ition waa by thia tir. he was pitied and loved, rather than feareti. He was often heard conversing with himself, or with some unseen being beside him ; but if any one met or approached him, be startevl like a guilty j>cr!«on, and slunk away into the wood, or among the deep banks of the river. about th. •' ■■ " '- ' ^ - - latol. ev. chicfuins. that the gboet of the late laird had lte< soon in the cnvinin.s of was laughctl at. and. cxoij . .... ,. ---.> disrec:iT>letl. But. U-forc a week hi 1. the It is now time to mention, that Carmichacl did j apparition had liccn again anrsons who« voracity ci^uld not l»e dif] ' ' no more victuals or wine were deposited in the ap- The terror became general in the family, p.. pointed den, he found that to remain longer there larlv over the weaker individuals. It reigned with in concealment wjis impr.acticable. and therefore I such desjHUic eway, that even the ^' hearU that some new expedient w.as absolutely necessary. , were somewhat appalled. The mtii...- ...scrte-! 130 THE nniDAT. 01 l'..l.M«'(»I). from tlieir HtTvu-c in paire ronruHion prtviiiletl every niiJ^kt - coiiimcntit and KuniuHeM iM-cupied the day, und toHuch a lu-i^'ht did tite |K.Tturl>ution i,'row, that Kli/al>eth, and her cuuii8vllur Itutheitay, were obligeil to I'oine to tlio rcMiliition of a HinMrn dopar ture. An early day wai* fixed on for dihiMxiini^ of the i*(>«tly furniture, or Hriidin); it away, and the i-afltic of I'olnioml wa* to i 1 up. and left voi1 the Kpi'!'- 'f ''" wilderneiw. The rc|H)rt at firnt orijfinafeil with the old houMC- kccpor. who avt : ' :' • 'o had heanl her late luajiter* voiee ; t i to her ilii«tinrtly in the dea«l of the ni^ht, and told her of Home wonderful cin'unintanee, whieh nhe could not n ■ fmuj },...:.., i„.^.„ Ko ovor|>owere«l i»y fear; 1 it waj» ^ , .:? alwut her lady. She delivere«l thiH rela- tion with apparent McriouiineM; hut there wan ao HJUl'll illClllLTllit . ' ' ■ , ,< , 11 who were nut no! , Shortly after thin, a yount; aer^'ini; man and a maiden, who were lovern, had jjono out after the la- IniiirH of the day into the eovert of the wood, to wliirii>er their love tale. They were hitting in a little Homioirrular den, morr than half Burnjunded hy flowery hrtwni, whieh had aU'- ' an avenue in the wooil ; and the ; ^ u|H)n her lorer'rt boaom, while he wait restinjr af^inHt the hank, with hi* armH around her wai*t. Often Ins- fore had they eonver-< ' * *' ir little plans of future life, whieh were ei' il>o«l within a narnjw Kpherc. They were that nipht nH-apituIalini» them ; and oii mueh of their dr; 1 l»een on the liounty and prot«.vtion i>; ; ^ mactcr, they eould not dwell loni; on the suhject, without men llow eoinctf it, William, that wlienever *■ ; the dead, they are always livin;^?" "(i . . ,, , Anna) it iuaeuriounn'ality in thenatureofdrenuiinR. NN'e often drean> of the livinf; aji Itein}; deaove our eomprthcmuon, and thenfore we oufjht not to think <>f them, nor talk of them; for thinking,' of (hem Icadx uh into error, and talking of them makes uh Kad ; anray, » _ thox-ili. nc IjctMi whieh have ffivcn my Anna ho much concern 1" " I h I ', aMe«il rcjnict, »Iecp the fancy tumx to the«; imaprc*. and in frii;ht- aml wit!. t exelani * '" " I hy fanta«icn of its own > — '• 'i I would not thini; to nri and : you, nor any woman, t in the cxist- frame of mind, that it leetween ! with you on that jHiint for ever, for I must, and will two yoim;? lovers, and at that hour of the evening, •OS the d.iylii?ht wad just hantrinc^ with a dyinc: lan- gui.xhmcnt over the verge of the wcstcni hill. "It is a «id tiling' that I cannot give over dream- ing, William." eaid the fair rustic. " Do you think there is any other person 80 much troubled with such dreams oa 1 am?" "Your dreams must l>c always good and sweet . like yourself, .\ nna. " ' ' They are alway.s sweet and delightful when I dream about you, William ; but I have had some fearsome dreams of late; heavy, heavy dreams! .\h! such dreams as I have had! I fear that they bode no good to ua. What is it to dream of the dead. William?" "It always l»clieve in it. That belief gives one a pleas- ing idea of an overruling Providence, of a just Goe dc But I know, William, that you will not disbelieve my word, therefore I will tell it to you. thouirh I would not to any other. I said I dreamed of our late master — but. William, I believe as tnily as I l>elieve that I am in your arms, that I heard him speaking and lamenting last night." "But that was only in your sleep — it was only through your sleep, my dear ,\nna, that you heard him." "No, William ; as far as I can judge, I was generally betokens good to the dreamer, or to those as fully awake as I am at this moment." "My dear who arc drcirac*! of. Anna." "Ah, William. I fear ' Anna, you must think no more of dreams and ap not! I have heard my mother say, that there was paritions: there are really no such things in nature one general rule in dreaming, which might always as apparitions. I could tell you a tale that would— " l>e depended on. It wa.s this, that dreams never Here Anna laid her hand upon her lover's month bode good which do not leave pleasing impressions to stop him, for she heard something that alarmed on the mind;— mine must be bad, very bad indeed! her. "Hush!" said she, in a low whisper; "what 131 THE ETTIIICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. is that? I hear t-omctliing coming, what can it poB- HJltly 1)0 that is here at this time of night'!" Tliey hold in their breath and listened, and distinctly licard a slight rustling among the I>ranchc8, which ihcy at length distinguished to be the sound of some- tliiiig approaching them with soft and gentle steps. It came close to the side of the bush where they sat, aftd then stood motionles-s. They were sitting as still as death; but they could see nothing for the broom, while their hearts were beating, so tiiat their re- pressed breathing was almost cut short. After u considerable pause, it uttered a long deep groan; — terror tiiriilcd tlieir whole frames; every hair on their heads crept as with life, and their spirit+i nieltcd within tlicin. Another pause ensued — after which they iicurd it utter these words, in a tone of agony, and just loud enough to be distinctly heard : — " Yes, yes! it was she -it was she!— O wicked, wicked Elizabeth!" So saying, it came forward to the opening in tlie broom, whore it stuod before their sight. It had one hand upon its Ijroiist, and its eyes were fixed on the ground. In that position it re- mained for about half a minute, and then, in the same voice as before, saitl, "The torments of hell arc slight to this!" On uttering these words, it shook its head, and vanished from their sight. It might have passed into the air— it might have sunk into the earth — it might have stood still where it was, for anything they knew, as their senses were benumbed, and a darkness, deeper than that of tlie midnight dungeon, seemed to iiavo fallen upon them. For a considerable time did they sit panting in each other's arms, without daring to utter a won!. William first broke silence : " Heaven preserve us!" said he; "what is the meaning of this ?" "Did you see the figure that passed, William?" "Yes, Anna." "And did you not know the voice and the stride?" said she. "Yes, yes! it is needles.^, it is sinful to deny it! 1 knew them too well — my mind is mazed and confounded! This is wonderful!" "Is it not, William? Im sure we saw him nailed in the collin and laid in his grave." "We diil, Anna! wcdid! ' "And we saw him lying a life- less, headless trunk; and (he streams of blood were crusted black ui)on his arms, and upon his breast ! did wc not. William !" "It is true. Anna! it is all true!" "Y^et here he is again, walking in his own real form and manner, and speaking in his own voice." The horror which these reflections occa- sioned, together with what she had jut^t seen, were too much for the mind of the poor girl to broi>k : she crept closer and closer to her lover's bosom with a frantic grasp, uttered one or two convulsive moans, and fainted away in his arms. Agitated as the young man was, his fears for her got the better of his trepidation, or at least gave it a difl'orent bias; he sprung up and ran towanls the river, which was nigh, to bring her some water. When ho came near it, he found he had nothing to carry water in; but, as the only substitute within his reach for Huch u purpose, be pulled off Lu bon net, and ruhheool. Thiii accident wiui uui un fortunate, for the sudden i: ' ^ ' > - » to liis senses; he wx^n re^,. bonnet with water, and ran towardji hia Ijeloved Anna. The bonnet would hold no waU-r— «o it v - all gone in two seconds- however, he ran on, car- . ing it an if still full to the brim. When be lh.:.. to her, and found that be cuuld not give ber a drink. as the next l»est rej4onctl bj bcr afTectionate lover. That very nigiit was the drean. i ' . it had gai><' < ground ex.- \ and v,^ i become a ten. blc story. It was in every one's mouth, that the gboKt of the late laird bad ap|tearc.i>< familiarly with them, and told them that be -..- condemned to hell, and suflfcring the most dreadful tonncnt.H : and that Klizabetb, bis own ladj, had murdenMl him. That their laird should have been condemnod t" hell astonished the natives very much indeed ; for they ha«l always liMiked u; ' . ' man, and true t*i his kin:; some acknowknlged that the spirit had better Oi< of information than they, and wrong; while others l>ogan to lu.,^^ that "people were ill to know." H sliould have been the munlercr of ber lord ap|«carc«i far more unaccountable. a« it she was at home during the v which be was slain, and bad spent it in the uii. gaiety and bustle, making prep-irations fortl. modation of her guests in the evening. 'I ii.n .-..• could have suborned the I.Airvl of I^unington t- murder him w.as a.s improbable: for, saving a s". salute, she had never om him; and it was utterly ii.., have held any converse with him. withont the rcs-t of the company having known iL It would 1 been bljisphcmy to have .>-.. 1 ' ' -t was h . yet. though none durst oj ;. some '*i . the unwarrantable length of thinking, in their o«ti hearts, that it wa.<» misinformed, or bad some way taken up the story wrvmg. 132 Tin: li 1:1 DAL or polmhou. The utory rciiehud tho earn of Kli/utlalli. She HtfclcMl the heart of Kli/.al>cth afraiii^t all fiidden t\a» fur from lieiiii; naturally HU|icnttitiourt, and tuid, ' Kiir]irit had thrown her. — But mark the eonsc(|ucnec: On that very night, or the one following, as Kliza- beth vids lying awake in her chamber, lietwct-n twelve and one o'clock of the morning, she heanl the sound of footsteps coming hastily up the stair. Her heart beat with a stranirc sciiKalit>n: but the door of her apartment l»eing locked in the inside, and the key taken out, ghe knew that it was impos- sible for anything to enter there. However, it came elo.*c to her door, where it stopped, and she saw some glimmerings of light, which entered by the kcy-liolc. The door was strong, and the bolt was f:ist ; but, at the very first touch of that mysterious visitant, the ma^y lock oj>ened with a loud jerk, and the door flew back to the wall with such violence, that the clash made all •the vaults of the castle to rcs»nind again —when, horrid to relate I who should enter but the identical form and figure of her late husband! and in such a guise! — Merciful Heaven! was there ever a female heart which couM have 8tot>d the shock! He was half-naked, with his head and legs quite bare — his colour was pale as death —his hair bristled upon his cn>wn — and his unearthly eyes rolled like those of one in a frenzy ; he ha«l a lighted torch in the one hand and a naked sword in the other, and in this guise he approached the bed where lav, all alone, the beauteous and helpless Elizabeth. I have often had occasion to mention the cool un- moved temper of Elizabeth's mind ; still it was the mind of a woman, and any one will readily suppose that this was too much for the heart of any woman to bear. It was not. Some may term it insensi- bility, and cert-ainly it bore a resemblance to it occasionally ; but it is an old established maxim among the inhabitants of the mountains, that "he who ia unconscious of any crime, is incapable of terror:" and such maxims must always be held sacred by the collector of legends. Alay we not were errors of nature, not »>f j>rincijde; and on the great basis of self apjiroval must all actions be weighed ; fproa any of her household, until it was d.iy, though she lay in a state of the greatest uneasiness. She was neither terrified nor chillcrl with dread, but she wa.s utterly astonished, and what she had seen was to her quite unaccountable. Next day she told it to her waiting-maid, who was a great favourite with her, and who implicitly believed it ; and she afterwards related the whole to Rothesay, who used all his rhetoric to persuade her that it was a dream ; but she assured him, with the greatest calmness, that it was not, and requested that both he and the maid would watch with her in the same chamber the night following. Rothesay consented, but pleaded hard that the company of the maid-.«crvant might be dispensed with; and though his suit was listened to with complacency, it was not granted. It is necessary, before proceeding farther, to state some particulars of Rothesay's behaviour to Eliza- beth during the time that had elapsed of her widow- hood; for the motives which led to such behaviour cannot now be ascertained. He talked now often to her of marriage, as soon as decenaj xcouM permit, then, in charity, suppose that it was this which I and had even gone so far as to press her to consent ; 133 THE ETTRICK HUVA'UYlliiyH TALES. but tliJH wa« only when Hhe appeared to take oflenw ' endeavour to deter it from enterinp, uuUl it h»A at luH libcrticH, and when lie i-oiild not find aiifrht fin^t .!• " " udifit' ' cIhc to Kuy. lie waH ncvcrthelcHH all tlic while uhini,' hein;,' Id htMju .. ., hi« moHt HtrenuouH endcavoure to Hcduce her DionilH withdraw. With uurh a rwloubtwl j at and gain poBKCusion of her i>crHon ; and, an the time , their head, the women bcfran to luuKtrr nut ■ little of their retirement at Polinood W!w now npecdily ' courat'e. drawinj^ to a conclusion, he determined to avail Accordingly, they went up all thrw to the af«n liimHclf of every oi)portunity, in order to aci*ompUic [ Elizal>cth waj! employed in cewiug a piece of rirh able to accomplinh it at court, where nhe would l>c tapc«tr}', w hich had for a lonp time engajred her at Kurnjundcd by Huch a numlter of admireni. These j Icinure houn*. She wa* dn-M*«l in her moarninir couKiderationK brou/;ht him to the resolution of ap[anl. and the duke tcit on the one ncing the i proached. C'lockB were then very rarr in - court faKJiiouH in tho»e days, nhe attributed the«c l'rc('iurt to liiri groat admiration of her jwrxm and acconijili.siimenlH, and not only forgave, but (*eeined him every but the houni by night ■were rung ufion tb« rrvAt l)olI in the ]>• • 'be roaton at the <-aon the l>elL The iw. "•' ' - ■ -- ' • '! wA^ag indulgence that ho coubl with prnjiricty ni*k. Hut ap|«cared . Abotil cither from exalted notions of the dignity of the half an hour aftcpiarJa, ther thouchl they heard a HC.v, or out of roirard for her c.\<|uirtile beauty, clie ili««r • i sccm.s to have hitherto maintained the lingular n-- j it w- — .1 s(dution of never subjecting her person to the will [»art they could not crrtainlr .. >h— the iiniaa of any man living. She had always repulse*! Itothc- soon ccaMMl. and they ' it, Thr firr .say sharjdy when ho iiresumeehind them vithoat inliimiMiiiii— make of her sentiments. His froi|uent pnip<>K;il« of the lampm bu* marriage she dicaranec <^f the ghost. It having Iteen agreed, as fonnerly statoil, that Rothesay. Elizabeth, and the waiting-niai*sured her that it would not ; for ho w.is pn^jx^sotl pbui « convinced Elizabeth had only had a frightful dream. mere He said, if it had the cfl'rontery to c«>me ami fa*^? entering: but erv he reached the middle of them all three, that, in the first jd.aco. he would , the d^ - '^ ' -^ • was ] . ' S(^unds pawed her lip*. Rh« nbon, and ra.-<>l herself up on the sc. ' ' of listening;; for. at that moment. - trtepa of one who seemml approaching the l>«ck of llie door with 1 ind caution. great she to I. .>iehiiid her lady, and nereauieU ho iiicvMuatiy that ohc never fluHered one ithriek to lose hold of aiiotlu-r. Kli/.a bcth Hat iiiutioiiK-M likeatttatue, with hereyeM h\ed ttpuD the apparition. It |iauHeil, and ^azetl at thein all with an unitteady and uiiitlielicvin^ look then advan(-0(| forward Hte|»|K'd over the forlorn duke, and Uniked at the Ud. The l>od waw neatly M|>reud down, without a fold or wrinkle. It tuuk another look at Kli/.al>eth, but that wiis a look of rai;e and dcupair; and turniuK to Itotlu-nuy, it |>ut iton bid uoi'k, iu order to take a iturcr aim, then rearing the wea|H)n on hi:;h it ruiM«'d itself to the Htruke, tin if intent on .M-Ncrin^ hiit head ln*in Iiih body at a bluw ; but JuMt when the Htruke waji quiver- ing to itj* tiejteent. the ven^ciiful Kprite Mx-me«l Iu relent, ito arm relaxetl, and ik turned the hwurd to the left Hhoulder, mu>«ed for a few MM-ondn, and ^ve the proMtrate duke sueh a tuM with ita fuut an heaved him .ilii;.>si to the oth' ' * ' ' ' out III!' luii^ a wonl In r behind it. The loud and reiterated irie.s uf the woitin^;- wuman at length brouirht all within *' : '!e tu the door of the haunted ihaml>cr. I. . took duwn the key and admittetl them with the f^atcttt doli'irration, hut ho wrappLtl wa.n ithe in mciii that oho did not once o|»4.'n her lipa. ."... tired apiiu tu her oeat. and leaiii*d her check u|>on her hand, payini; no retn^nl to the hurrur of the group nor tu the bustle they made. The first thiuic Ibey ditl wa.-* to lift the forlorn duke, who had already be^^un tu manifext signs uf returninir animation. When they ruiitetl him up, they found that hi.s face and breant were all bathed iu bluoil, and conjectured that iu>me munleroud work had l>een going on. They were fur some time con- firmed in thi.-i riuir^je.stion by the jL-^scveration.s of the duke, who assured them that he wa.s a earancc she had carefully notcee; then who else if it wa.s not Car- michacl ! l*olmo«Kl and he were nearly of the same form and stature, but how he was enabled to coun- terfeit PidmcMxls louk.s she could not c'lnjirehend ; still she thought il was some artifice, and that C'ar- michael must be at the bottom yof it. She had likewise noticed that the ppcctre opened the door with a key, which it left in the lock during the time it remained in the room, and then on retir- ing locked the door and took the key with it. She had thought much of that circum.»tan<-e since it first appeared, and determined to pay particular atten- tion to it ; but as usual she kept her thoughts to herself. She knew that when the lainl livcsi- tion suited, but all of them in a state of sufferance , and bondage. The time was at hand wlu-n tliat ' family was likely to be broken up for ever. ' It hapi>cncd one day that Rothesay had led Kli/.a- betli into tiic tiiickest i)art of the wootl, where there was a natural bower in the midst of u thicket of j copsewood ; in that bower they were always wont to | rest themselves, and had one day lately been w)mc- i what surprised by a noi.se like that of a stitled cough, but they could not discover from whom or whence it | proceeded; yet they did not suppose any to be in ' that wood Ijut themselves, allliough it seemed to be somewhere near them. Into this bower Rothesay wanted to lead Eliza . beth as usual, but she objected to it. and said she ' was determined nevermore to go into tliat bower in i his company. Rothesay said that since she had given him tlic hint, he would not jiresume upon he! good nature an v more; but added that he would not l)e denied that piece of confidence in his honour, especially as she knew that her commands were always suflicient to guide his eomluct -a mandate he never dared to disobey, though liis passion for her were even more violent than it had hitherto been. She said that might be all true, yet it was as good to give no occasion of putting that power to the test. However, by dint of raillery and promises of the most sacred regard to her hicrt'asinj delicncy, he prevailed upon her to accompany him into the bower, where they sat them down upon the swanl. Rothesay began as usual to toy and trifle with her, while she in return rallied him in a witty and light- some manner; but his amorous trifling soon wore to rudeness, and that rudeness began by degrees to manifest itself in a very unqualified manner. She bore with him and kept her temper as long as she could, making several efforts to leave him, which he always overcame. She uttered no reproach, but on seeing his puri><>«; ityj fairly avouched, by a auddeo exertion she disengagwi herself from hiii embraces at once, flew away lightly into the w.jod, and left him standing in vexation and despair. They had been watched all the tini< "f tliir en- counter by one who ought not U> have wen lh< ui, and what was woree, who haw indiiitinctly through the brushwood, and judged of the ma'' other- wise than HA it fell out, drawii" na the most abstract from propriety of c .it true character of the fair but thoughtless Klizatjeth. She wa> not •_■ ' ' ' .ic when R<m here?" The wonls were «carccly pronounced ere Rothesay fel' ' ' ' 'nup which iicenic-d to have the : ■•-<1. It waa the old palmer alone, who aftpeared to Kothemy at that time to l>e Bomc infernal jfiant or devil i; bo far beyond all human r -• • •■ * ' hia arm. He dragged fi .te duke, who at first attempted to struggle with him; but hi.>^ - re thof* of t" .wg of the 1- .- :. ;.,\t c«Aayeoth by placing hia foot upon the dukc'a neck, and crushing hi- '■ • close t<'' — < •» • > vext unable to u; iid. ]!' of a few seconds bound hia hands l>chind his back, run a ct)rd alwut ^ .'h that IkjuI a: .... .. . .... :he while s|N)ke a word, but eometinn d hia teeth over bia victim in token of the m<' ntia- faction. As 80on aa be had fastened up the unfortunate duke, he ran into the wood to seek Elicalieth, who had gone to the castwanl. He poon found her re- turning by another path ' ■ '* •-•le; and larini^ hold of her in the same .i-r. he dragged her to the fatal spot. She had taken great oflfence at the late conduct of thi " ' ^ • • - nnined to suflcr him no more t , -^nce; but when she saw him hanging in that degraded state she was l>enumbed with horror. "Thou mon- ster!" said she, "who art thou who hast dared to perpetrate such an act as this V "I will K>on show thee who I am. poor, al»andoned. unhappy wrctcl said he: on which he threw off 1 ' 1. ana gown, and her own husband st* :.•. r. ll was no spirit — no old fanatic palmer — it was the real identical Norman Hunter of Polmood — but in such a guise I " Xow. what hast thou to sav for thyself!" sjiid he. "That I never yet in my life wronged thee," returned she, firmly. " Xerer wronge the fruilrtof it. Imw^ and patitMitly have 1 watched to dirtcovcr thee proHlilutinj; th_v«ell" to one or other of thy imranioiirA, that I mi^ht ji^lut uiysclf with venjjeancc; and now 1 have ellected it: you shall hang together till the crown and the eajfles devour you piecemeal." Kli/aheth wan Hilent; for Khe Haw that his frantic rage wai4 not to he Hlayed - it Hoenied to reduiildc every moment. lie threw her down, l)i>unuir, yet did he not for a moment stay hi.s fatal purpose. Elixalieth, when she maile her esi-apc from the violence of Uothesay in the l>ower. did not turn home- ward, but held her course away to the cast, until she came to a small mountain stream that bounded the wood. I'annichael was not at that time in the wooelonjred to Uothe- say, and flew to the combat. He was deemed the l»est archer, the strongest man, and the best swords- man of his day. Cannichael was younger and more agile, but he wanted exi>criencc, eonstviucntly the chances were against him. The onset was incon- ceivably fierce — the opposition most desperate-- and never iK?rhaps was victory better contested ; each de|K.'ndcd on his own single arm for coiKjuest, and on that alone. Cannichael lost ground, and by de- grees gave way faster and faster, while his antago- nist jiressed him to the la-^t : yet this seemed to have been done intentionally; for when they reached a little lawn where they had fair scope for sword-play, the fonner remained finn as a rock, and they fought for some minutes, almost foot to foot, with the most detenu ineil bravery. Carmichael won the first hit of any consetjuence. Polmood's fury and the die- tracteeth, whose virtue he assured him was unsiKitted; and further said, that it was the consciousness of that alone which had led her to indulge in youthful levi- ties, which both her own heart and the example of the court had taught her to view as perfectly inno- cent. I'olmood seemed to admit of this, hut not to be lievc it; he however grasi)ed her hand— bade her farewell, and said that lie forgave her. " If you are innocent," said he, " what a wretch am 1 ! hut there is One who knows the secrets of all heartj», and to his mercy and justice 1 leave you. For my own when he saw two riders approach, whom he i-on<-eive«i for certain to be Rothesay and Hamilt'^n, «hcrea» they were in truth Sir I'atrick Hepburn and IXjuald of l^mington. Sir I'atrick not ' ' I< 1 Rothes.'iy much in his pcntoual a]>]- Iji^ hone vfaH of the Hame colour, which I'olmood did not know, or did not ailvert to. It wa^ -the mist was dark and thick — the ;.- were in every reKi»ect similar. All thcate o . misled the blindly ]iaMUonatc and dictracted I'ol nuxxl s-j comjdetcly, that he h:. ' " < ' •• skull of the one, and given i woundB in iiclf-dcfenco, ere ever be vaa avare of hi* error. lX'icnitc ca*CH suggcut de«pcratc mncdiea. \> the only means of averting iuAtant punishment. ;. . . acconi]>lishing dire revenge on the real inoendiariea. which swaycon bia feet : be then cut off the headu from the W: hid them, being ccrlaiii •' "' ' part 1 leave tliis world without any hope; but things the trunk^, and, as he ■. must be as they will— I have now no time for repara- place where that fatal affray hap|ieocd b called tion. If you are innocent, Eli/.alieth, may you ho iJonald'n C'leuch to this day. happier tiian I could ever make you ha]>pier than | rolmood had now no way left of .., , ■•••" ''- I wished to make you you never can be. Hut if you own cattle but in dimrui»c. Intent on < are no! innocent, may all the curses of guilt fall on great pur]»orie of re ventre, be » effectually concealed you— may you lie miserable in this life, :is you have \ himself under the ' ' ' 1 vc<-d« of a i ' grim monk, that : ; to ►tay in • own cantle, get poHMCMiiion of hi* ovrn ke^**. anein|( it: The inexplicable n ■ ' '• --^ *' •*• • munler of the two ',. - ex]>lained, the aoul of the brave miacuided Normaii Hunter of rolmood forsook its earthly teneni" • till- w iTi made me; and mi.serable in the next, Jis 1 shall l>c" She was still incapable of reply. She sometimeti appeared as forcing herself to listen, but her ideaM would not be collected she uttered some broken sentences, but they were totally uninlelligilde. Carmichael then with some difficulty gained jx«- session of a few leading circumstances relating to the two bodies that were fouml at the straits of and left bix giant mould a (iamcshoiie, one of which was taken for that of Pol- ; had so latelv l»ccn his own mood himself. The thread of the tale was not very ' Carmichael conducted Klizaircsj» her to the care of her ' > -. . hiniselfin short unlinished .sentences; but, lui laras j IkmHcs to l«c brought an could' be gathered, the circumstances seem to have the castle. He then went atraicht and threw him been as follows. , self at the king's feet. ,' the whole ma" Polmood had heard on the night before the hunt, and all the woeful dc\.i-..iii ■.! PolmoodV •• ■" as has been related, a confession of I{othe.>y»y"s guilt had o^-i-asioneil among his friends and T from his own inoutii. Nay, he had even heanl him j The king was exceedingly grieved for the low of hih exult iu his con(|ucst. and speak of his host in the brvither. and more • "^ at the diBgracr?' most contemptuous terms. This excited his rage to such a degree that he resolveil to be revenged on the aggressor that day — he had vowed revenge, and im- precated the most potent cui-sos on himself if Rothe- say was ever sutVered again to return under his n>of. He watched him all the day of the hunt, but could never fiml an opportunity to challenge him, except in the midst of a crowil. where his revenge would have been frustrated. As it drew towards the oven- ner iu which he ha. . ,. . at off; but a» noi. the cireumstanccs. save Carmichael and Elizalicth. tbey schemed to keep it secret, and they eff< in a great mcisure. by - - ' . report death had hapiKMUMl in rtor. to v had been dcsi>atche. .-- ..< .... . slain his antagonist in his own defence, and in de- ing he came to the ford of Gameshope. where he fence of a lady's life; and. after questioning him halted, judging that Rothesay and Hamilton must j strictly, with resi'oot to the disguises which he 1 ' lis Till-: BRIDAL OF PoLMOOR a8HUiiu-;raoiotiHly pk-aiied to take Sir John Cariiiifhael aj^aiii into hiri n»j;il faviiiir. Kliisaheth continued manv da,V8 in a Htate of mind in wiiich there weuu'd a fonrtideruMc deirree of de- rangenicnt. She sonietiine."* maintained, for whole du.VM toirether, a duml> eallouri inxcnHiliility ; at other times Hhe Hpoke a j^ixvl deal, hut her Hpeerh wai* in- conMirttent. From that state, she sunk into a M-ttlct hitterly when left alone. It apiH^ant that t«ho then l>c^'an to think much hy hernelf to reflect on her liy|iast life; and the more *he pondered on it, llic more fully wan she convinced that she had done wrtmif. There waii no particular action with which i«lie could charirc hcrm-df that wan heinou>4; i»ut, when these actions had oi'caj«ione much Moodshed and woe. it wiis evident they had l)Ci*n far amisfi. llcr eoncluHion finally wait, that the KreludcH to feelinirs more tender than any she had hitherto ex- l>cricnced — more eoni^nial to her nature, and more soDthini; to the female heart, ('annichael visited her every «lay for a whole year, witlujut ever once mentioning love. Before this j>critMl had expiro neec(xi»ected ! to confer. I Some may perhajm say that this talc is ill-con- ceived, unnatural, and that the moral of it is not pal- paide; hut let it he duly connidcred, that he who HilM down to write a novel or romance to jiroduee Bomethint; that is merely the creation of his own fancy, may l»e oldiged to conform to certain rules and ri'gulations; while he who transmits the tnuli- tions of his country to others, does wroiic, if he e lrace, with a heavy hear' ; animalH. Uee\, and made the Ijcst of my way hitck tb« n. To relate all the particular BoencM of diMire>« that I came: my elalK.rate eflny, and all my wiae occurred daring tliiw trcinendouH hurricane in im- poHsihle— a volume would not contain them. I Khali, therefore, in order to give a true picture of the Btorm, merely relate what I wiw, and tihall in no- thing exaggerate. But before doing thin, I must mention a circumstance, curiouH in its nature, and connected with others that afterwards occurreeforc I perceived, or tliought I iierceivcd, symptoms of an approaching storm, and that of no ordinary nature. I remember the day well : the wind, which was rough on the preceding day, had subsided into a dead calm ; tlicro was a sligiit fall of snow, which descended in .«mall thin flakes, that seemed to hover and reel in the air, as if uncertain whetlicr to go upward or downward : the hills were covered down to the middle in deep folds of rime or fro. he was aii(rry when ! like a prudent la - ■> - top •■: parting, he shook bin head, and \h' it b 'i - I'Njkinir day* In tnpth 1 u. t-. ^ .A it." I Haid I woul' • ' ' one knew from what i|uarter v but we might, in all IikclibM<)d, (pilber our aberp ' the fdai-c where they would be mo*t expoaed t- (bngcr. He ba'ie me keep a good look out all tb« way home, and wherever I obiterved tbc fint opening through the rime, to be aasurcd the wind wook riijc directly f- ■ ■ •' • ■ ■• • I did u he denro me, but the 1 cloac act all around till the fall of evening ; and as tb« anew bad beet ■ all clay, m> : xrry I. .wC. it wan ti...; . . achcu home. The finst thing I did waa to go to my mactct and inquire where he bad left my libcep; 1. but thoiich I h . ' ' ■' : " • ^ dfui-c in hii* cx|m : _ . .it he had done. He had left a f>art of them far tuo high out on the hills, and the rest were re I wante«l them, and I tohl him no: be sa. ..mI done all for the Ix^i. but if there apj>carcd to 1>e any danger, if I would call him up in the morning, he would assist mo. Wr ■ ' ' ' ' ,( girls, and with them I sat ^ o'clock, and then I went down to the old tower. What could have taken me to that ruinous habita tion of the Black Douglasses at that tv •- ■:•* hour I cannot recollect, but it certainly i. . c l>ecn from a supjHJsition that one of the girls would follow me. or else that I would sec a 1 'h very unlikely events to have taken place .. .- a night. However, certain it is. that there I was at midnight, and it was while standing on the top of the staircase turret, that I first l>ehcld a britrht l>ore through the clouds, towards the north, which re minded me of my uncle's apophthegm. But at the same time a smart thaw had c^nnmenced. and the breeze seemed to be rising from the south, so that I laugheii in my heart at his sag« rule, and accounted it quite absurd. Short was the time till awful c\ perience told me how true it was. I then wont to my IhxI in the byre loft, where 1 slept with a neighbour shepherd, named Borthwicl but though fatigued with walking through thcsno^' 142 STORMS. I e-ouM not close an eye, ho thut 1 hcunl the firat Imret of tlic lilonn, which cumntenccil lictwecn one ;mJ two, with u fury thut no one can conceive who il.>c* not remeuiIxT it. Ik-Hide^, tlio plaee where I lived hcini? cxiMw^ctl to two or three ^jathered wiiub*, ■> thev are called hv tlieidierdw, the tjtonn raged lire with redoubled violence. It lx;gan all at once, uiihsuch a treutendouA nwr, that I iuia^ine«l it uada iK-al of thunder, until 1 felt the Ixniiie trem- bling to it8 foundation. In a few niinuteti I went and thruHt uiy nakeil ana throu;;h a hole in the roof, in onlcr, if jHW.'^ible, to a.-^-ertain what was going on without, for not u ray of light could 1 nee. I could not then, nor can I yet, cx|)reiw my ad with falling and dn\ing snow, that but for the force ' of the wind, I felt im if 1 had thrurit my ann into a wreath of enow. I deemed it a Judgment Mcnt from Heaven u]>on uh, and lay down again in my IkmI. trcmliling with agitation. I lay htill for al>out an hour, in lioj»cs that it might prove only a tcmi>orary hurricane; but, hearing no abatement of itM fury, I awakened Horthwick, and bade him get up, for Huch a night or morning had come on, 08 never i>lew fn>m the heaven.s. lie wa.s not long in olx>yiug, for &» soon as he heard the tunnoil. he mtarted from his bed, and in one minute, throwing on his clothes, he hasted dow ii the ladder, and ojjcned the elow our chins -and each taking a strung stall" in his hand, wc set out on the attempt. Xo sooner was the door closed i»ehind us than we lost sight of each other— seeing there was none; it was im|>u8riible for a man to sec his hand held up l>efore him, and it was still two hours till day. We had no means of keeping together but by following one another s voices, nor of working our way save by groping with our staves Ix-foro us. It soon api)eared to me a hoiieU>ss concern, for ere ever we got clear of the houses and luiystacks we had to roll ourselves over two or three wreatlis w hich it was impossible to watle through ; and all the wliile the wind and drift were* so violent that cvcr^- three or four minutes we were obliged to hold our faces down between our knees to re-eover our breath. We Btton got into an eddying wind that was alto- gether insufferalde, and at the same time wc were struggling among snow so deep that our progress in the way we jiurjiosod going was indeed very enrk, as is customary in Scotland. When we went away we calculated that it was two hours until day ; the park did not extend above three hundred yards, and we were still engaged in that inirk when daylight api)eared. When we got free of the park we also got free of the eddy of the wind — it was now straight in our faces. We went in a line before each other, and changed places every three or four minutes, and at length, after great fatigue, wc reached a long ridge of a hill where the snow was thinner, having been blown off it by the force of the wind, and by this time we had hopes of reaching within a short space of the ewes, which were still a mile and a half dis- tant. Our master had taken the lead; I was next him, and soon began to suspect from the depjth of the snow that he was leading us quite wrong; but as we always trusted implicitly to him who was fore- most for the time, 1 said nothing for a good while, until satisfied that we were going in a direction very nearly right opposite to that we intended. I then tried to expostulate with him, but he did not seem to understand what I said, and on getting a glimpse of his countenance I perceived that it was quite altered. Xot to alarm the others nor even himself, I said I was becoming terribly fatigued, and proposed that we should lean on the snow and take each a mouthful of whisky (for I had brought a small bottle 43 THE ETTltICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. in my pocket for fear of the worst) and a bite of bread and cheese. This was unanimously aijrccd to, and I noted that he drank the spirits rather eagerly, a thing not usual with him, and when he tried to eat it was long before he could swallow anything. I Avas convinced that he would fail altogether; but as it would have been easier to have got him to the shepherd's house before us than home again, I made no proposal for him to return. On the contrary' I said if they would trust themselves entirely to me I would engage to lead them to the ewes without going a foot out of the way ; the other two agreed to it, and acknowledged that they knew not where they were, but lie never opened his mouth, nor did he speak a word for two hours thereafter. It bad only been a temporary exhaustion, however; for after that he recovered, and wrought till night as well as any of us, though he never could recollect a single circumstance that occurred during that part of our way, nor a word that was said, nor of having got any refreshment wliatever. At half an hour after ten we reached the flock, and just in time to save them; but before that both Borthwick and tiie ploughman had lost their hats, notwithstanding all their i>rccautions; and to impede us still further I went inadvertently over a precipice, and going down head foremost between the scaur and the snow found it impossible to extricate my- self, for the more I struggled I went the deeper. For all our troubles I heard Borthwick al>ovc con- vulsed with laughter; he thought he had got the affair of the dunghill paid back. Through holding by one another and letting down a plaid to me they hauled me up, but I was terribly incommoded by snow that had got inside my clothes. The ewes were standing in a close body ; one half of them were covered over with snow to the depth of ten feet, the rest were jammed against a brae. We knew not what to do for spades to dig them out; but to our agreeable astonishment, Mhen those before were removed, they had been so close pent together as to be all touching one another, and they walked out from below the snow after their neighbours in a body. If the snow-wreath had not broke and crumbled down upon a few that were hindmost, we should have got them all out without putting a hand to them. This was effecting a good deal more than I or any of the party expected a few houra before : there were one hundred ewes in another place near by, but of these we could only get out a very few, and lost all hopes of saving the rest. It was now wearing towards mid-day. and there were occasionally short intervals in which we could see about us for perhaps a score of yards; but we got only one momentary glance of the hills around us all tiiat day. I grew quite impatient to be at my own charge, and leaving the rest I went away to them by myself, that is, I went to the division that was left far out on the hills, while our master and the ploughman volunteered to rescue those that were 1 down on the lower ground. I found mine in ini«cr- able circumstances; but making all jxjHfeible exer- tion I got out about one half of them, which I !■ ''■ in a place of safety and made towards home, fm was beginning to grow dark, and the storui waj* again ragiuL' without any mitigation in all its d and deformity. I was not the lca>t afraid oi my way, for I knew all the declivities of the hill bo well that I could have come home with my cyet bound up, and indeed long ere I got home they were of no use to me. I was terrified for the water (Dou- glas Burn), for in the morning it was flooded and gorged up with snow in a dreadful manner, and I judged that it would be quite impaijsablc. At length I came to a place where I thought the water should be, and fell a boring and groping for it with my long staff:— No; I could find no water, and began to dread that for all my accuracy I had gone wrong. I was greatly astonished ; and standing still to con- sider, I looked up towards heaven, I shall not say for what cause, and to my utt«r amazement thought I beheld trees over my head flourishing abroad over the whole sky. I never had seen such an optical delusion before; it was so like ot ' ■ • that I knew not what to think, but ■ i some extraordinary thing was coming over me, and that I was deprived of my right senses. I remem»)er I thought the storm was a great judgment sent on us for our sins, and that this strancc phantasy was connected with it, an illusion effected by evil Bpirit& I stood a good while in this painful trance ; at length, on making a bohl exertion to escajH? from the faint' vision I came all at once in contact with the old tower. Never in my life did I expt-rience such a relief; I was not only all at once freed fn>m the fairies, but from the dangers of the gorged ri%-er. I had come over it on some mountain of snow. 1 knew not how nor where, nor do I know to this day. So that, after all, they were trees that I saw, and trees of no great magnitude; but their api)earanoe to my eyes it is impossible to descril)e. 1 thought they flourished abroad, not for miles, but for hun- dreds of miles, to the utmost verges of the visible heavens. Such a day and such a night may the eje of a shepherd never again behold. CHAPTER II. ''That night a child nxight umierstand. The DeLl b.ad business uu Li^ liaud.' On reaching home I found ourywomen folk sitting in woeful plight. It is well known how wonderfully acute they generally are either at raising up ima- ginary evils or magnifying those that exist; and ours had made out a theory so fraught with miserv and distress that the poor things were quite over- whelmed with grief " There were none of us ever i_i STORMS. to sec the house again in life. There was no possi- bility of the thiiiu; hajipening, all circumstances con- siJercd. There was not a Khce{) in the country to he saved, nor a single slicphcnl left alive — nothing hut women! and there they were left, three poor helpless creatures, and the men lying dead out among the snow and none to bring them home. Lord helj) them! what was to become of them?" They per- fectly agreed in all this; there was no dissenting voice : and their i)rospocts still continuing to darken with the fall of night, they had no other resource left them long before my arrival but to lift up their voices and weep. The group consisted of a young lady, our master's niece, and two servant girls, all of the same age, and l>eautiful as three spring days, every one of which are mild and sweet but differ only a little in brightness. No sooner had I entered than every tongue and every hand was put in motion, the former to pour forth queries faster than six tongues of men could answer them with any degree of precision, and the latter to riil mc of the encum- brances of snow and ice with which I was loaded. One slit up the sewing of my frozen jilaid, another brushed the icicles from my locks, and a third un- loosed my clotted 8now-!)OOts. We all arrived within a few minutes of each other, and all shared the same kind ofHce.-;, and heard the same kind inciuiries and long string of peqdexitics narrated; even our dogs shared their caresses and ready assistance in ridding them of the frozen snow, and the dear consistent creatures were six times happier than if no storm or danger had existed. Let no one suppose that, even amid toils and perils, the shepherd's life is destitute of enjoyment. Borthwick had found his way home without losing his aim in the least. I had deviated but little, save that I lost the river, and remained a short time in the country of the fairies : but the other two had a hard struggle for life. They went off, as I said for- merly, in search of seventeen scores of my flock that had been left in a place not (:ir from the house ; but being unable to find one of them, in searching for these, they lost themselves while it was yet early in the afternoon. They supposed that they had gone by the house very near to it, for they had toiled till dark among deep snow in the burn below ; and if John Burnet, a neighbouring shepherd, had not heard them calling, and found and conducted them home, it would have stood hard with them indeed, for none of us would have looked for them in that direction. They were both very much exhausted, and the goodman could not speak above his breath that night. Next morning the sky was clear, but a cold in- temperate wind still blew from the north. The face been witnessed in Scotland. Some registers which I have seen place this storm on the 24th of Decemlicr, a month too early, but that day w:i8 one of the finest winter days I ever saw. There having been 340 of my flock that had never been found at all during the preceding day, as soon as the morning dawned we set all out to look after them. It was a hideous-looking scene — no one could cast hia eyes around him and entertain any concep- tion of sheep being saved. It was one picture of deso- lation. There is a deep glen that lies between Black- house and Dryhope, called the Hawkshaw Cleuch, which is full of trees. There was not the top of one of them to be seen. This may convey some idea how the country looked; and no one can suspect that I would state circumstances otherwise than they were, when there arc so many persons living that could confute me. When we came to the ground where these sheep should have been, there was not one of them above the snow. Here and there, at a great distance from each other, we could perceive the head or horns of stragglers appearing, and these were easily got out; but when we had collected these few, we could find no more. They had been all lying abroad in a scattered state when the storm came on, and were covered over ju.st as they had been lyinir. It was on a kind of slanting ground that lay half beneath the wind, and the snow was uniformly from six to eight feet deep. Under this the hoggs were lying scattered over at least 100 acres of heathery ground. It was a very ill-looking concern. AVc went about boring with our long poles, and often did not find one hogg in a quarter of an hour. But at length a white shaggy collcy, named Sparkie, that belonged to the cow-herd boy, seemed to have comprehended Eomcthing of our perplexity, for we ob.served him plying and scraping in the snow with great violence, and always looking over his shoulder to us. On going to the spot, we found that he had marked straight above a sheep. From that he flew to another, and so on to another, as fast as we could dig them out, and ten times faster, for he sometimes had twenty or thirty holes marked beforehand. We got out 300 of that division before night, and about half as many on the other parts of the farm, in addition to those we had rescued the day before ; and the greater part of these would have been lost had it not been for the voluntary exertions of Spar- kie. Before the snow went away (which lay only eight days) we had got every sheep on the farm out, either dead or alive, except four; and that these were not found was not Sparkie's blame, for though they were buried below a mountain of snow at least fifty feet deep, he had again and again marked on of the country was entirely altered. The form of j the top of it above them. The sheep were all living every hill was changed, and new mountains leaned over every valley. All traces of burns, rivers, and lakes were obliterated, for the frost had been com- mensurate with the storm, and such as had never when we found them, but those that were buried in the snow to a certain depth, being, I suppose, in a warm, half suffocated state, though on being taken out they bounded away like roes, yet the sudden 145 19 THE ETTUICK HHEPHERD'S TALES. change of atmosphere inntantly paralyzed them, and they fell down deprived of all power in their limbs. We had great numbers of these to carry home and feed witli the hand, but others that were very deep buried, died outright in a few minutes. We did not however lose above sixty in all, but I am certain Sparkle saved us at least 200. We were for several days utterly ignorant how affairs stood with the country around us, all com- munication between farms being cut off", at least all communication w ith such a wild place as that in which I lived; but John Burnet, a neighbouring shepherd on another farm, was remarkably good at picking up the rumours that were afloat in the country, which he delighted to circulate without abatement. Many peoi»le tell their stories by halves, and in a manner so cold and indifferent, that the purport can scarcely be discerned, and if it is, can- not be believed; but that was not the case with John : he gave them with interest, and we were very much indebted to him for the intelligence which we daily received that week ; for no sooner was the first brunt of the tempest got over, than John made a point of going off at a tangent every day, to learn and bring us word what was going on. The accounts were most dismal; the country was a charnel-house. The first day he brought us tidings of the loss of thousands of sheep, and likewise of the death of Robert Arm- strong, a neighbour shcjjherd, one whom we all well knew, he having but lately left the Blackhouse to herd on another farm. He died not above 300 paces from a farm-house, while at the same time it was known to them all that he was there. His com- panion left him at a dike-side, and went in to pro- cure assistance ; yet, nigh as it was, they could not reach him, though they attempted it again and again; and at length they were obliged to return, and suffer him to perish at the side of the dike. There were three of my own intimate acquaintances who perished that night. There was another shep- herd named Watt, the circumstances of whose death were peculiarly affecting. He had been to see his sweetheart on the night before, with whom he had finally agreed and settled everything about their marriage; but it so happened, in the inscrutable awards of Providence, that at the very time when the banns of his marriage were proclaimed in the church of Moffat, his companions were carrying him home a corpse from the hill. It may not be amiss here to remark, that it was a received opinion all over the country, that sundry lives were lost, and a great many more endangered, by the administering of ardent spirits to the sufferers, while in a state of exhaustion. It was a practice against which I entered my vehement protest, never- theless the voice of the multitude should never be disregarded. A little bread and sweet milk, or even a little bread and cold water, it was said, proved a much safer restorative in the fields. There is no denying, that there were some who took a glass of spirits that night who never sfKike another word, even though they were continuing to walk and con- verse when their friends found them. On the other hand, there was one woman who left her children, and followed her husband's dog, who brought her to his master lying in a slate of insen- sibility. He had fallen down barehea'Jed among the snow, and was all covered over, save one corner of his plaid. She had nothing better to take with her, when she set out, than a Ijottle of eweet milk and a little oatmeal cake, and yet with the help of these, she so far recruited his spirits as to get him safe home, though not without long and active per- severance. She took two little vials with her, and in these she heated the milk in her bosom. That man would not be disposed to laugh at the sillineee of the fair sex for some time. It is perfectly unaccountable how easily f»eople died that night. The frost must certainly have been prodigious; so intense as to have seized mo- mentarily on the vitals of those who overheated themselves by wading and toiling too impatiently among the snow, a thing very apt to be done. I have conversed with five or six that were carried home in a state of insensibility that night, who never would again have moved from the spot where they lay, and were only brought to life by rubbing and warm applications: and they uniformly declared that they felt no kind of pain or debility, further than an irresistible tlesire to sleep. Many fell down, while walking and speaking, in a sleep so sound as to resemble torjiidity ; and there is little doubt that those who perished slept away in the same manner. I knew a man well, whose name was Andrew Mur- ray, that perii^hed in the snow on Minchmoor ; and he had taken it so deliberately, that he had buttoned his coat and folded his plaid, which he had laid l>c- neath his head for a bolster. But it is now time to return to my notable literari- society. In spite of the hideous appearances that presented themselves, the fellows actually met, all save myself, in that solitary shieling before men- tioned. It is eai?y to conceive how they were con- founded and taken by surprise, when the storm burst forth on them in the middle of the night, while they were in the heat of sublime disputation. There can be little doubt that there was part of loss sus- tained in their respective flocks, by reason of that meeting; but this was nothing, compared with the obloquy to which they were subjected on another account, and one which will scarcely be believed, even though the most part of the members be yet alive to bear testimony to it. The storm was altogether an unusual convulsion of nature. Nothing like it had ever been seen or heard of among us before ; and it was enough of itself to arouse every spark of superstition that lin- gered among these mountains. It did so. It was universally viewed as a judgment sent by God for the punishment of some heinous offence, but what 14G STOllMS. that offence was, could not for a while be ascertained; Idit when it came out, that so many men had been assembled in a lone unfre(|uontcd [dace, and buKily engaged in some niysteriuus work at the very instant that the blast eamc on, no doubts were entertained that all had not been proper there, and that some horrible ritCj or correspondence with the powere of darkness, had been going on. It so happened, too, that this shieling of Entertrony was situated in the very vortex of the storm ; the devastations made by it extended all around that to a certain extent, and no farther on any one quarter than another. This was easily and soon remarked ; and, ujion the whole, the first view of the matter had rather an cijuivocal ai)pearancc to those around who had suffered so severely by it. But still as the rumour grew, the certainty of the event gained ground — new corroborative circum- stances were every day divulged, till the whole dis- trict was in an uproar, and several of the members began to meditate a sjK'edy retreat from the coun- try : some of them, I know, would have fled, if it had not been for the advice of the late worthy and judicious Mr. IJryden of Crosslee. The first inti- mation that I had of it was from my friend John Burnet, who gave it me with his accustomed energy and full assurance. He came over one evening, and I saw by his face he had some great news. I think I remember, as I well may, every word that passed between us on the subject. " Wcel, chap," said he to me, "we hae fund out what ha-i been the cause of a' this mischief now." "What do you mean, John?" " AVhat do I mean ] — It seems that a great squad o' birkies that ye are conneckit wi", had met that night at the herd's house o' Everhaup, an' had raised the dcil among them." Every countenance in the kitchen changed ; the women gazed at John, and then at me, and their lips grew white. These kinds of feelings are in- fectious, let people say what they will ; fear begets fear as naturally as light springs from reflection. I reasoned stoutly at first against the veracity of the report, observing that it was utter absurdity, and a shame and disgrace for the country to cherish such a ridiculous lie. "Lie!" said John, "it's nae lie; they had him up amang them like a great rough dog at the very time that the tempest began, and were glad to draw cuts, and gie him ane o" their number to get quit o' him again." How every hair of my head, and inch of my frame crept at hearing this sentence ! for I had a dearly beloved brother who was of the number, several full cousins and intimate acquaintances; indeed I looked upon the whole fraternity as my brethren, and considered myself involved in all their transactions. I could say no more in defence of the society's proceedings ; for, to tell the truth, though I am ashamed to acknowledge it, I suspected that the allegation might be too true. "Has the dcil actually ta'en awa ane o' them bodily 1" said Jean. "He has that," returned John, "an' it's thought the skaith wadna hae been grit, had he ta'en twa or three mac o' them. Base vil- lains ! that the hale country should hae to suffer for their pranks I But, however, the law's to tak its course on them ; an' they'll find, ere a' the play be l)layed, that he has need of a lang spoon that sups wi' the deil." The next day John brought us word tliat it was only the servant maid that the ill Ih'uf had ta'en away; and the next again, that it was actually Bryden of Glenkcrry ; but finally he was obliged to inform us " That a' was exactly true as it was first tauld, but only that Jamie Bryden, after being awanting for some days, had casten up again." There has been nothing since that time that has caused such a ferment in the country — nought else could be talked of; and grievous was the blame at- tached to those who had the temerity to raise up the devil to waste the land. Legal proceedings, it is said, were meditated and attempted ; but lucky it was for the shepherds that they agreed to no refer- ence, for such were the feelings of the country, and the opprol)rium in which the act was held, that it is likely it would have fared very ill with them — at all events it would have required an arbiter of some decision and uprightness to have dared to oppose them. Two men were sent to come to the house as by chance, and endeavour to learn from the shepherd, and particularly from the ser\'ant -maid, what grounds there were for inflicting legal punishments; but before that happened I had the good luck to hear her examined myself, and that in a way by which all suspicions were put to rest, and simplicity and truth left to war with superstition alone. I deemed it verj' curious at the time, and shall give it ver- batim as nearly as I can recollect. Being all impatience to learn particulars, as soon as the waters abated, so as to become fordable, I hasted over to Ettrick, and the day being fine, I found numbers of people astir on the same errand with myself — the valley was moving with people, gathered in from the glens around, to hear and relate the dangers and difliculties that were just overpassed. Among others the identical girl who ser^-ed with the shepherd in whose house the scene of the meeting took place, had come down to Ettrick school-house to see her parents. Her name was Mary Beattie, a beautiful sprightly lass, about twenty years of age ; and if the devil had taken her in preference to any one of the shepherds, his good taste could scarcely have been disputed. The first person I met was my friend, the late Mr. James Anderson, who was as anxious to hear what had passed at the meeting as I was, so we two contrived a scheme whereby we thought we would hear everything from the girl's own mouth. AVe sent word to the school-house for Mary to call at my father's house on her return up the water, t& 147 THE ETTKICK SIIEPUEUD'S TALES. there was a parcel to go to Phawhopc. She came accordingly, and when we saw her approaching we went into a little sleeping apartment where we could hear everything that passed, leaving direclionji with my mother how to manage the affair. My mother herself was in perfect horrors about the business, and believed it all ; as for my father, he did not say much either the one way or the otlier, but Ijit his lip, and remarked that "fo'k would find it waa an ill thing to hao to do wi' the enemy." My mother would have managed extremely well had her own early prcj udices in favour of the doctrine of all kinds of apparitions not got the bet ter of her. She was very kind to the girl, and talked with her about the slonn, and the events that had occurred, till she brought the subject of the meeting forward herself, on which the following dialogue com- menced : — " But dear Mary, my woman, what were the chicle a' met about that night '(" " 0, they were just gaun through their papers an' arguing. " " Arguing ! what were they arguing about ?" " I have often thought about it sin' syne, but really I canna tell precisely what they were arguing about." " Were you wi' them a' the time ?" " Yes, a' the time, but the wee while I was milkin' the cow." "An' did they never bid you gang out ?" "0 no; they never heedit whether I gaed out or in. " "It's queer that ye canna mind ought ava — can ye no tell me ac word tliat ye heard them say }" " I heard them say in' something about the fitness o' things." "Ay, that was a braw subject for them! Hut, Mary, did you no hear them sayin' nae ill words?" "No." " Did you no hear thcni speaking naethiug about thedeiU" " Very little. " " What were they saying about liim f" "I thought 1 aince heard Jamie Fletcher saying there was nae dcil ava." "Ah ! the unwordy rascal ! How durst he for the life o' him ! I wonder he didna think shame." " I fear aye he's something regardless, Jamie." " I hope nane that belongs to me will ever join him in his wickedness ! But tell me, Mary, my woman, did ye no sec nor hear uaething uncanny about the house yoursel that night?" "There was something like a plover cried twice i' the peat-neuk, in at the side o' Will's bed." "A plover! Hi.s presence be about us! There was never a plover at this time o' the year. And in the house too ! Ah, Mary, I'm feared and concerned about that night's wark! What thought ye it was that cried ?" " I didna ken what it was, it cried just like a plover." "Did the callanji look aa they were f<&r'd when they beard it?" "They bxjkit gayan' queer. ' " What did they say >." " Ane cried, 'What ie that?' an' another Mid, ' What can it mean ?' ' Uout,' quo' Jamie Fletcher, 'it's just some bit stray birrl that ha* lost it«eL' ' I dinna ken.' quo' your Will. ' 1 dinna like it un'O weeL' ' " Think ye did nane o' the ri. • - ■ .inylhing ' " I Ijelicve there wa« Bomelhing i?L-tii. ' " What waii't ?" ' near worn him into a linn in the water." My mother wa« now deeply afibcted, and after two or three smothered exclamations, she fell a whiaper- ing; the other followed her example, and ahortly after they rose and went out, leaving my friend and me very little wincr than we were, for wc had heard both these incidcntji iK'forc with little variation. I accompanie°d the browg of old Cairn Gonn, And scoop'd these cvcr-jT»wiiing csrea? 'Twas I, the Spirit of the Storm ! He waved Iiia sceptre north away, The .arctic ring was rift .osandcr; And througlt the heaven the startling bray Burst louder than the loudest thunder. Tlie fe^nthcnr clotids, cwudensed and furled. In coliunns swept the quaking glen ; Destruction down the dale was hurled. O'er bleating flocks and wondering men. The Grampians groan'd beneath the storm ; Xew mountains o'er the Correi leau'd ; Ben Nevis shook his sh.aggy form. And wonder'd wh.at his Sovereign mean'd. Eren far on Yarrow's fiiiry dale, The shephenl jviused in dimib dismay ; And cries of spirits in the gale Lured many a pitying hind away. 148 A SIIEI'IIEKDS WEDDING. The Luw'tltont folt tlie tyraut'a wrath ; Pruud Hartfull qiiaktMl lieiioath liiit l>rauJ ; Alid Cheviot hoanl tlio cricu of Jeutli, Guurdiug hu loved Northuuib«rliiU(l. I3ut O. rn full that fitteful night, Whiil horrors Avin wil.U dcfomi. Mid uhoku the ghiutly liii^tfriii;^ light ! Thero whirlu I the vnrlox of tho su>riu. Ere mom the wind grvw doadly dtill, And dawuing in the air u]>-drew From niany a khelvu and ahinini; hill, Her foldiuj; robe of f.iLry blue. Ttien what a tmooth and wondroo* aoeno Hung o'er Loch Avin'a lovely breaat ! Not top of talleat pine waa »eeu, Un which the diuuiled eye cuuld rest ; But mitred cliff, and crested fell, In lucid curU her brows adorn ; Aloft the nuliaiit crvscentis snc-ll. All pure as robei )>.v angi-ls worn. Round sleeps our seer, fur from the day Beneath yon sleek and writhed cohi- , His spirit btcals, uuniiits'd, awuy, And dreams across the desert lone. Soimd sleejM our seer ! — the tcnijiestji rare. And oold sheets o'er his bosom lliug ; Tho taoldwnrii digs his mossy grave ; His nKiuiem Avin oa^jlw fciug." A SHEPHERDS WEDDING. CHAPTEU I. Last autumn, while I waa staying a few weeks with my friend Mr. Grumple, miniuter of the extensive and celebrated parish of Woolenhorn, an incident occurred which hath aflforded me a great deal of amusement ; and as I think it may divert some readers, I shall without further preface begin the relation. We had just finished a wearisome debate on the rights of teind, and the claims which every clergy- man of the Established Church of Scotland has for a grass glebe: the china cups were already arranged, and the savoury tea-pot stood basking on the ledge of the grate, when the sen'ant-maid entered, and told Mr. Grumple that there was one at the door who wanted him. We immediately heard a debate in the passage — the parson pressing his guest to come hen, which the other stoutly resisted, declaring aloud that "it was a' nonsense thegither, for he was encuch to fley a' the grand folk out o' the room, an' set the kivering o' the floor a-swoomin." The parlour door was how- ever thrown open, and, to my astonishment, the first guests who presented themselves were two strong honest-looking collies, or shepherd's dogs, that came bouncing and capering into the room, with a great deal of seeming satisfaction. Their master was shortly after ushered in. He was a tall athletic figure, with a black beard, and dark raven hair hang- ing over his brow; wore clouted shoes, shod with iron, and faced up with copper; and there was alto- gether something in his appearance the most homely and uncouth of any exterior I had ever seen. "This," said the miuisterj ''is Peter Plash, a parishioner of mine, who has brought me in an ex- cellent salmon, and wants a good office at my hand, he says, in return." "The l)it fish is nacthing, man," said Peter, sleeking down the hair on his brow; " I wish he had been better for your sake — but gin ye had seen the sport that we had wi' him at Pool-Midnight, ye wad hae leughen till ye had burstit. ' Here the shepherd, obsen'ing his two dogs seated comfortably on the hearth-ing, and deeming it an instance of high pre.'-umption and very bad manners, broke out with — ''Ay, Whitefoot, lad I an' ye're for being a gentleman too! My certy, man, but ye're no blate ! — I'm ill enough, to be sure, to come into a grand room this way, but yet I wadna set up my impudent nose an' my muckle rough brisket afore the lowe, an' tak a' the fire to mysel — Get aff wi' ye, sir ! An' you too, Trimmy, ye lim- mer! what's your business here?" So saying, he attempted with the fringe of his plaid to drive them out; but they only ran about the room, eyeing their master with astonishment and concern. They had never, it seemed, been wont to be separated from him either by night or by day, and they could not understand why they should be driven from the parlour, or how they had not as good a right to be there as he. Of course, neither threats nor blows could make them leave him ; and it being a scene of life quite new to me, and of which I was resolved to profit as much as possible, at my intercession matters were made up, and the two canine associates were suffered to remain where they were. They were soon seated, one on each side of their master, clinging fondly to his feet, and licking the wet from his dripping trowsers. Having observed that when the shepherd entered he had begun to speak with great zest about the 149 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. sport tliey had in killing the salmon, I again brought on the subject, and made him describe the diversion to me. " man !" said he, and then indulged in a hearty laugh — {man was always the term he used in addressing either of us — sir scexned to be no M'ord in his vocabulary) — "0 man, I wish ye had been there ! I'll lay a plack ye wad hae said ye never saw sic sport sin' ever ye war born. We'gat twal fish a' thegither the day, an' sair broostles we had wi' some o' them ; but a' was naething to the killin' o' that ane at Pool-Midnight. Geordie Otterson, Matthew Ford, an' me, war a' owre the lugs after him. But ye's hear : — When I cam on to the craigs at the weil o' Pool-Midnight, the sun was shinin' bright, the wind was lowne, an' wi' the pirl ' being awa, the pool was as clear as crystal. I soon saw by the bells coming up that there was a fish in the auld hauld; an' I keeks an' I glimes about, till, faith ! I sees his blue murt fin. My teeth war a' waterin to be in him, but I kcnd the shank o' my waster^ wasna half length. Sae I cries to Geordie, 'Geordie*' says 1, 'eh, man! here's a great chap just 1 vin steeping like an aik clog. ' Off comes Geordie, shaughle shaughlin wi' a' his pith ; for the creature's that greedy o' fish, he wad venture his very saul for them. I kend brawly what wad be the upshot. 'Now,' says I, 'Geordie, man yoursel for this ae time. Eh, man ! he is a terrible ane for size— see, yonder he's lying.' The sun was shining sae clear that the deepness o' the pool was a great cheat. Geordie bit his lip for perfect eagerness, an' his een war stelled in his head — he thought he had him safe i' the pat; but whenever he put the grains o' the leister into the water I could ispcak uae mair, I kend sae weel what was comin, for I kend the depth to an inch. Weel, he airchcs an' he vizics for a good while, an' at length made a push down at him wi" his whole might. Tut ! the leister didna gang to the grund by an ell — an' Geordie gaed into the deepest part o' Pool-Midnight wi' his head foremost! My sennins turned as supple as a dockan, an' I fell just down i' the bit wi' lauchin— ye might hae bund me wi' a strae. He wad hae drowned for aught that I could do; for when I saw his heels flingin up aboon the water as he had been dancin a hornpipe, I lost a' power thegither ; but Matthew Ford harled him into the shallow wi' his leister. ' ' Weel, after that we cloddit the pool wi' great stanes, an' afF went the fish down the gullets, shinin' like a rainbow. Then he ran, an' he ran ! an' it was wha to be first in him. Geordie gat the first chance, an' I thought it was a' owre; but just when he thought he was sure o' him, down cam Jilatthew full drive, smashed his grains out through Geordie's, and gart him miss. It was my chance next, an' I took him neatly through the gills, though he gaed as fast as a skell -drake. "But the sport grew aye better. — Geordie was sae mad at Matthew for taigling him, an' garring him • Ripple. 2 Fish-spear. 1 tine the fisli (for he's a greedy dirtj, that tliey had gane to grips in a moment; an' when I lookit back, they war just fightin like twa terriers in the mid« o' the water. The witters o' the twa leihtcrs were frankit in ane anither, an' they couldna get them sindry, else there had been a vast o' bludeshed; but they were knevillin, an' tryin to drown ane anither a' that they could ; an' if they hadna been clean forfoughten they wad hae done't; for they were aye gaun out o' sight an' comin howdin up again. Yet after a', when I gaed back to redd them, they were sae inveterate that they wadna part till I was forced to hand them baith down through the water an' drown them baith. " "But I hope you have not indeed drowned the men," said I. "Ou na, only keepit them down till I took the power fairly frae them — till the buUers gaed owre coming up ; then I carried them to dif- ferent sides o' the water, an' laid them down agroof wi' their heads at the inwith ; an' after gluthering and spurring a wee while, they cam to again. We dinna count muckle of a bit drowning mat<;h, us fishers. I wish I could get Geordie as weel doukit ilka day ; it wad tak the smeddum frae him — for 0, he is a greedy thing! But I fear it will be a while or I see sic glorious sport again." Mr. Grumple remarked, that he thought, by hi* account, it oould. not be very good sport to all par- ties; and that, though he always encouraged these vigorous and healthful exercises among his parish- ioners, yet he regretted that they could so seldom be concluded in perfect good humour. "They're nae the waux o' a wee bit splore," eaiil Peter; "they wad turn unco milk-an-water things, an' dee awa a' thegither wantin a broolzie. Ye might as weel think to keep an ale-vat working wantin' barm." "But, Peter, I hope you have not been breaking the laws of the country by your sport to-day !" . "Xa, troth hae we no, man — close-time disna come in tiU the day after the mom; but atween you an' me, close-time's nae ill time for us. It merely ties up the grit folk's hands, an' throws a' the sport into ours thegither. Ka, na. we's never complain o' close-time ; if it warna for it there wad few fish fiV to poor folk's share." This was a light in Avhich I had never viewed the laws of the fishing association before; but as this honest hind spoke from experience, I have no doubt that the statement is founded on truth, and that the sole effect of close-time, in all the branches of the principal river, is merelj" to tie up the hands of every respectable man, and throw the fishing into the hands of poachers. He told me, that in all the rivers of the extensive parish of Woolenhorn, the fish generally ran up during one flood and went away the next ; and as the gentlemen and fahncrs of those parts had no interest in the preservation of the breeding salmon themselves, nor cared a farth- ing about the fishing associations in the great river, 50 A SlIEl'llEllDS WEDDING. whom they viewed as monopolizers of that to which they had no right, the fish were wholly abandoned to the poachers, who generally contrived, Iiy burning lights at the shallows, and spearing the fish by night, and netting the pools, to annihilate every shoal that came up. This is, however, a subject that would require an essay by itself. Our conversation turned on various matters con- nected with the country ; and I soon found, that though this hind had something in his manner and address the most uncultivated I had ever seen, yet his conceptions of such affairs as came within the sphere of his knowledge were pertinent and just. He sung old songs, told us strange stories of witches and apparitions, and related many anecdotes of the pastoral life, which I think extremely curious, and wholly unknown to the literary part of the commu- nity. But at every observation that he made, lie took care to sleek down his black hair over his brow, a^ if it were of the utmost consci|uenco to his making a respectable appearance, that it should be ccjually spread, and as close pressed down as possible. When desired to join us in drinking tea, he said "it was a' nonsense thegither, for he hadna the least occa- sion ; ' and when pressed to take bread, he persisted in the declaration that "it was a' great nonsense." He loved to talk of sheep, of dogs, and of the lasses, as he called them ; and conversed with his dogs in the same manner as he did with any of the other guests; nor did the former ever seem to misunder- stand him, unless in his unprecedented and illiberal attempt to c.xpel them from the company. — " AVhite- foot ! hand aff" the woman's coat-tails, ye blockhead ! Deil hae me, gin ye hae the mense of a miller's horse, man." Whitefoot instantly obeyed. — "Trim- my! come back aff" the fire, dame! Ye' re sae wat, ye raise a reek like a cottar wife's lum— come back, ye limmcr !" Trimmy went behind his chair. It came out at last that his business with Mr. Grumple that day was to request of him to go over to Stridekirton on the Friday following, and unite him, Peter Plash, in holy wedlock with his sweet- heart and only joe, Jean Windlestrae ; and he said, if I "would accompany the minister, and take share of a haggis wi' them, I wad see some good lasses, and some good sport too, which was far better." You may be sure I accepted of the invitation with great cordiality, nor had I any cause to repent it. CHAPTER II. The wedding-day at length arrived; and as the bridegroom had charged us to be there at an early hour, we set out on horseback, immediately after breakfast, for the remote hamlet of Stridekirton. We found no regular path, but our way lay through a country which it is impossible to view without soothing emotions. The streams are numerous, clear as crystal, and wind along the glens in many fantastic and irregular curves. The mountains are green to the tops, very high, and form many beauti- ful, soft, and shaded outlines. They are, besides, literally speckled with snowy flocks, which, as we passed, were feeding or resting with such appearance of undisturbed repose, that the heart naturally found itself an involuntary sharer in the pastoral tran- quillity that pervaded all around. My good iriend, Mr. Grumple, could give me no information regarding the names of the romantic glens and mountains that came within our view; he, however, knew who were the proprietors of the land, who the tenants, what rent and stipend each of them paid, and whose teinds were unexhausted ; this seemed to be the sum and substance of his knowledge concerning the life, character, and man- ners of his rural parishioners, save that he could sometimes adduce circumstantial evidence that such and such farmers had made money of their land, and that others had made very little or none. This district, over w hich he presides in an ecclesi- astical capacity, forms an extensive portion of the Arcadia of IJritairv. It was likewise, in some late ages, noted for its zeal in the duties of religion, as well as for a thirst after the acquirement of know- ledge concerning its doctrines; but under the tuition of such a pastor as my relative appears to be, it is no wonder that practical religion should be losing ground from year to year, and scepticism, the natu- ral consequence of laxity in religious duties, gaining ground in proportion. It may be deemed, perhaps, rather indecorous to indulge in such reflections respecting any individual who has the honour to be ranked as a member of a body so generally respected as our Scottish Clergy, and who, at the same time, maintains a fair ivorldly character; but in a general discussion, in anything that relates to the common weal of mankind, all such inferior considerations must be laid aside. And the more I consider the simplicity of the people of whom I am now writing — the scenes among which they have been bred— and their lonely and seques- tered habits of life, where the workings and pheno- mena of nature alone appear to attract the eye or engage the attention— the more I am convinced that the temperament of their minds would naturally dispose them to devotional feelings. If they were but taught to read their Bibles, and only saw uni- formly in the ministers of religion that sanctity of character by which the profession ought ever to be distinguished, these people would naturally be such as every well-wisher to the human race would desire a scattered peasantry to be. But when the most decided variance between example and precept is forced on their observation, what should we, or what can we, expect] Men must see, hear, feel, and judge accordingly. And certainly in no other instance is a patron so responsible to his sovereign, 1.51 Till: h:TTUlCK .SHEPHKKIiS TALES. his country, ami his God, as in tlic choice he makort of Kpiritual paHtora. These were some of the reflectiona that occupied my mind as I traversed this beautiful pastoral coun- try witli its morose teacher, and from Ihci-e I was at length happily aroused by the appearance of the cottage, or shepherd's steading, to which we were bound. It was situated in a little valley in the bottom of a wild glen, or hope, as it is there called. It stood all alone; but besides the dwelling-house, there was a little byre that held the two cows and their young — a good stack of hay, another of j>eats — a sheep-house, and two homely gardens; and the place had altogether something of a snug, comfort- able appearance. Tliough this is only an individual picture, 1 am told it may be viewed as a general one of almost every shepherd's dwelling in the south of Scotland; and it is only such pictures that, in the course of these talcs, I mean to present to the l)ublic. A number of the young shepherds and countn*" lasses liad already arrived, impatient for the ap- proaching wedding; others were coming down the green hills in mixed parties all around, lemling one anotlicr, and skiitping witli the agility of lambp. They were all walking barefooted and barclcggctl, male and female; the men were dressed much in tlie ordinary way, only that the texture of their clothes was somewliat coarse, and the women had black beavers, wliitc gowns, and "green coats kiUenent« objected toi custom. I measured the distance, and found two of them had actually leai>ee. and always as soon as the t- _ indi- vidual in one particular excrcist lifest, an- other was instantly rejK)rtc«l to: ■ ore long there wxs one party engaged in ... ;..;.^'. one in throwing the stone, and another at hop-ptop and- leap, all at one and the same time. This last seems to Ik? ra' •' ' - lU-c- ment. It consists of thi' .-. all with the same race; and a« the exertion i« jrreater and of longer continuance, they can ju '■. more precision the exact capability of the r^.^...; com- petitors. I measured the ground, ami found the greatest distance effectcnc whom tliey de- nominated Davie Scott o' the Ramsey -cleuch bum, amid the bay of dogs and the shouts of men and women, got first to the bridegroom's door, and of course was acknowledged to have won the broose ; but the attention was soon wholly turned from him to those behind. The man whose horse hiul sunk in the bog, perceiving that all eiiancc of e.xtrieating it again on the instant was out of the question, lost not a moment, but sprung to his feet, threw off liis coat, hat, and shoes all at one brush, and ran towards the goal with all his might. Jock o' the Mecr- cleuch, who was still a good way farther back, and crippled besides with his fall, perceiving this mounted again, whipped on furiously, and would soon have overhied his pedestrian adversary; but the shepherds are bad horsemen, and moreover Jock's horse, which belonged to Gideon of Kirkhope, was unacquainted with the sheep-drains and terrified at them ; conse- quently by making a sudden jerk backwards when he should have leaped across one of them, and when Jock supposed that he was just going to do so, he threw his rider a second time. The shouts of laugh- ter were again renewed, and every one was calling out, "Now for the mell ! now for the mell ! Deil tak the hindmost now!" These sounds reached Jock's ears ; he lost no time in making a last effort, flew at his horse again, remounted him, and, by urging him to a desperate effort, actually got ahead of his adversary just when within ten yards of the door, and thus escaped the disgrace of winning the mell. I was afterwards told that in former ages it was the custom on the Border when the victor in the race was presented with the prize of honour, the one who came in last was at the same time presented with a mallet or large wooden hammer, called a vidl in the dialect of the country, and that then the rest of the competitorn stijod in need to be near at hand anil instantly to force the rntll from him, else he wa* at liberty to knock as many of them down with it as he eoultl. The mell has now for many years been only a nominal prize, but there is often more sjwrt aiiout the gaining of it than the principal one. There was another occurrence which added greatly to the animation of this, which I had not time before fully to relate. Al»out the time when the two un- fortunate wights were unhorsed in the bog, those who still kept on were met and attacked open mouth by at least twenty frolicsome collies, that seemed fully as intent on sport as their masters. These bit the hind-legs of the horses, snapped at their noses, and raised such an outrage of barking, that the poor animals, forespent as they were, were constrained to lay themselves out almost beyond their power. Nor tlid the fray ceaj^c when the race wa.s won. Encour- aged by the noise and clamour which then arose about the gaining of the mell, the stanch collies con- tinued the attack, and hunted the racers round and round the houses with great s[iced, while the horses were all the time wheeling and Hinging most furi- ously, and their riders in desperation vociferating and cursing their a^^sailants. All the guests now crowded together, and much humour and blunt wit passed about the gaining of the broose. Each of the competitors had his difli- cultics and cross accidents to relate, and each affirmed that if it had not been such and such hindrances he would have gained the broose to a certainty. Davie Scott o' the Itamsey-cleuch burn, however, assured them that "he was aye hauding in his yaud wi' the left hand, and gin he had liket to gie her out her head she wad hae gallopit amaist a third faster." " That may be," said Aedie o' Aberlosk, " but I hae come better on than I expectit wi' my Cameronian naig. I never saw him streek himsel sae afore ; I dare say he thought that Davie was auld Clavers mountit on Homie. Poor fallow !" continued he, patting him, "he has a good deal o' anti-prelatic doumess in him, but 1 see he has some spirit for a' that. I bought him for a pownie, but he's turned out a beast." I next overheard one proposing to the man who left his horse and exerted himself so manfully on foot, to go and pull his horse out of the quagmire. "Na, na," said he, "let him stick yonder a while, to learn him mair sense than to gang intill an open well-ee and gar ane get a mell. I saw the gate as I was gaun, but I couldna swee him aff; sae I just thought o' Jenny Blythe and plunged in. I kend weel something was to happen, for I met her first this morning, the ili-hued carlin; but I had need to baud my tongue ! Gudeman, let us see a drap whisky." He was presented with a glass. " Come, here's Jenny Blythe," said Andrew, and drank it off. " I wad be nae the waur o' a wee drap too," 153 20 THE ETTKICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. fiaiil Aljcrlo.sk, taking a glass of whisky in his hand and looking steadfastly through it. "I think I see Jock the elder here," said he; "ay, it's just him— come, here's thfi. Jive kirks o' Enkdak." He drank it off. "Gudcman, that's naething but a Tarn- Park of a glass; if ye'll fill it again, I'll gie a toast ye never heard afore. This is Bail'ij'/i Dktionary," said Aedic, and drank it off again. " But when a' your daflin's owre, Aedic," said John, "what hae you made o' your young friend ] " " Ou ! she's safe eneuch," returned he, "the best-man and John the elder arc wi' her." On looking round the comer of the house we now perceived that the bride and her two attendants were close at hand. They came at a quirk ranter. She managed her horse well, kept her saddle with great ease, and seemed an elegant sprightly girl of twenty- four or thereabouts. Every cap was instantly waved in the air, and the bride was saluted with three hearty cheers. Old John, well aware of what it behoved him to do, threw off his broad bonnet, and took the bride respectfully from her horse, kissed and welcomed her home. " Ye' re welcome hame till us, Jeany, my bonny woman," said he; "may God bless ye, and mak ye just as good an' as happy as I wish ye." It was a beautiful and affecting sight to see him leading her toward the home that was now to be her own. He held her hand in both his, the wind waved his long gray locks, his features were lengthened considerably the wrong way, and 1 could perceive a tear glistening on his furrowed cheek. All seemed to know exactly the parts they had to act; but everything came on me like magic, and quite by surprise. The bride now stopped short on the threshold, while the old man broke a triangular cake of short-bread over her head, the pieces of which he threw about among the young people. These scrambled for them with great violence and eager- ness; and indeed they seemed always to be most in their element when anything that required strength or activity was prCvsented. For my part, I could not comprehend what the sudden convulsion meant (for in a moment the crowd was moving like a whirl- pool, and tumbling over one another in half dozens), till a little girl, escaping 'from the vortex, informed me that "they war battling wha first to get a baud o' the bride's bunn." I was still in the dark, till at length I saw the successful candidates presenting their favourites with small pieces of this mystical cake. One beautiful maid with light locks, blue eyes, and checks like the vernal rose, came nimbly up to me, called me familiarly by my name, looked at me with perfect seriousness, and without even a smile on her innocent face, asked me \f I was mar- ried. I could scarcely contain my gravity wliile I took her by the hand and answered in the negative. " An' hae ye no gotten a piece o' the bride's cake?" "Indeed, my dear, I am sorry I have not." "0, that's a great shame that ye hae nae gotten a wee bit ! I canna bide to see a stranger guided that gate. Here, nir; I'll gac ye the tae half o' mine, it will ser' us baith ; and I wa^l rather want myi>el thao 8k<- civil a gentleman that's a stranger (should want." j j So saying she took a Kmall piece of cake lap and parted it with me, at the same tiiu ; each of the pieces carefully up in a leaf of ai halfpenny ballad ; but the whole of her deme:» showed the utmost seriousness, and of how i; import she judged this trivial crumb to l>e. " N continued she, "ye maun lay this aneatb your head, sir, when ye gang to your l><.-d, and ye'll dream a' the woman ye are to pet for your wife. Yc'lJ j.- think ye sec her plainly and bodily afore your een an' ye'll lie sae weel acquainted wi' her that ye'll kcii her again when ye sec her, if it war among a thou sand. It's a queer thing, but it.* f>erfectly true; sa-. ye maun mind no toforgrt I promised the most punctual obwrvance of all that she enjoined, and added that I wax sure I would dream of the lovely giver; that indeed I would be sorry were 1 to dream of any other, as I deemed it impossible to dream of so much innocence and beauty. '•Now mind iio to/urg^t," rejoined she, and skipped lightly away to join her youthful a&sociates. As soon as the bride was led into the house, old Nelly, the bridegroom's mother, went aidde to aee the Itcast on which her daughter-in-law bad beeii brought home; and perceiving that it was a mare she fell a-crying and ringing her hands. I inquired, with some alarm, what was the matter, "O dear sir," returned she, " it's for the poor baimics that'll yet hae to dree this unlucky mischance — Laike-a- day, poor waefu' brats ' they'll no lie in a drj' bed for a dozen o' years to come ! " " llout I baud your tongue, Nell}'," said the best man. "the thing's but a freat a' thcgither. But really we coudna help it : the factors naig wantit a fore-fit shoe, an' was Iwckin like a water-craw. If I had ridden five miles to the smiddy wi" him it is ten to ane but Jock Anderson wad hae been drunk, an' then we wadna hae gotten the bride hame afore twall o'clock at night ; sae I thought it was better to let them tak their chance than spoil sae muckle good sport, an' I e'en set her on Watie IJrjdcn's pownie. The factor has behaved very ill about it, the muckle stootin gowk ! If I had durst I wad hae gien him a deevil of a thrashin ; but he says, ' Faith its — that — yes, indeed — that — he will send them — yes, faith— it's even a — a new tikabed cver>- year.' " CHAPTER 111. As soon as the marriage ceremony was over, all the company shook hands with the young couple, and wished them every kind of joy and felicity. The rusticity of their benisons amused me, and there were several of them that I have never to this dav 154 A SlIEIMIEUDS WEDDING. been alilc to comprehend. As, for instance, one wished tlieni •• thuiupin luck and fat weans;" another "u hicn runulebaukM, and tight thack and ra{>e o'er their heads;" a third gave them "a routh aumrie and a close nieve;" and the lasses wished thcMi "as mony hineymoons as the family had fingers an' taes. " I took notes of these at the time, and many more, and set them down precisely as they were spoken ; all of tlicm have doubtless mean- ings attached to thcni, but these are perhaps the least mystical. I expected now that we slmuld go quietly to our dinner ; but instead of that they again rushetl rapidly away towards the green, crying out, " Now for the broose ! now for the broose !" " The people arc un- questionably mad," said I to one that stood beside me; '• are they really going to run their horses again among such ravines and bogs aa these? they must be dissuaded from it." The man informed me that the race was now to be on foot ; that there were always two races — the first on horseback for the brides napkin, and the second on foot for the bride- groom's spurs. I asked him how it came that they had thus altered the order of tilings in the appropri- ation of the prizes, for that the spurs would be the fittest for the riders, as the napkin would for the runners. He admitted this, but couhl adduce no reason why it was otherwise, save that " it was the gude auld gate, and it would be a pity to alter it. " He likewise informed me that it wa.s customary for some to run on the bride's part, and some on the bridegroom's ; and that it was looked on as a great honour to the country, or connections of cither party, to bear the broose away from the other. Accordingly, on our way to the race-ground, the bridegroom was recruiting hard for runners on his part, and by the time we reached the starting-place, had gained the consent of five. One now asked the beM-man why he was not recruiting in behalf of the bride. "Never mind," said he; "do ye strip an' mak ready — I'll find them on the bride's part that will do a' the turn." It was instantly rumoured around that he had brought one all the way from Liddcsdale to carry the prize away on the bride's part, and that he was the best runner on all the Border side. The runners, that were all so brisk of late, were now struck dumb ; and I marked them going one by one, eyeing the stranger with a jealous curiosity, and measuring him with their eyes from head to foot. No, not one of them would venture to take the field against him I — "they war only jokin' — they never intendit to rin — they war just jaunderin wi' the bridegroom for fun." " Come, fling aflf your claes, Hobby, an' let them see that ye're ready for them," said the best-man. The stranger obeyed^he was a tall, slender, and handsome youth, with brown hair, prominent features, and a ruddy complexion. "Come, lads," said the best-man, "Hobby canna stand wantin his claes ; if nane of ye are ready to start with him in twa minutes he shall rin the course himsel, and then I think the folk o' this country arc shamed forever." " No sae fast," said a little funny- looking fellow, who instantly began to strip off his stockings and shoes ; " no sac fast, lad ; he may win, but he sanna win untried. " A committee was in- stantly formed apart, where it was soon agreed that all the good runners there should, with one accord, start against this stranger; for that "if naebody ran but Tam the tailor, they wad be a' shamed thegithcr, for Tam would never come within a stane- clod o' him." " Hout, ay— that's something like yourscls, callants," said old John; "try him— he's but a saft feckless-like chicl ; I think ye ncedna be sae feared for him. " "It is a' ye ken," said another ; "do nac ye sec that he's lingit like a grew, and he'll rin like anc ; they say he rins faster than a horse can gallop." " I'll try him on my Cameronian whenever he likes," said Aberlosk ; ' ' him that beats a Cameronian has but another to beat." In half a minute after this, seven athletic youths were standing in a row stripped, and panting for the race; and I could note, by the paleness of their faces, how anxious they were about the result— all save Aedie o' Al>erlosk, on whom the whisky liad made some impression, and who seemed only intent on making fun. At the distance of 500 yards there was a man placed whom they denominated the stoop, and who had his hat raised on the end of his staff, lest another might be mistaken for him. Around this 8tuui> they were to run, and return to the start- ing-place, making in all a heat of only 1000 yards, which I was told is the customary length of a race all over that country. They took all hold of one another's hands — the best-man adjusted the line in which they stood, and then gave the word as follows, with considerable pauses between: Once — Ttoice — Thrire — and off they flew like lightning, in the most beautiful style I ever beheld. The ground was rough and unequal, but there was no restraint or manage- ment practised ; every one set out on full speed from the very finst. The Borderer took the lead, and had soon distanced them a considerable space — all save Aberlosk, who kept close at his side, straining and twisting his face in a most tremendous manner: at length he got rather befgfie him, but it was an over- stretch — Aedie fell flat on his face, nor did he offer to rise, but lay still on the spot, puffing and swear- ing against the champion of Liddesdale. Hobby cleared the stoop first by about twenty yards — the rest turned in such a group that I could not discern in what order, but they were all obliged to turn it to the right, or what they called "sun- ways-about," on pain of losing the race. The gene- rality of the "weddingcrs" were now quite silent, and looked very blank when they saw this stranger still keeping so far ahead. Aberlosk tried to make them all fall one by one, by creeping in before them as they passed ; and at length laid hold of the hind- most by the foot, and brought him down. By this time two of the Borderer's acquaintances 155 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. had run down the green to meet him and encourage him on. " Weel done, Hohby !" they were Bhout- ing : " Weel done, Hobby !— Liddesdale for ever ! — Let them lick at that ! — Let the benty-nccks crack now !— Weel done. Hobby !" — I really felt as much interested about the issue at this time as it was pos- sible for any of the adverse parties to be. The en- thusiasm seemed contagious ; for though I knew not one side from the other, yet was I running among the rest, and shouting as they did. A sort of half- animated murmur now began to spread, and gained ground every moment. A little gruff Cossack look- ing peasant came running near with a peculiar wild- ness in his looks, and accosted one of the men that were cheering Hobby. " Dinna be just sae loud an' ye like, Willie Beattie; dinna mak nae mair din than just what's needfu'. Will o' Bellendine ! baud till him, sir, or it's day wi' us! Hie, AVill, if ever ye ran i' your life ! By Jehu, sir, ye're winning every third step ! He has him dead! he has him dead!" The murmur, which had increased like the rushing of many waters, now terminated in a frantic shout. Hobby had strained too hard at first, in order to turn the stoop before Aberlosk, who never intended turning it at all — the other youth was in- deed fast gaining on him, and 1 saw his lips growing pale, and his knees plaiting as if unable to bear his weight — his breath was quite exhausted, and though within twenty yards of the stoop. Will began to shoulder by him. So anxious was Hobby now to keep his ground that his body pressed onward faster than his feet could keep up with it, and his face in consequence came deliberately against the earth — he could not be said to fall, for he just ran on tiU he could get no farther for something that stopped him. Will o' Bellendine won the broose amid clamours of applause, which he seemed fuUy to ap- preciate^the rest were over Hobby in a moment ; and if it had not been for the wayward freaks of Aberlosk, this redoubted champion would fairly have won the mell. The lad that Aedie overthrew, in the midst of his career, was very angry with him on account of the outrage, but Aedie cared for no man's anger. "The man's mad," said he ; "wad ye attempt to strive wi' the champion of Liddesdale ? — Hout, hout ! baud your tongue ; ye're muckle better as ye are. I sail take the half o' the mell wi' ye." On our return to the house 1 was anxious to learn something of Aedie, who seemed to be a verj" sin- gular character. Upon applying to a farmer of his acquaintance, I was told a number of curious and extravagant stories of him, one or two of which I shall insert here, as I profess to be ginng anecdotes of the country life. He once quarrelled with another farmer on the highway, who, getting into a furious rage, rode at Aedie to knock him down. Aedie, who was on foot, fled with all his might to the top of a large dunghill for shelter, where, getting hold of a graip (a three- pronged fork used in agriculture), he attacked hi* adversary with such an overflow of dung that his horse took fright, and in spit* of all he could do, ran clear off with him, and left Aedie master of the field. The farmer in high wrath sent him a tluil- lenge to fight with pistols, in a place called Selkith Hope, early in the morning. This is an extremely wild, steep, and narrow glen. Aedie attended, but kept high up on the hill; and when his enemy reached the narrowest part of the Hope, began the attack by rolling great stones at him down from the mountain. Nothing could be more appalling than this — the. fanner and his horse were both alike ter- rified, and, as Aedie expressed it, "he set them baith back the gate they cam, as their heads had been a-lowe." Another time, in that same Hope of Selkith, he met a stranger, whom he mistook for another man called Jamie .Sword ; and because the man denied that he was Jamie Sword, Aedie fastened a quarr- on him, insisting on him either being Jamie Sword, or giving some proofs to the contrary. It was verv impudent in him, he said, to give any man the li' when he could produce no evidence of his being wrong. The man gave him his word that he was not Jamie Sword. "0, but that's nacthing, ' said Aedie, " I give you my word that you are, and I think my word's as good as yours ony day." Fin he told the man that if he would not acknovi- ._ that he was wrong, and confess that he waa Jami Sword, he would fight him. He did so, and g' himself severely thrashed. The following is a copy of a letter written by Aedi to a great personage, dated Aberlosk, May 27th, 1806.' "To Georrje the Third, London. "Dear Sir, — I went thirty miles on foot yester- day to pay your taxes, and after all the bodies would not take them, saying that I was too late, and that they must now be recovered, with expenses, by regu- lar course of law. I thought if your majesty waa like me money would never come wrong to you, although it were a few days too late ; so I inclose you £27 in notes, and half-a-guinea, which is the amount of what they charge me for last year, and fourpence halfpenny over. You must send me a receipt when the coach comes back, eke they will not believe that I have paid you. "Direct to the care of Andrew Wilson, butcher in Hawick. "I am, dear sir, your most humble servant. A B . To the king. " P. S. — This way of taxing the fanners will never do; you will see the upshot." It has been reported over all that country that this • Should the reader imagine that this curious epistle is a mere coinage of my own, I can assure liini, from undoubted authority, that both Aedie and his letter are faitliful tran- scripts from real and existing originals. 156 THE WIFE OF LOCHMABEN. letter reached its destination, and tliat a receipt was returned iu due course of jiobt; but the truth is (and for the joke's sake it is a great pity it should have been so), that the singularity of the address caused some friends to open the letter, and return it with the money to the owner; but not before they had taken a copy of it, from which the above is exactly transcribed. COUNTRY DREAMS AND APPARITIONS. THE WIFE OF LOCHMABEN. Not many years ago there lived in the ancient royal burgh of Lochmaben an amiable and good Chris- tian woman, the wife of a blacksmith named James Neil, whose death gave rise to a singularly romantic story, and finally to a criminal trial at the circuit court of Dumfries. The story was related to me by a strolling gipsy of the town of Lochmaben pretty nearly as follows : — The smith's wife had been for several years in a state of great bodily suffering and debility, which she bore with all resignation and even cheerfulness, although during the period of her illness she had been utterly neglected by her husband, who was of a loose profligate character, and in everything the reverse of his wife. Ilcr hours were however greatly cheered by the company of a neighbouring widow of the same devout and religious cast of mind with herself These two spent most of their time together, taking great delight in each other's society. The widow attended to all her friend's Uttle wants, and often watched by her bed a good part of the night, reading to her out of the Bible and other religious books, and giving every instance of disinterested kindness and attention. The gallant blacksmith was all this while consol- ing himself in the company of another jolly buxom queen of the tinker breed, who lived in an apart- ment under the same roof with him and his spouse. He seldom visited the latter; but, on pretence of not disturbing her, both boarded and lodged with his swarthy Egyptian. Nevertheless, whenever the two devout friends said their evening prayers the blacksmith was not forgotten, but every blessing be- sought to rest on his head. One morning when the widow came in about the usual hour to visit her friend, she found to her utter astonishment that she was gone, though she had been very ill the preceding night. The bed-clothes were cold, the fire on the hearth was gone, and a part of her daily wearing apparel was lying at the bedside as usual. She instantly ran and informed the smith. But he hated this widow, and answered her churlishly, without deigning to look up to her or so much as delaying his work for a moment to listen to her nar- rative. There he stood, with his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, pelting away at his hot iron, and bidding his informant "gang to the devil for an auld phrasing hyi)ocritical jade, and if she didna find her praying snivelling crony there, to seek her where she saw her last. If she didna ken where she was, how was he to ken ? " The widow alarmed the neighbours, and a general search was instantly set on foot; but before that time the body of the lost woman had been discovered floating in the middle of the loch adjoining the town. Few people paid any attention to the unfortunate circumstance. They knew or believed that the woman lived unhappily and in bad terms with her husband, and had no doubt that she had drowned herself in a fit of despair; and, impressed with all the horror that country people naturally have of suicide, they refused her the rites of Christian burial. The body was in consequence early next morning tied between two deals, and carried out to the height several miles to the westward of the town, where it was consigned to a dishonourable grave, being deep buried precisely in the march or bound- ary between the lands of two different proprietor. Time passed away, and the go.ssips of Lochmaben were very free both with the character of the deceased and her surviving husband, not forgetting his jolly Egyptian The more profligate part of the inhabi- tants said "they never saw ony good come o' sae muckle canting an' praying an' singing o' psalms; an' that for a' the \vife's high pretensions to religious zeal, an' faith, an' hope, an' a' the lave o't, she had glen hersel up to the deil at ae smack. " But the more serious part of the community only shook their heads and said, ' ' Alas ! it was hard kenning fouk frae outward appearances, for nane wha kend that •wife wad hae expectit sic an end as this." But the state of the widow's mind after this hor- rible catastrophe is not to be described. Her con- 157 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. fidence in the mercy of Heaven was shaken, and she began to doubt of its justice. Her faith was stunned, and she felt her heart bewildered in its researches after truth. For several days she was so hardened that she durst not fall on her knees before the foot- stool of divine grace. But after casting all about and finding no other hold or anchor, she again one evening, in full bitterness of heart, kneeled before her Maker, and poured out her spirit in prayer, begging that if the tenets she held were tenets of error, and disapproved of by the fountain of life, she might be forgiven and directed in the true path to heaven. When she had finished she sat down on her lowly form, leaned her face upon both her hands, and wept bitterly as she thought on the dismal exit of her beloved friend, with whom she had last prayed. As she sat thus she heard the footsteps of one ap- proaching her, and looking up she beheld her friend whom she supposed to have been dead and buried, standing on the floor, and looking to her with a face of so much mildness and benignity that the widow, instead of being terrified, was rejoiced to see her. The following dialogue then passed between them, as nearly as I could gather it from the confused nar- rative of a strolling gipsy, who however knew all the parties : — " God of mercy preserve us, Mary, is that you ] Where have you been ] We thought it had been you that was found drowned in the loch." "And who did you think drowned me?" "We thought you had drowned yourself" "Oh, f y ! how could you do me so much injus- tice] Would that have been aught in conformity to the life we two have led together, and the sweet heavenly conversation we maintained 1 " "What could we say? or what could we think? The best are sometimes left to themselves. But where have you been, Mary?" "I have been on a journey at a strange place. But you do not know it, my dear friend. You know only the first stage at which I rested in my way, and a cold, damp lodging it is. It was at a place called the Crane Moor." "Heaven defend us! That was the name of the place where they buried the body that was found in the loch. Tell me implicitly, Mary, were you not dead?" " How can you ask such a question? Do you not see me alive, and well, and cheerful, and happy 1 " " I know and believe that the soul can never die; but strange realities come over my mind. Tell me, was it not your body that was found floating in the loch, and buried in shame and disgrace on the top of the Crane Moor?" " You have so far judged right; but I am raised from the dead as you see, and restored to life, and it is all for your sake, for the faith of the just must not perish. How could you believe that I would throw away my precious soul by taking away my own life ? My husband felled me with a bottle on the back part of the bead, breaking my skull. He then put my body into a sack, carried it out in the dark, and threw it into the loch. It was a deed of atrocity and guilt, but he will live to repent it, and it has proved a deed of mercy to me. I am well and happy ; and all that we believed of a Saviour and a future state of existence is true." On receiving this extraordinary information, and precisely at this part of the dialogue, the widow fainted, and on recovering from her swoon she found that her friend wajs gone ; but, conscious of having been in her perfect senses, and remembering everj'- thing that had passed between them, she was con- vinced that she had seen and conversed with her deceased friend's ghost, or some good benevolent spirit in her likeness. Accordingly, the next morning, she went to a magistrate, and informed him of the circumstances; but he only laughed her to scorn, and entreated her for her own sake never again to mention the matter, else people would account her mad. She offered to make oath before witnesses to the truth of every particular; but this only increu.sed the chagrin of the man in office, and the worthy widow was dis- missed with many bitter reproaches. She next went to the minister, and informed him of what she had seen and heard. He answered her kindly and with caution, but ultimately strove only to re&eon her from her belief, assuring her that it was the effect of a distempered imagination, and occasioned by reflecting too deeply on the unfortunate end of her beloved friend ; and his reasoning being too powerful for her to answer, she was obliged to give up the point. She failed not, however, to publish the matt«r among her neighbours, relating the circumstances in that firm serious manner in which a person always stands to the truth, thereby making an impression on the minds of ever\' one who heard her. The story was of a nature to take among such a society as that of which the main bulk of the population of Ix)ch- maben and its Wcinity consists. It flew like wild- fire. The people blamed their magistrates and min- isters; and on the third day after the appearance of the deceased they rose in a body, and with two ministers, two magistrates, and two surgeons at their head they marched away to the Crane Moor, and lifted the corpse for inspection. To the astonishment of all present, it appeared on the very first examination that the deceased had been felled by a stroke on the back part of the head, which had broken her skull and occasioned instant death. Little cognizance had been taken of the afl[iiir at her death ; but at any rate, her long hair was folded so carefully over the wound, and bound with a snood so close to her head, that without a minute investigation the fracture could not have been discovered. Further still in confirmation of the words of the apparition, on the surgeon's opening 158 THE WIFE OF LOCIIMABEN. the heaii, it appeared i)laiuly from tlie seniicireulur form of the fracture that it had actually been in- flicted by one side of the bottom of a bottle; and there being hundreds of respectable witnesses to all these thins^s, the body was forthwith carried to the churchyard and interred there; the ninith wa.s seized and conveyed to jail ; and the inhabitants of Annan- dale were left to wonder in the utmost astonish- ment. The smith was tried at the ensuing circuit court of Dumfries, where the widow was examined as a principal witness. She told her story before the judges with firmness, and swore to every circum- stance communicated to her by the ghost ; and even when cross-examined by the prisoner's counsel, she was not found to prevaricate in the least. Thejury appeared to be staggered, and could not refuse their assent to the truth of this relation. The prisoner's counsel, however, obviated this proof, on account of its being related at second hand, and not by an eye- witness of the transaction. He therefore refused to admit it against his client, unless the ghost appeared personally, and made a verbal accusation; and, being a gentleman of sarcastic wit, he was but too successful in turning this part of the evidence into ridicule, thereby quite, or in a great measure, un- doing the effect that it had made on the minds of thejury. A material witness being still wanting, the smith was remanded back to prison until the autumn cir- cuit, at which time his trial Mas concluded. The witness above mentioned having then been found, he stated to the court, that as he chanced to pass the prisoner's door, between one and two in the morn- ing of that day on which the deceased was found in the loch, he heard a noise as of one forcing his way out, and, wondering who it could be that was in the house at that hour, he had the curiosity to conceal himself in an adjoining door, until he saw who came out. That the night being very dark, he was obliged to cower down almost close to the earth, in order that he might have the object between him and the sky, and, while sitting in that posture, he saw a man come out of the smith's house, with something in a sack upon his back. That he followed the figure for some time, and intended to have followed farther, but he was seized Avith an indescribable terror, and went away home ; and that, on the morning, when he heard of the dead body being found in the loch, he entertained not a doubt of the smith having mur- dered his wife, and then conveyed her in a sack to the loch. On being asked, if he could aver upon oath, that it was the prisoner whom he saw come out of the house bearing the burden, he said he could not, because the burden which he carried caused the person to stoop, and prevented him from seeing his figure distinctly, but, that it was him, he had no doubt remaining on his mind. On being asked why 1 he had not divulged this sooner and more pul)licly, he said, that he was afraid the business in which he was engaged that night might have been inquired into, which it was of great consequence to him at that time to keep secret, and therefore he was not only obliged to conceal what he had seen, but to escape for a season out of the way, for fear of being examined. The crime of the prisoner appeared now to be obvious — at least the presumption was strong against him. Nevertheless, the judge, in summing up the evidence, considered the proof as defective; ex- patiated at considerable length on the extraordinary story related by the widow, which it could not be denied had bepn the occasion of bringing the whole to light, and had been most wonderfully exemplified by corresponding facts, and said he considered him.self bound to account for it in a natural way, for the satisfaction of his own mind and the minds of thejury, and could account for it in no other, than by supposing that the witness had discovered the fracture before the body of her friend had i>een consigned to the grave, and that on con- sidering leisurely and seriously the various circum- stances connected with the fatal catastrophe, she had become convinced of the prisoner's guilt, and had either fancied, or, more probably, dreamed the story, on which she had dwelt so long, that she believed it as a fact. After all, thejury, by a small majority, returned a verdict of not proven, and, after a severe reprehen- sion and suitable exhortations, the smith was dis- missed from the bar. I forgot to mention in its proper place, that one of the principal things in his favour was, that of his abandoned inamorata having made oath that he was in her apartment all that night and had never left it. He was now acquitted in the eye of the law, but not in the eyes of his countrymen, for all those who knew the circumstances believed him guilty of the murder of his wife. On the very night of his acquittal, he repaired at a late hour to the abode of his beloved Egyptian, but he was susspected, and his motions watched with all due care. Accordingly, next morning, at break of day, a large mob, who had quietly assembled, broke into the house, and dragged both the parties from the same den, and, after making them ride the stang through all the principal streets of the town, threw them into the loch, and gave them a complete ducking, suffering them barely to escape with life. At the same time, on their dis- missal, they were informed, that if they continued in the same course of life, the experiment would be very frequently repeated. Shortly after that, the two offending delinquents made a moonlight flit- ting, and escaped into Cumberland. My infomiant had not heard more of them, but she assured me they would make a bad end.. 59 THE ETTKICK. .SUKrilEUD'S TALE«. WELLDKAX HALL. " Do you believe this story of the Ghost, Oin^crt?" " Do I believe this story of the ghost f sueh a ques- tion as that is now! How many will you answer me in exchange for my ingenious answer to tliat most ex()uiHitc question? You sec that tree there. Do you believe that it grew out of the earth 1 Or do you believe that it is there at all ? Secondly, and more particularly, you sec me] Oooct begins my name?" "The seventh." "Good. Your own sentence. Look at the horn- book. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. You hiive it home. My son sprung from a filbert. Sati.K- fied? Ha, ha, ha! Another. Do you believe old Nick to be a simpleton ? A ninny? A higgler fornit.>} and nest-eggs? An even down noHC-o'-wax, not \}• , -leocived. and their wnaet have impc considered as real that wo cit her bear or see ? I conceive, that if a man beUetea that he ilurjt sec an objt.>ct standing beCace his ejm, and knows all its features and lineamenta, why, be does sec it, let casuiat^ say what they will. If be hear it pronounce words audildy. who dare challenge the scnscsi that God has :-'■■■■■ ^ ■■■■ -- ! maintain that he heard no such woi I would account the man a presumptuous fool who would say so. or who wouM net anv " 'one- mcna of nature, knowing in wi. \crse ia balanced, and how little of it he tl. . un- derstands." •' Why, now, Gill»crt, to have heard youspeakini^ the last minute, would any man have believed that such a sentence could have come out of your mouth ) That which you have said wasccrtainly Terr well said, and more to the point than anything I oould hare thought on the subject for I know not how long. So I find you think a ghost may K>metimcs be commis- 8ione - ever, arc in aught to \*e trusted, I cannot ti. ; ..at spirits have sometimes walked the earth in the like- nesses of men and women that once lived. It is certainly not on any slight or trinal occasion, that such messengers from the deat afraid at the time. The dcccaiM^d had nothing ghoHliy about him, and I waii so U8ed to do all hid conunands, that I felt very awkward in declining thin la«t one. How 1 have trembled to thinkabout ill Irtitnotmiidand believed, Gilbert, that one who new the spirit alway« dies in a very short time after!" " I believe it in held aM an ailatrc " "Oh dreadful! Then 1 «liull Boon meet him again. How awful a thing it is U^ go into a world of spirits altogether ! And that so soon! Is there no in.stanoe of one who has seen a ghost living for any length of time afterwardn !" " No. I believe not." " I wonder what he had ado in appearing to me ! But he never liked me, and had always plenty of malice about him. I am very ill, CSilbert. oh ! oh ! Lack a -day I" "Oh tie,' Never think alM)ut tlial. Vuu arc i\x well dead a.s living, if it should be so. Much better. "And is that all tlie lamentation you make for your old friend t Ah, (Jilbcrt, life is sweet even to an old man! And though I wish all my friends happy that are gone, yet such happiness is always the la.'^t that I wish them. Oh ! oh ! CJood b'yc, Gilbert. Karcwelll It is hard to say when you and I may meet again. ' " You arc not going to leave me that way ? Come, sit down, and let us lean our two old backs to this tree, and have some further conversation about this wonderful occurrence. Tell me seriously, old Nick, or Father Adam, I should rather call you, for you delve a garden like him, and like him have been bilked by a lusty young queen; — tell me, I say, seriously, what you thought of the character of our late master, and what is your opinion of this our present oneT' "I do not think of either of them. Ah! there are many doors to the valley of death, and they stand open day and night ! but there are few out of it ! " "A plague on this old fellow, with his valley of death ! He thinks of nothing but his worthless car- case. I shall get no more sense out of him. I think. Father Adam, our young master is a wretch, and I now dread our late one has not been much better. Think you the dog can have killed his uncle ] I fear he has. And I fear you have been privy to it, since you confess his ghost has appeared to you. Confess that you administered some of your herbs, some simples to him, and that it was not an ai)oplexy of which he dropiK;d down deatl. Eh ! I do not woruler tiiat you are afraid of the valley of death, if it is by a noose that you are to enter it." ' ' I'oor fool ! poor fool ! " "After all, is it not wonderful, Nicholas? What can have brought our m:i«ter back from the unseen wurld < Do you think this nejihew of his has had any hand in his death? He has now got possession of all his lands, houses, and wealth, which I well believe never were intended for him ; while his younger brother Allan, and his lovely cousin, .Susan Somcrville, our late master's chief favourite, are left without a farthing. ' "The cause of our master's death was perfectly ascertained by the surgeons. Though the present laird lie a man without principle, I do not believe he ever harboured a thought of making away with his uncle." " How comes it then that his spirit walks even while it is yet twilight, and the sun but shortly gone over the hill ! How eomcs it that his will has not been found ? — and, if our young laird and his accomplices re|>rescnt thihgs aright, not one tenth of his great wealth ?" "Heaven knows! It is a grievous and a mysterious matter." " I suppose this mansion will soon be locked up. We must all flit, Nicholson. Is it not conjectured that the laird has himself seen the apparition ?" " It is believed that he encountered it in the library that night on which he grew so ilL He has never slept by himself since that night, and never again re-entered the library. All is to be sold; for the two young people claim their thirds of the move- ables; and, as you say, we must all flit, liut I need not care! Oh! Oh ! Good b'ye, Gilbert ! Oh ! Oh! I wonder what the ghost of the old miser, the old world's-worm, had ado to appear to me? To cut me ofV from the land of the living and the place where repentance may be hoped for! Oh! Oh! Farewell, Gilbert." Gilbert kept his eye on the bent frame of the old gardener, till a bend in the wood walk hid him from his view, and then he mimicked him for his own amusement, and indulged in a long fit of laughter. Gilbert had been bred to the church, but his follies and irregularities drove him from the university. He attempted many things, and at last was engaged as butler and house-steward to the late Laird of Welldean; but even there he was disgraced, and became a kind of hanger-on about the mansion, acting occasionally as wood -forester, or rather wood- cleaver ; drank as much of the laird's strong beer as he could conveniently get; cracked profane jests with the servants and cottage-dames; talked of agriculture with the farmers; of Homer and Virgil with the schoolmaster; and of ethics with Dr. Lead- beater, the parish minister. Gilbert was every- body's body; but cared little for any one, knowing that few cared aught for him. He had nevertheless a 161 21 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. good heart, and a mortal abhorrence of everything tyrannical or unjust, as well as mean and sordid. ' Old Welldean had lived a sober retired life, and was exceedingly rich; but was one of those men who could in no wise part with money. He had two nephews by a brother, and one niece by a sister. It was known that he had once made a will, wliich both the writer and one of the witnesses attested ; but he had been cut off suddenly, and neither the wiU nor his accumulated treasures could be found, though many suspected that the elder nephew, Randal, had concealed the one and destroyed the other. As heir-at-law, he had seized on the whole property, and his brother Allan, and lovely cousin. Miss Somerville, two young and amiable lovers, found themselves deprived of that which they had been bred up to regard as their own. They claimed, of course, their share of the moveables, which the heir haughtily proposed to bring to the hammer. These were of considerable value. The library alone was judged to be worth a gi"eat sum, as it had de- scended from father to son, and had still been in- creasing in value for several generations. But from the moment that an inventory began to be taken of the things of the house, which was nearly a year after the old laird's death, the family were driven into the utmost consternation by a visit of an ap- parition, exactly resembling their late master. It walked not only every night, but was sometimes seen in open day, encountering some with threat- ening gestures and beckoning othere to follow it. These circumstances confirmed Randal in his re- solution, not only to sell the furniture, but even to dispose of the house and policies, and purchase another place in lieu of it. It was supposed he had got a dreadful fright himself, but this circumstance he judged it proper to conceal, lest advantage might be taken of it by intending purchasers ; and he now manifested the utmost impatience to bring the sales about. Among other interested agents, two wealthy booksellers, Pinchport and Titlepage, were applied to as the best and most conscientious men in the world, to give a fair price for the valuable library. These sent an old bookmonger to look over the lib- rary, and put down a certain value on every work. The man proceeded with great activity, and no less importance. But one evening, as he approached an oaken book-case in the middle of a large division, he perceived an old man standing before it, of a most forbidding and threatening aspect. The honest bibliopole bowed low to this mysterious intruder, who regarded him only with a frown, kept his posi- tion, and, holding up his right hand, shook it at him, as if daring him to approach nearer to that place. The man of conscience began to look around him, for he had heard of the ghost, though he disregarded the stor)'. The door was close shut ! It was impos- sible a mouse could have entered without his having perceived it. He looked at the old man again, and thought he discerned the spokes of the book-case through his body; and, at the same time, there appeared something like a lambent flame bumiog within him. The valuator of books made toward the door as fast as his loosened and yielding joints could carry him ; he even succeeded in opening it ; but, in his haste to escape, he lost all manner of caution, and fell headlong over the oaken stair. In his fall he uttered a horrible shriek, which soon brought the servants from the hall to his assistance. When they arrived, he had tumbled all the way to the bottom of the stair ; and, though all mangled and bleeding, he was still rolling and floundering onward, in order somewhat to facilitate his escape. They aaked him, what was the matter. His answer to them was, "The ghost, the ghost;" and the honest bibliopole spoke not another word that any body could make sen.se of, for at least two months. One of his jaws was broken, which instantaneously swelling, de- prived him of the power of utterance. He was be- sides much lacerated and bruised, and fell into a dangerous fever. No explanation having thus been given of the circumstances of the adventure, the story soon spread, and assumed a character highly romantic, and no less uncommon. It was asserted, on the strongest evidence, that the ghost of the late laird had attacked an honest valuator of books in the library, and tossed him down stairs, breaking every bone of his body. The matter began to wear a serious aspect, and the stoutest hearts about the mansion were chilled. A sort of trepidation and uncertainty was apparent in the look, gait, and whole demeanour of every one of the inhabitants. All of them were continually looking around, in the same manner that a man does who is afraid of being taken up for debt. The old housekeeper prayed without ceasing. Nicholas, the gardener, wept night and day, that he had so soon to go to heaven. Dr. Leadbeater, the parish minister, reasoned with- out end, how "immaterial substances might be imaged forth by the workings of a fancy overheated and bedimmed in its mental vision, until its optics were overrun with opacity; and, that visions thus arose from the discord of colours, springing from the proportions of the vibrations propagated through the fibres of the optic nenes into the brain;" and a thousand other arguments, replete no doubt with deep philosophy, but of which no one knew the bearing of a single point. As for Gibby, the wood- forester, he drank ale and laughed at the whole busi- ness, sometimes reasoning on the one side, some- times on the other, precisely as the whim caught him. Randal spent little of his time in the mansion. He was engaged in the career of dissipation to wliich heirs are generally addicted, and grew every day more impatient to accomplish the sale of his uncle's effects at Welldean. Matters were at a stand. Ever since the misfortune of the bookman, 162 WELLDEAN HALL. further proceeding there was none. Most people suspected a trick ; but a trick having such serious consequences was not a toy wherewith to dally. Randal lost all temper; and at last yielded to the solicitations of his domestics, to suffer the ghost to be spoken to, that the dead might have rest, as the housekeeper termed it. Accordingly, he sent for Dr. Leadbeater, the great metaphysical minister of the parish, and re- quested him to watch a night in the library ; merely, as he said, to quiet the fears of the domestics, who had taken it into their heads that the house was haunted, and accordingly all order and regularity were at an end among them. "Why, sir," said Dr. Leadbeater, "as to my watching a night, that's nothing. It is not that I would not watch ten nights to benefit your honour, either mainpemorly, laterally, or ultimately; but the sequel of such a Wgilancy would be a thorough- faring error, that by insidious vermiculation, would work itself into the moral, physical, and mental intestines of those under my charge, in abundant multiformity; so that amaritude or acrimony might be deprehended in choler. But as to the appearance of anything superhuman, I can assure you, sir, it is nothing more than a penumbra, and proceeds from some obtuse reflection, from a body superficially lustrous ; which body must be spherical, or polyed- rical, and the protuberant particles cylindrical, el- liptical, and irregular ; and according to the nature of these, and the situation of the lucid body, the sight of the beholder or beholders, from an angular point, will be affected figuratively and diametri- cally." "Why, doctor," said Randal, "that, I think, is all excellent philosophical reasoning. But in one word, you pretend to hold your commission from Heaven, and to be set there to watch over the con- sciences, and all the moral and religious concerns of your parishioners. Now, here is a family, consist- ing of nearly forty individuals, all thrown into the utmost consternation by what, it seems, according to your theory, is nothing more than an obtuse re- flection. The people are absolutely in great distress, and on the point of losing their reason. I conceive it therefore your duty, as their spiritual pastor, either to remove this obtuse reflection out of the house, or quiet their apprehensions regarding it. One poor fellow has, I fear, got his death's wounds from this same peculiar reflection. Certainly the pohjedrical body might be found out and removed. In one word, doctor, will you be so good as attempt it, or will you not." "I have attempted it already, worthy sir," said the doctor; "I have explained the whole nature of the deceptive refraction to you, which you may ex- plain to them, you know." "Thank you, doctor; I shall. 'It is an obtuse reflection,' you say, 'from a body spiritual, polyed- rical, protuberant, cylindrical, elliptical, and irre- gular.' Bah! if they don't understand that, they deserve to be frightened out of their senses." "Oh, you're a wag. You are witty. It may be very good, but I like not your wit." "Like my uncle's ghost, doctor, rather obtuse. But faith, doctor, between you and me, I'll give you fifty guineas in a present, and as much good claret as you and an associate can drink, if you will watch a night in the library, and endeavour to find out what this is that disturbs the people of my estab- lishment. But, doctor, it is only on this condition, that whatever you may discover in that lil)rary, you are to make it known only to me. My late uncle's hoards of wealth and legal bonds have not been dis- covered; neither has his will. I have a thought that both may be concealed in that apartment; and that the old miser has had some machinery contrived in his lifetime to guard his treasure. You under- stand me, doctor? It imports me much; whatever you discover, / only must be made privj- to it. It is as Avell that my brother, and his conceited inamo- rata Susan, should be under my tutelage and direc- tion, as rendered independent of me, and haply raised above me. Doctor, what would you think of a thousand pounds in your hand as the fruits of one night's watching in that library? You are superior I know to any dread of danger from the appearance of a spirit." "Why, to tell you the truth, Squire Randal, as to the amatorculist, and his vertiginous gilt-piece of mutability, to such I have nothing to say, and with such I have nothing to do. But to better the fortune of my alderlcivest friend, in reciprocation and alter- nateness with my own, squares as exactly with my views as the contents of an angle, which, in all rectangle triangles is made of the side that subtendeth the right angle, and is equal to the squares which are made of the sides containing the right angle, and this is a perfect definition of my predominant incli- nation. The discerptibility of fortune is not only admissible, but demonstratively certain, and what- ever proves adminicular to its concentration is meri- torious." " I am rather at a loss. Dr. Leadbeater." "Your proposition, squire, as it deserveth, hath met with perfect acceptability on my part. Only, instead of chiret, let the beverage for my friend and me be hock." " With all my heart, doctor." "Fifty, at all events, for one night's watching; perhaps a thousand]" "The precise terms, doctor." Everything being thus settled, the doctor sought out an associate, and fixed on Mr. Jinglekirk, an old man, who, for want of a patron, had never been able to get a living in the church, though he had been for twenty years what is called a journeyman minister. He had a weak mind, and was addicted to tippling, but had nevertheless an honest and up- right heart. The doctor, however, made choice of 163 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. him on account of his poverty and simplicity, think- ing he could mould him to his will with ease, should any great discovery be made. The ne.xt week, the reverend doctor sent word to Welldean, that he and a friend meant to visit there, to pray with the family, and watch over night, to peruse some books in the library, or rather to make choice of some, previous to the approaching sale. The two divines came— the laird kept purposely out of the way, but left directions with hi.s brother Allan, to receive and attend on them until after supper, and then leave them to themselves. All the people assembled in the library, and Mr. Jinglekirk performed family worship at the request of the doctor. Afterwards a plentiful supper, and various rich wines, were set, of which both the divines partook rather liberally. Allan remained with them during supper, but not perfectly at Ms ease, for he was at least next to convinced that there was something preternatural about the house — some- thing unaccountable he was sure there was. After supper, chancing to lift his eyes to the old bookcase of black oak and glass, that stood exactly opposite to the fire-place, he perceived, or thought he perceived, the form of a hand pointing to a certain pane of glass in the book-case. He grew instantly as pale as ashes, on which both the divines turned their eyes in the same direction, but there was nothing. Even to Allan's eyes there was nothing. The appearance of the hand was quite gone, and he was convinced it had been an illusion. They asked him, with some symptoms of perturbation, what he saw. But he assured them he saw nothing ; only he said, he had not been very well of late, and was subject to sudden qualms, that one of these had seized him, and he would be obliged to wish them a good night. They entreated him to remain till they finished the bottle, but he begged to be excused, and left them. As soon as they were alone, the doctor began to sound Jinglekirk with regard to his principles of honesty, and mentioned to him the suspicion and the strong probability that the late old miser's treasures were all concealed in that library, and moreover, that even their host suspected that he had contrived some mechanical trick during his lifetime to guard that treasure, and it was thus that the servants, and even strangers, were frightened out of the apartment. The reverend .John Jinglekirk listened to all this with tacit indifference, filled another glass of old hock, and acquiesced with his learned friend in the strong probability of all that he had advanced. But notwithstanding every hint that the doctor could give, John (as the other familiarly styled him) would never utter a syllable indicative of a disposition to share the treasure with his liberal friend, or even to understand that such a thing was meant. The doctor had therefore recourse to another plan, in which he was too sure of success. He toasted one bumper of wine after another, giving first "the Church," and then some noblemen and gentlemen particular friends of his, who ha/1 plenty of livjng- in their gift. Then such young ladies as were par- ticularly beautiful, accomplished, and hafl the dink: in short, the very women for clergj-men's wivet-. Jinglekirk delighted in these toa«ts, and was a- liberal of them aa his friend could wish, drinking deep bumpers to every one of them, " Till hi8 een they closed an' his voice grew lo«r, Au' bis tongue wad hardly gang." At length he gave one whom he pronounced to be a divine creature, drank a huge bumper to her health and then, leaning forward on the table, his head sank gradually down till it came in contact with hi- two arm.s, his tongue now and then pronouncing in u voice scarcely audible, " 0, a divine creature I sweet sweet! sweet! Ha-ha-ha! he-he-he! Dinne creature. doctor, I shay, is not she ? Eh 1 her in that independent station to which her rank and birth entitled her. Randal said that Susan was such a perverse self-willed girl that no one could prevail on her to do aught but what she chose, yet that he would endeavour to con- trive something to benefit her. After this he ceased not to boast to his associates that he would soon show them such a flower in his keeping as never before blossomed within the ports of Edinburgh. Accord- ingly, he engaged a lady of the town to go out in a coach in a dashing style and wait on Susivn, and engage her for the family of an Irish marquis. Tlie terms were so liberal that the poor girl's heart was elated. She was to go with this civil and polite dame for a few months, that she might be attended by some masters to complete her education and ac- complishments, all which was to be liberally defrayed by the nobleman. After that she was to go into the family as an associate, with a salary of £300, an offer too tempting to be refused by one in Susan's situa- tion. Now it so happened that the very night on which the two clergymen watched for the ghost of old Welldean, was that on which this temptress came to Susan's lodging with her proud offer. Both Susan and the old lady with whom she lived were Susan would depart for Ecforc thii« in' u proved an addition he could not bear with any dtgnt of patience. Susan bad expected to delight him with the news of her good fortune ^"■' • — •;';•- the effect so different from her ant; bittemesH of disappointment she burst into lean. All his feelings of affection were awakened anew by this. He Ix^gged pardon again and again, preaaed her to his bosom, and kissing the tears from her cheek promised to acquiesce in everj'thing. " Only, my dear Susan." continueefall you. A precon- ception of something extraordinary impending over our fates has for some time pressed itself upon me, and I am afraid lest every step we take may be lead- ing to it. To a friendless girl so little known a situation so lucrative and desirable could not be expected to come of itself. Have you ever made inquiry by whose interest it was procured ?" No, Susan had never once thought of it. Mieving, perhaps through perfect inexperience of the world, 16G wkllih:an hall thai her own personal merits hail been the nolo cuuso. The two lovera rt'turneJ Btraight to the parlour to make thiri necowary innuiry. Tlic wily prucurcsn on several pretenec8(leeliiieil answering the(|ueritiun; but Allan prcsninj^ too close for further evasion, she acknowledged that it was all the transaction of the young laird, his brother. The old lady, the owner of the house, was loud in her praises of Itandal. Allan likewise professed all his objections to l>e at an end, and lauded his brother for the kind part he had acted with regard to Susan, liut as his eye tunied towards tiic latter, he beheld tlnj most jier- fect and beautiful statue of auja/.enienl that |K.rhaps ever was looked on. Her anus were stretched down by her sides, obtruding only a small degree from perpendicular lines — not hanging loosely and gently, but ti.Kcd as wedges. Her hands were spread hori- zontally, her lips were aeundcr, and her eye fixed on vacancy. There was no motion in any must^'le of her whole frame, which ai>peared to have risen up a foot taller than its ordinary size. The women were both speaking to her, but she neither heard nor saw tbein. Allan watched her in silent astonishment till her reverie vma over. She then gave vent to her suppressed breathing, and uttered as from her bosom's inmost core, "Ah' is it so!" and sitting down on the sofa beside Allan she seemed to be trying in vain to collect her vagrant ideas. At length she rose hastily, and retired to her own apart- ment. The three now all joined loudly in the praises of Laird Randal; and long they conversed and long they waited, but Susan did not return. Her friend at length went to her, but neither of them returned until Allan, losing all patience, rung the bell and desired the servant to tell them that he was going away. Mrs. Mayder, the mistress of the house, then re-eutered, and appeared llustered and out of humour. "Miss has taken such a mood as I never witnessed in her before," said she. •' Pray, dear Allan, go to her and bring her to reason." Allan readily obeyed the hint, and found her sitting leaning her cheek on her hand ; and at the very first she told him that she had changed her mind, and was now determined not to go with that lady nor to move a step further in the business. He imputed this to pride, and a feeling averse to lie I to leave me, Allan 1 If you leave this house to-night I shall go with you, for there is no one on earth whom I can trust l)ut yourse-lf. 1 positively will not remain alone with these two women. The one I shall never speak to again, and with the other, who has so long been a kind friend, I shall part to- morrow." Allan stared in silence, doubting that his darling was smiewhat deranged in her intellect; and though he saw the tears rolling in her eyes, he thought in his heart that she was the most capricious of human lie-inifs, and cherished at that moment the illiberal suggestion that all women were the same. " I am an unfortunate girl, Allan," continued she, "and if 1 fall under your displeasure it will indeed crown my misfortune; but I am not what I must api>car in your eyes to be at this moment. After what passed a few minutes ago, however, I can no longer be the linlger of Mrs. Mayder." " You arc out of humour, my dear Susan, and capricious ; I beg you will not make any hasty reso- lutions while in that humour. Your rejection of that elegant and genteel situation merely because it was procured for you by my brother is beyond my comprehension, and because this worthy woman, your sin<-ere friend, urges you to accept of it, would you throw yourself from under her j)rotection ? No earthly motive can ever influence me to forsake you, or to act for a single moment in any other way than as your friend ; but I am unwilling to encourage my dear girl in anything like an unreasonable caprice." "And will you leave me to-night when I request and entreat you to stay 1 " "Certainly not. At your request I shall sleep here to-night, if Mrs. Mayder can supply me with a sleeping apartment. Come, then, and let us join the two ladies in the parlour." " No. If you please you may go, and I think you should; but I cannot and will not face yon lady again. I have taken a mortal prejudice to her. Allan, you are not to forsake me. Will you become security for what I owe to Mrs. Mayder, and board me somewhere else to-morrow 1 " Allan stood for some time silent, and looked with pity and concern at the lovely and whimsical creature before him. " Forsake you, Susan ! " exclaimed he, "how can vour bosom harbour such a doubt I But under any obligations to his brother, and tried to , pray explain to me the cause of this so sudden and reason her out of it ; but it was all in vain, she con- tinued obstinate, and Allan for the first time in his life suspected her of something exceedingly cross and perverse of disposition. Yet she chose rather to remain under these suspicions than be the cause of a quaiTel between the two brothers, which she knew would infallibly ensue if she disclosed the truth. Her lover was about to leave her with evident marks of displeasure, but this she could not brook. She changed the tone of her voice instantly, and said in the most melting accents, "Are you going radical change in all your prospects and ideas ] " "Pardon me; I cannot at this time. At some future period perhaps I may, but I cannot even with certainty promise that. " " Then I fear that they are groundless or unjust, since you cannot trust me with them." "I am hard beset, Allan. Pray trust to my own judgment for once. But do not leave this house to- night, for something has occurred which aflfrights me, and if you leave me here, I know not what may happen." Allan turned pale, for the sight that he had him- 167 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. self seen recurred to his mind, and a chillness crept over his frame. He had a dread that something portentous impended over him and his beloved Susan. "I fear I have as good reason to be affrighted," said he; "something unfortunate is certainly soon to overtake you and me ; for it appears to me as if our very natures and sentiments had undergone a change. " "I have always anticipated good," returned she, "which is too likely to be fulfilled in evil at present. I do not, however, yield in the least to despair; for T have a very good book that says, ' Never give way to despondency when worldly calamities thicken around you, even though they may drive you to the last goal ; for there is One who sees all things, and estimates all aright— who feels for all his creatures, and will not give up the virtuous heart for a prey. Though your sorrows may be multiplied at night, yet joy may arise in the morning.' In this is my hope, and I am light of heart, could I but retain your good opinion. Go and join the two ladies in the parlour, and be sure to rail at me with all the bitterness you are master of. It will be but reasonable, and it will not affect poor Susan, whose measures are taken." The trio were indeed right free of their censures on the young lady for her cap- rice; and Mrs. Mayder, who, ever since Allan was left fortuneless, discouraged his addresses by every wile she could devise, hinted broadly enough how much she had often to do to preserve quiet, and to bear from tliat lady's temper. Allan assured them that it was in vain to think of prevailing on her to go with her kind benefactress at present, whom she declared she would not see again ; and that both his friend Mrs. Mayder and himself had fallen under her high displeasure for endeavouring to sway her resolution. But he assured both, that he intended to use his full interest with his fair cousin, and had no doubt of ultimately bringing her to reason. He never once mentioned what she had said of leaving her old friend, thinking that was only a whim of the moment, which calm reflection would soon allay. He slept there all night, so that he was not at Welldean when the affray happened with the two parsons. He breakfasted with the two ladies next morning, and finally leading the elegant town dame to her carriage, he took leave of her with many expressions of kindness. Susan continued locked up in her own room until the carriage rolled away from the door. When they returned up stairs, she was come into the parlour, dressed in a plain walking- dress, and appeared quite composed and good-hum- oured, but somewhat absent in her manner. She fixed once or twice a speaking look on Allan, but unwilling to encourage her in what he judged an unreasonable caprice, he would understand nothing. At length he bade them good morning, and sivid he would perhaps call in the evening. She did not open her lips, but, dropping him a slight courtesy, she went into her chamber, and followed him with her eyes, as long as he remainec bound for it likeirise, though he had it not in his [Kiwcr to settle it at that instant. Silenced on this score, she now gave her- self up wholly to weeping, blaming Susan all the while for ingratitude, and denying poeitivelr that she had said one won! to her which she could in reason take amiss. Allan knew not what course to take; but that ver}' night, late a« it was, be sent off" an express to Edinliurgh after his brother, in- forming him of the circumstance, and conjuring him to use every means for the recovcrj* of their dear cousin ; adding, that he himself would search the country all round on the ensuing day, but would trust to his dear Randal for Ecr which his dear Susan had so long occupiotl, and continued moaning all night like one at the point of death. Next morning he arose at break of day ; but as be was making ready to mount his horse. ha>'ing stooped to buckle his sjuir, he was seized with a giddiness, staggered, and fell down in a swoon. 16S WKLLDEAN HALL. Till' villacfc plmrmacopoliBt wat* ill^tanlIy lirmij,'lit, \vhi» (loolurctl tho (it to lie a I't-briciila in the jtcii- cninium, and that the gentleman wau in a Htatu of i;roat dani^er Od to plircnitirt; ami, tluTcrorc, that severe jiertrieation was rctiuisitc, until Kuspemled aniuiatiun returned, and that then he would in- stantly plik'botoinize him. To this last operation, Allan's scn'ant olijcctcd (Strongly, observing with great 8criou.snes.s, that he (lid not see the necessity of jtai/imj any part of his niiister nierely for a fainting fit, out of which he would soon recover; but if such an ojieratiim was nccciwary, why not rather take the skin oil' some other part than that lie had mentioned, as his master was just about to ride ] Allan recovered from his swoon, but felt great exhaustion. lie was again put to bed, blooded, and blistered in tlie neck; but for all these, before night he was in a raging. fever, which allected his head, and aj)i)eared pregnant with the worst Rymptoms. In this deranged and dangerous state he lay for several weeks. Su!li_\ washy stufT that !- Cooling though. That brandy has been rather strong for me. Ilech- heh-heh, such a night !" "Tell mo seriously, Mr. Falconer," said Ilandal, "what you saw, and what you heard." "What 1 saw, and what 1 heard! That's very giKxl! Ile-he-hc! Very good indeed! Why, you Bee, master (fiirlriijin), I — I saw the ghost— saw your un-(Aic-^)ncle- state and fonu— never saw him bet- ter— (Aicit) quit« jocular, I assure you." "Did he indeed speak to you, Gilberf!" "Speak! To be sure— the whole night. What did he else ! " "By all means, then, if you can remember, tell us something that he said, if it were but one sen- tence. ' " Kemember ! Ay, distinctly. Every word. Hc- he-hc-he ! 'Gilliert Falconer," says he; ' Your glass is out." lle-hehe-hc: (and all this while Gilbert was speaking in a treble voice, and a tongue bo altered with drunkenness, that it wae difficult to understand what he sjjid. ' Your glass is out,' says he— It was true too— there it stood as empty as it is at this moment. 'Gilbert (hick) Falconer,' says he, 'your glass is out.' 'Thank you, sir,' — says I — 'Thank you for the hint, sir,' says — I — Ile-hc-he! 'Your glass is out,' says he. 'Thank you kindly, sir.'says I, 'for — the hint — You're quite a gentleman — now,' says I, — He-he-hc! — 'Quite a gentleman,' eays I— 'I have seen other days with you,' lle-he- he-hel— I said so — I did, upon my honour. Give me something to drink, will you? Ay; that was the way of it — He-he-he-he! — Gilbert Falconer,' says he; 'Y'our'" — (hick) "The old intoxicated idiot is mocking us," said Randal ; "there is nothing to be made of such stuff as that." "I never knew him tell a lie," said Mrs. Tallow- chandler, "even at the drunkencst time I ever saw him. Would it please your honour to a.«k him if that was the first sentence that the apparition spoke to him 1 If we can bring what passed to his rnind by degrees, he will tell us the truth." Gilbert was still sitting on the floor, rhyming over his story of the glass, and indulging in fits of idiotic laughter at it; when Randal again returned to him, and aroused his further attention, by asking him if that was the very first sentence that the ghost spoke to him ] "The first sentence! — No. Bless your honour, it 169 22 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. Ute last. I took the hint and— filled that cham- ' iMtsne gla«— full to the brim— of brandy. I thanked him firet though— upon my honour. I did,— Thank , Tou for the hint, sir.' says I— and drank it off. •H*«* a pvK»ii niijht's rest to us both,' says I— I ' taw^ " ^ir of him." vanish away just then, Gilbert?" •1 aarmay he did: [hkt) at least, if he was there 1 did not «* him. If there had been fifty ghosts it would have Uvn the same to old CJibby. I think I'. « time we had both a sleep, if your honour, or %..ur h.nnir's likeness, or whatout 1" .... ;. : 1 toll you !" "Not that I remarked. Or if you did, it has r«oapc\ !ii'. faid 1, ' why, the thing is out of my power; if yoo are npeaking that way, it is time we were - "h gone to sleep.' ' fJilbert Falconer,' says he, .-.our kUm in run out.* 'Thank you for the hint, •ir. ■ «ar» I. Hchc-bc ! That was the best of it all ; rn were growing too serious. ' Thank ■- ■ :■ ■< I ; ' I can replenish it,' so 'ttcr rest, that would have riT»T> xt\T^ m-'n up their feet ; I saw no more. He "'*" ' . - > . ^ aiitflit I know." iring to amuse us with difllempcrcd imagination. It r unnatural, that one — , and talk to you such f'onfaw honestly, that there is I '.hoa. yoi ' - It Um mere famoi of a tt inpnwrit.' •bo«M rlK flannDcrr aa thin. n*>' -•' hand it is true every word. May I nerer mx the light of heaven, if it is not the f business pay them all up to a fraction. This he • illy did ; but the man who transacted this for was a low specious attorney, quite at his em- ploycrs beck. He had plenty of Randal's money in ■ - ■ ind, but the.ae bills were not particularly settled. was a glorious diiicovery. Captions were served in the country, the one at ilrs. Mayder's the other it Wclldcan, as the places of residence of the two debtor?, and none of them being there, the time expired. The attorney had got his cue; the unsus- :i g lovers were watched apart, and both of them ■ - 1 and conveyed to jail, but each quite uncon- ^ i...i.sof what had happened to the other. Allan wrote instantly to his brother, expostulating with him on his negligence. He answered him civilly, but carelessly, telling him that he had neglected to settle with the scoundrelly attorney, having run him- self short of ca.sh, but that he would lose no time in getting the affair settled. However, as his health was so bad he begged Allan to have a little patience, and not to accept of relief from any other person, else he would be both grieved and affronted. Allan lay still in prison and waited, but waited in vain. Susan was seized in the Canongate at three o'clock, as she was returning with Miss B from viewing the palace of Holyrood. The latter was so con- founded that she would have fainted on the street, had she not been supported by some ladies and gentlemen that were passing at the time. Susan suffered herself to be taken into custody in dumb dismay, never opening her lips. One of Randal's worthy and genteel associates was near at hand to abuse the messenger, the turnkey, and every one connected with the disgraceful affair; and at the same time he offered to become bound for the whole debt and take the lady off with him. This being a business that required some con- -sideration, his proposal was little attended to by the men in office, who regarded it as mere fustian ; but poor Susan, in the forlorn and helpless state in which she found herself, could not help being struck with the young stranger's generosity, and thanked him in moving terms, but at the same time rejected his kind offer, and assured him she would soon be re- lieved. He swore he would rather see all Edinburgh burned to ashes ere he left such a lady in prison ; and if she was determined not to accept of a tem- porary rescue from him, he would remain in prison with her till he saw her relieved in some way more suited to her ideas of decorum. She reminded him that such a proceeding would be the reverse of all decorum, and however much she might value his company, there was a necessity that he should leave her to herself and her own resources. No, no ; he would be if he would. She should either go with him or he would remain with her — any of the alternatives she chose. It would be a disgrace to leave a lady in such circumstances, and he disclaimed the idea of it. The contemptible rascals I they should not w^ant money. Did they think that he could not pay them the paltry sum of four or five hundred pounds, the confounded puppies] Rot their ugly bodies if he would think much to dust the pavement with them ! Susan smiled at the extravagance of the young man; but though it was a smile of pity, it made him still more outrageous. He cursed all law^-ers and attorneys, as well as all people to whom ever debts were owing, sending them all to a certain place of retribution with one sweep. By the Lord Harry! if he were a messenger at arms, if any low-lifed miserable whelp desired him to seize and immure a lady in such a place as that in which they sat, and 172 WELLDEAN HALL. such a lady as they have lodged here to-night ! " said he; — "I beg your pardon, madam, but I can easily see that this is some vile plot; for you arc born, bred, and educated to other fortune than this. For Heaven's sake, let me disappoint the culprits and convey you to a place of safety. I have given you my name ; I am a gentleman and a man of honour, I hope ; suffer me to write to some friends and re- lieve you forthwith ! " Miss Somcrville positively declined his interven- tion for the present, and entreated that she might be left to her own thoughts and her own resources ; yet still she did it in that civil and affectionate way that the puppy believed or aflected to l)elicve that she wished him rather to stay. " But are you sure the ragamuffin scoundrels will do you no harmi" said he, and without waiting for an answer returned one himself. " Confound them if I like their looks very well, though. No, no, madam; you must for- give me, but in truth I have not the heart to leave you here by yourself. Suffer me but to write to some friends. I'll raise all Edinburgh, but I'll have you set at liberty. I'll bring Major Graham and all the soldiere in the castle to storm the old hovel before I leave you here ! Suffer me to write to my friends or some of yours; it is all one, provided I get you out of this." Susan continued obstinate, telling him she would write to her own friends herself, if he would be so kind as give her leisure; and as for his agency, she assured him again that she was not at liberty to accept of it. He continued however to wrangle with her on that score, to flatter her one while and abuse her creditors another, until the arrival of Professor B •, who sent in his name and asked admission, his daughter having alarmed him and hurried him away to the prison without so much as knowing what was the matter. The spark then bowed and made off, as somewhat alarmed, saying he would call again. The reverend divine and he passed one another im- mediately within the door of the apartment. The buck bowed, and then cocked up his head again con- siderably to the leeward of the perpendicular line, while the professor stared him in the face as striving to recollect him. Both passed on, and the cause of meeting with Miss Somerville, the place, and the subject they had to converse on, quite banished from the professor's mind to ask who her gay visitor was. This parson came, honest man ! with the full intent of relieving Sliss Somerville, but when he heard the amount of the debt he turned pale — it was not a sum for a poor clergyman who had a family of his own to part with off-hand. Indeed, what man in the same vocation would have done it for a young lady almost a stranger, who had run herself into so much debt so early, and whom her natural guardians, it appeared, had not thought it prudent to relieve. He had besides heard so much of her sentiments relating to her cousin, the present laird, when he received her into his house, that he had small hopes of being reimbursed there, and that appeared to be the lady's principal dependence. In short, they could come to no conclu.sion whereby to obtain im- mediate relief. Miss Somerville proposed that he should borrow the sum on the security of her share of her uncle's effects; but even there he discovered that he would be involved, and fought shy, but con- cluded by observing that "something behoved to be done immediately." Before leaving the place the professor had some conversation with the keeper, who informed him that the young gentleman, the lady's friend, who was lately gone, had bespoke tiie best apartment that was unoccupied in that part of the jail appro- priated to debtors, and in case she was detained, every accommodation befitting her rank. He then asked the keeper who that gentleman was. He named him, name, surname, and title: the divine shook his head, knowing him to be one of the most notorious profligates in the kingdom, and left the prison nothing improved in his estimation of Miss Somerville, and almost resolved, whatever his daughter might .say, to leave her to shift for herself. AVhen it was wearing late, Mr. M' , Randal's gallant friend, returned to the prison, sent in his name and compliments to Susan, and after some demur was admitted. AV'hat would not youth and innocence grasp at for deliverance, if shut up within the walls of a prison and the darksome night ap- proaching ? Alas ! the female heart clings too fondly to proffered kindness, especially in times of danger or distress; without suspecting or endeavouring to weigh the selfish principles from which the apparent generosit}' springs, the guileless heart judges from its own motions. It had been agreed among the associates that M' was never to mention Eandal's name, else, as the latter alleged, Susan's delicacy in that point would ruin all ; and as he was run quite short of ready cash and in an infirm state of health, M ' was to pay the greater part of Miss Somer- ville's debt, on condition that he had the honour of seducing her. AVell, into Susan's apartment he came, bringing £200 with him in notes, and offering his personal bond for the rest, payable in two months with in- terest. Susan made many objections, but actually wept with gratitude at the disinterested kindness of the gallant young man. The attorney was consulted; but he had got his cue, and after many hems and haws and repetitions of learned law terms, consented, so that the poor innocent cygnet was now left fairly in the power of the fox. She had likewise given her consent, with an overflowing heart ; but at the last, when everything was arranged for her departure, some slight demur arose about the place whereto she was to be taken. She insisted on being taken to the house of Professor B ; but this her benevo- lent guardian angel as violently protested against, declaring that the divine was unworthy of her con- fidence, a cold-hearted, calculating worldling-, who 73 had gone off with a few dubious expressions, and left her in the prison without asking any more after her, or coming back even to wish her a good night. '' To what place do you then propose to take me in the meantime ] " said Susan. '• I propose to take you to a relation of my own," said he, "who keeps a boarding-house for young ladies of quaUty, where you may either remain for a season, or for a few nights, or weeks, as you feel disposed." " But will it not look awkward for an utter stran- ger to go to such a house ? How can I expect that the mistress will receive among young ladies of quality a giii just relieved from prison, and going to her house at this time of the evening, in company with a gentleman whom she never saw till a disa- greeable circumstance procured her the honour of his friendship this present day!" " Why, the truth is, that I know no woman on earth who is so particular about the characters of her inmates as my worthy friend is. She must have the most absolute proofs of their capabilities, tempers, and dispositions, and is strict in these matters almost to a proverb. But it so happens that with her my word or will is a law. I have been a good friend to her house. My purse has been open to her by day and by night, and in short my fortune almost at her disposal. Into that house, therefore, you are certain of admittance. There you are perfectly safe, and from thence you can write to your friends, and ar- range ever}*thing in future as you shall choose." ' ' Well, you are so generous and so candid that I can never distrust your honour. I will send for ^liss B- to your friend's house and consult with her there, and must trust myself to your protection for the night. What is the name of your friend to whose house I am going ] " "Mrs. M' , St. James' Street." " Very well." What a dreadful confusion the ghost made at Well- dean Hall that night ! It was not as if one disturbed sinner had arisen from his grave only, but as if all hia warlike progenitors for many ages had returned to that scene of bustle and array. Scarcely had the rubied west lost its summer dyes, and twilight drawn her veil over the bosom of nature, when the inmates of Welldean heard a noise as if half a score of men had been tearing down the shelves and books of the library, and dashing them on the floor. Nothing like it had ever been heard in the house before. All the domestics, high and low (for there is no class of people among whom such subordination of rank is preserved), crowded into the housekeeper's room, huddling one behind another, and testifying by theii- looks the mortal terror and astonishment that over- whelmed their hearts. Little wonder was it ! The noise continued to in- crease and redouble. It grew, so that it was not only aa if the old folios had been dashed down in a rage THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. on the floor, but as if the roof and rafters had bc-ca plucked down, and put into the handu of infernal giants to smash the building in pieces to its founda- tions. This turmoil was occaiiionally accompanied, when at the loudest, by a voice such ae man never heard. It was not like any sound produced by art, nor was it precisely like thunder; but they all agreed, that there was nothing in nature to which it bore so strong a resemblance a£ a flooded roaring cataract, uttering human words. Gilbert was down in the village at his cups; but, low a- they rated him, in this dilemma he was sent fur. The work of devastation above stairs continued and grew. The housekeeper begged of them all to join in prayer. This they were ver>' willing to do, for they saw no other staff on which they could lean ; but then there was none to lead them. Mrs. Tallow- chandler said, though she was a poor, weak, and sinful woman, she would attempt it. Who knew but Heaven would have mercy on them ? They all kneeled, and the good woman began ; but her sen- tences were few and disjointed ; and she continued repeating and repeating the same thing, till those around her were beginning to lose their gravity. At the first, when they began, and all were devoutly serious, every noise was hushed. The sudden still- ness that ensued was in itself awful. Let erring and presumptuous man be assured of this, that the de- votion of the heart never fails having influence in heaven, while all lukewarmness and indiflcrencc in sacred things is only a mockerj' of the Almighty, and aught but protection may be exj>ected therefrom. At the beginning all was still ; and the fiends, of which the house seemed fuU, appeared to be hushed and quelled, by the simple words of prayer devoutly offered up ; but no sooner did the reverence due to that Being before whom they professed to be kneel- ing, begin to subside, than the noise began again gradually to increase ; and, as Mrs. Tallow-chandler was continuing her imbecile repetitions, it came rushing nearer and nearer, like a speaking whirl- wind, till at length it burst open the door of the apartment where they were assembled, and stunned them with a deafening yeU. It was a sort of half- howling half -whistling sound; but nothing was seen. Mrs. Tallow-chandler joined it with a loud scream, and went into hysterics. Xo one regarded her. The female part of the family were all huddled into corners, and all uttering the same kind of shivering, moaning sound. The men were sitting on their seats in a half-stooping posture, with their shoulders up, their hair standing on end, and their eyes bent fearfully on the door. "May the Lord Almighty preserve us!" cried old Nicholas. "Amen!" cried a hollow, tremulous voice, at a distance ; "and some that are better than you all ! amen !" Kone durst venture out in order to escape, for the inhabitants of another world seemed now to be crowding the passages between them and the door : neither durst they throw themselves into the sunk 174 WELLDEAN HALL area, for there was a story hclow them; though every one wouKl gladly have been out, even though kingdoms had been their ransom. But when the women heard Nicholas, the gardener, pronounce the above sacred words, witli the mysterious response that was added, from a feeling that the wrath of the spirit was appeased by it, they called on Nicholas with one voice, "Oh! Nicholas, pray! pray! for God's sake, pray!" Nicludas obeyed without delay; and in the agony of his heart prayed with great fer- vour. But in the course of a few sentences, his prayer grew selfish, and he began to mention his own fears— his own personal safety and well-being. Such imperfections cling to man's nature ! The rest could not join with him in his petitions, forget- ting themselves ; and they felt sorry that the tenor of his words was of that nature that they could not. The derision of the spirit was withheld by Heaven no longer than this principle of self began todevelopc its cringing, cowardly, abominable features. A dis- tant laugh of scorn was heard to begin as if in the library, with a hollow shaking tone, like that uttered by the bittern ut midnight; but it increased everj- moment till it made the house tremble, and drew nigher and nigher, until the chairs on the floor began to totter. It seemed again approaching to the back of the door with tenfold violence. The heart of human being could not stand it. Some of the men that were next to the windows flung them ofK^n, and threw themselves into the area below. It was amazing with what celerity the rest followed, dart- ing out at the windows head foremost, as swift as doves from their pigeon-holes, when scared in their habitation. In half a minute the whole family, con- sisting of nearly forty individuals, were M-eltering in three heaps on the gravel that bedded the sunk way, and every one escaped as best he could, and ran for the village. What a figure they made when they went there ! Every one was covered with blood ; for those who were not cut and mangled in the fall, were stained all over by the rest who were. They looked like so many demons themselves; and they found that the housekeeper and two of the maids were miss- ing; on which they rationally concluded, that they having been the greatest sinners, the spirit had got power over them, and taken them with him. The villagers were petrified ; appearing to be even more confounded, and at their wit's end, as the say- ing is, than the fugitives themselves. While these things, which have been narrated, were going on at the hall, Gilbert, and Andrew Car, late gamekeeper to the Laird of Lamington, were enjoying themselves at the public-house. They were both right far forward in their evening carousal, when the messenger from the hall arrived, to entreat Gilbert's attendance without a moment's delay. Gilbert was in no such hurry; he helped himself to a glass, Andrew Car to another, and the boy to a third, 1 "Here's for you, Matter Rory, my good fellow; take this off to to help your wind; and then tell us out your s story at the utmost leisure. It is all buffbonery to be in such a haste. What signifies it (o run pufling and— blowing through the world in that guise. Here's to you, boy. Your good health I say, Master Rory. Sit down, sirrah, and take time, I tell you. Is it not the best way, Andrew Car ?" Now Andrew had one peculiarity of which I must apprise my readers, that they may understand him aright. He had a very rapid utterance. Many a man speaks quick, but there never was a man in the world spoke half so quick as Andrew Car. Andrew had likewise two keys that he spoke on, C sharp and G natural, and his voice had no more but these, either intermediate or subordinate. He took the former on all occasions when his passions were ruffled, particularly when he disapproved highly of anything, and the latter in his ordinary conversa- tion. I shall therefore put down all the sentences adapted by him to the former key in italic characters, that every one may go on with him, and understand him thoroughly. I hate that my characters, which are all drawn from nature, should not be properly comi^rehendcd. "Should not a man always do a thing leisurely, Andrew Carl Is it not the best and most eligible wayr' " Ooo - yes - j'es — right - Gibby — right - Gibby — Gibby- Gibby- Gibby — right -right — luck-o'-leisure- Gibby— luck -luck— billy, luck-luck." " I say. Master Rory — my boy — do you — hear — that? Is not that a beautiful specimen — of — Andrew Car's theory and minel Ehl — He-he-he-he — Eh! Is it not, lad V " Oh, Mr. Gilbert, I have not time. Mrs. Tallow- chandler and a' the fowk sent me to gar you come hame directly, an' pray against the ghost. Oh, Gibby, the bogle has been very ill the night, an' we a' suspect it's the deil." "The deil, Mr. Korj? the deil! Did you say it was the deil, lad ? My faith — my man — if it be the deil- that's another thing than a bogle, let me tell you." "He's layin' about him at an awfu' rate; an' gin ye dinna come an' speak to him, an' lair him, or pray him down, he'll soon hae a' the house about their lugs. When I came alang the ither wauk, rinnin' wi' fright, I heard a kind o' hooning sound, an' I lookit ower my shoulder, an' Mercj" I what d'ye think I saw 1 I saw the deil i' the shape o' the auld laird, but as heegh as an ordiijar tree, standin' on the gavel wa' wi' a great burnin' kipple in his hand ; an' he had a' the house daddit down the length o' the third storey. Gibby, haste an' gang hame, and see if aught can be done. " "What can be done, boy! why, nothing can be done to pacify him, but reading Latin and Greek. Nothing but going through the classics. AVe'lI go, lO THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES Andrew, you are a scholar, and have the however. Greek." " Ooo. no-no-no-no-no— Gibby-Gibby-Gibby— no- Greek, biUy— no-Greek— no-Greek- no-Greek— no- no-no-no-no-no." '• ^Vell, but we shaU go, howsoever. You know we have now agreed to go together and speak to it I am in a proper key to go anywhere— we'll go— it is as well soon as late, when the family is in extremity— we'll be well rewarded— come, let us go." " Oooo-no-no— Gibby-Gibby-Gibby— not-the-night —not-the-niijhl—not-the-night—some-otheT—some- other- some-other- inadness-billy— madness-mad- ness - madness — folly - folly - folly — 'nother - gill - 'nother-gill — 'nother-gill." -•Boy — give my compliments — to Mrs. Tallow — chandler, and tell her, that my— friend, Mr. Car, dares not come to-night, because the ghost is irri- tated — and it is dangerous to meddle with him; but " " True • Gibby — true - true - true — right - billy — right - billy — right - right -right. Ivittle - business — kittle -business — kittle -kittle-kittle — 'nother-gill — 'nother-gill — 'nother - gill— lass-lass-lass — gill-gill- gill." " But as I was saying — if it is the deil he must have a sacrifice before he lay. They must give him one of their number, which may well be spared. " " Sacrifice 1 sacrifice — what-Gibby — what- Gibby — what-what-what — sacrifice — sacrifice — fie-fie-fie — no-no-no-no-no." " It is a literal fact, sir — and well known to all exorcists. They must do it by lot, tell them, boy. Even if Satan should appear when we two watch together, we must cast lots which of us is to be his to appease him. Or, for instance, if I am the speaker, I have the power and right to consign you over to him. " " Oooo - no ■ no-no— Gibby- Gibby- Gibby— no-no-no — no - right — no -right — no-right-billy — no-no-no-no- no— hving-soul — living soul — not-yours — not-yours- billy — not - yours — no - no - no - no — soul-soul —soul- billy— not-do — not-do — not-do — no-no-no-no." " I will reason this matter with you, my worthy friend. Suppose you and I make a contract together —to go and watch an incensed spirit, which, to a '■ rtaiiity, makes its appearance — we take our chance t'S'..-ihcr, you know— why, is it not better that one of QB should make a sacrifice of the other, than that it should take us bothi or, for instance, if you take it on you to address him " "No-no - billy— not - address— not-address—not- spcak — not - speak — no-no-no-no-no. Too-quick— too - quick — too - quick - quick. 'Stonish - him — 'Htonifih-him-'stonish-him. All-wrang-Gibby— all- wrang— all -wrang— all -wrang-wrang-wrang-wrang. I'rc'-ious-soul -billy— precious-soul— precious-soul-^ precious - soul - soul - soul — Gibby- lad— Gibby- lad- Gibby-lad. Have-'""" -**">'•'» v.^.,^ ^i ■ you - there — ha ve - you - there — have -you - there— ha-ha-ha I Soul-soul-soul-Gibby- lad— Gibby -lad— ha-ha-ha-ha-ha :" This sort of argument used by Andrew Car is the worst to answer of all others, because the rest of the company severally join in it, and then the argument is at an end. At this time it was used by Andrew in such a way that it liad precisely that effect. Gilbert joined in the laugh, and the gamekeeper chuckled and crowed over his victory. Another smoking jug having by this time been made, the dilemma of the family at the hall was soon totally forgotten ; even the lad Roderick said little more about it, having no wish to return ; and there they sat till they were found out and joined by their bloody and half -deranged companions. And then, drunk as the two veterans were, the strangeness of the tale made them serious for a little, though always disposed, in a short time, to forget the subject. Nothing could cheer the hearts of the fugitives in the smallest degree. The horrid scene that they had escaped from, and the loss of their three companions, held their minds chained up in utter dismay. They marvelled what the ghost would do with the three women. Some said he would tear them limb from limb; some that he would take them to a high rock, and throw them headlong down ; and some said that he would take them away to hell with him, soul and bod}' ; but none thought of attempting a rescue. It chanced, however, to come into Gilbert's recol- lection, that he lay under many obligations to the fat housekeeper, for many a scold, and many a glass of strong beer and queich of brandy beside; and he gallantly proposed to go, for one, to the hall, and see if any remains of the women were left. No one would join him, a circumstance that always had the effect of exalting Gilbert's courage, and he persisted in his resolution, advancing many half-intelligible arguments in favour of the measure, which none of them regarded, till he turned his eyes on Andrew, and remarked, that he surely would not desert him, as he was always noted for befriending the fair sex. ' ' Ha - ha - ha, Gibby - Gibby - Gibby — some- ways- billy — some- ways — some-ways — some-ways-good-at- a-pinch — good-at-a-pinch— good-at-a-pinch — Gibby lad — hah-hah-hah-hah ! " ' ' Then you surely will accompany me, Mr. Car ? — Ehl — aren't you? — you are bound in honour, sir. — Ehr' " Don' t-know- Gibby — don't-know — don't -know. No -joke - this— no -joke— no -joke — no -joke - at- all- billy. Long-spoon-sup-wi'-the-deil — long-spoon-sir — long-spoon. Not-safe — not-safe— not-safe-at -all- sir — no-no-no-no-no-no." "AVhy, Mr. Andrew— let— me— tell you, sir- are you a man of honour — and courage, sir, as I always took you for, ehV ' ' Ooo-yes-yes-yes-yes— hope-so — hope- so — hope- so-Gibby — hope-so. " 176 WEIil.DKAN HALL. " Then what are you afraid of, sir 1 Eh 1 I would defy the devil, the world, and the flesh, and despise them." " Oooo-no-no-Qibhy-Gibhy ; no-no-no-no — not-the- world-and-the -Jltish — not-tht-v)orld-and-the.-Jlesh — nono-no-no. Nought-behind-at-all-Gibhy — nought- behind-at-all— no no-no-no. Not-do-sir — not-do- billy — not-do — not-do — not-do. Have-you-there — have - you - there — have - you - there — ha - ha - Iia - ha- ha." " Mr. Car, I know you to be a man of spirit. Ehl — I will lead the way. Will you go, or will you not? Eh I" This was a home thrust ; there was no evading it. Andrew was obliged to acquiesce, make a virtue of necessity, and value himself on his courage. Ac- cordingly, Gilbert taking a brilliant lantern in his left hand, a stout staff in his right, and Andrew Car at his shoulder, staggered away to Welldeau Hall, convinced, that though his companion had less drink in his head, he had likewise less courage at his heart, and therefore Gilbert was detcnnined to shoiu off that night, and in nowise to manifest fear of any created being. Andrew, though not quite so confident, had yet a certain character of manhood to support, which he judged it quite in- cumbent on him to retain ; he could never otherwise have shown his face in social circle more. Up the street they went, not keeping exactly the same line of longitude. Gilbert sometimes took a swing, first the one way and then the other, like a ship beating up against the breeze. " Come-come-come-Gibby-Gibby-Gibby; straight- straight-billy — straight-straight. Laugh-at-us-sir — laugh-at-us; laugh-laugh-laugh-laugh-sir; steady- steady." "Steady — do — you — say— Mr. Car] We'll see — by — and — by — who— is most steady. Come on, my brave fellow." Forward they went as they best could. The way was well known to Gilbert. His feet knew it by instinct, for many a hundred nights had they traced it, when his eyes were as completely closed as if they had been tied up with a napkin. The distance from the village to the hall was scarcely a mile and a half through the fields. When they were about half-way, Andrew, whose hearing was more acute than his associate's, began to mumble and speak with more than ordinary velocity, and drew GUbert always to one side. The latter refused to go in any other direction than that in which he was proceeding, and a few paces onward the cause of Andrew's agi- tation became apparent. The most dismal groans were heard at about fifty yards' distance in the field. As soon as they fell on Gilbert's ears, he heaved up his lantern, and turned off towards the place from whence the sounds proceeded. Andrew instantly took his high key on C sharp, and poured forth such a torrent of speech that no man could catch a dis- tinct sentence of it. They were all terms of decided disapprobation of Gilbert's adventure; but the only sounds tliat fell on his ear, that he could call lan- guage, were some such words as these. " Tdl-ye-Qibby-aibby—tdlye-tdl-ye-tell-ye-tell- ye. Noo-no-no-no-no-no. Make-nor-meddlc-make- nor-meddle-make-nor -meddle — no-no-no-no. Sleep- ing-dofjs-lie-dogs-lie-dofjs-lie — tell - ije - tell-ye-tell-ye- Gibby-Glbby," &c. Gilbert, without regarding this water-spout of human breath, proceeded straight onward to the object of his concern. Andrew was sometimes shouldering away, and sometimes drawing after the light, while the words by degrees died from his tongue; but the same sound still continued, and became very like the sounds uttered by the bird, called in this country the heather-bleater, when he wings the air in the gloaming. Gilbert, to his sin- cere grief, found his old friend and associate, Mrs. Tallow-chandler, lying stretched on the ground, unable to rise, moaning grievously. She told him, after blessing him for his kind concern, that her leg was broken ; on which he called stoutly to Andrew for assistance. Andrew approached, speaking all the way. "Told-ye-told-ye-told-ye," he was saying as he came, half running; and when he saw who it M'as, and how grievously she was hurt, it is impos- sible to describe his manner and confusion of ideas; but always between he seemed to blame Gilbert for coming to her, as if that had been the cause of her misfortune : " Told-ye — told-ye — told-ye — told-ye. Would-not-be-told — would-not-be-told; no-no-no-no. Broken-broken-broken-brokenl Ooo-no-no-no-no-no- impossible - impossible. Broken - broken - broken 1 What-what-what-what-what 1 Ooo-no-no-no-no-no- no." Gilbert, in the height of his zeal and friendship, proposed that Andrew and he should carry the hurt womao to the village; and setting down his lantern, the two essayed the task, unfit even for a Hercules to perfonn. Andrew lifted her shoulders, and Gil- bert her feet ; and having with difficulty heaved her about two inches from the ground, they began to move toward the village, Andrew in a retrogade direction, and Gilbert pushing forward behind. Scarcely had they gained five feet in their progress toward the doctor, when the weight and pressure upon Andrew caused his heels to dip in the soil, and laid him fairly on his back ; while Gilbert fell with his full weight above his fair injured friend, who screamed and groaned most piteously. The former of these sounds serving as a pitch-pipe to Andrew, he took his high sharp key — ' ' Told-ye-told-ye-told - ye - told - ye — body's - mad- body's - mad - body's - mad — hout-hout-hout-out-out- out. Never-do-never-do-never-do-never-do — no-no- no-no-no-no." " What, did you mean to tumble down there, sir] The man has not the strength of a weazel! But he is drunk," said Gilbert. " Weazel- weazel-weazel- weazel ] What-what-what-what-what-d'ye-say-d'ye- 177 23 say-d'ye-say ? Body's-mad-body's-mad-body's-mad — H'm-h'm-h'm-h'm— weazel-weazel-wcazel 1" Mrs. Tallow-chandler put an end to this growing heat between our two heroes, by begging that in pity they would return to the viUage, and bring or send a cart. Andrew took the lantern and ran back to the Wllage; but GUbert stayed to condole with his old friend, and lend her any kind office he was able until Andrew's return with the cart; and a frightful detail she there gave him of the incidents that had occurred at the hall in the evening, and confirmed the boy's strange asseveration that the ghost had nearly levelled the building. A horse and cart soon came, with the doctor and apothecary in attendance, and in it they laid the house-keeper, whose limb the doctor found not to be broken, but sprained, and much swelled. The expedition of our two heroes to the hall was thus set aside, Andrew not having judged it proper to return, and Gilbert totally forgetting it in the misfortune of his friend, with whom he stayed during the remainder of the night, comforting and encouraging her. In- deed, as soon as she found that her leg was not broken, she grew as communicative and whimsically super- stitious as ever. Sorely she regretted that Gilbert was not there to have spoken to the old laird, when he came in among them, ' ' roaring like an elephant, " as she expressed it ; and Gilbert rather wished that he had, since matters had come to such a pass, assuring her, in the meantime, that he and his friend Andrew had agreed to sit up in the library a night together, some time or other, to see if they could learn what it was that the old laird had to communicate ; and now, since his master's servants were all driven from the house, if she (Mrs. Tallow-chandler) would coun- tenance the matter, he thought the sooner the better, and he had no objection that it should be the following night. She commended his undaunted spirit; promised that she would see them well re- warded ; and moreover, that they should have the keys of the cellar and larder, and want for no enter- tainment that the hall could aiford ; and thus, before morning, the matter was finally settled between them. As soon as the sun arose, aU the servants hurried op to the mansion-house to witness the devastations of the last night, expecting that there would scarcely be one stone left standing on another. By the way, they discovered that the two young females that were amissing the evening before had joined the party; but both kept a mysterious silence as to where they had been. In the beginning of next year, liowcvcr, it began to be suspected that the one had lodged with a journeyman tailor, and the other with the apothecary's apprentice in the village. Such a di.spen.sation as that they had met with was an excuse for people doing anything! At the hall everything was in its usual style. There was not an item injured or misplaced from the bottom to the top of the house ; not a book in the library was altered, nor any one thing that they THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. could discern ; all was standing in state and form as they left it, with the doors bolted and the win- dows barred, all save those out at which they had eflFected their escape. This was the most wonderful thing of all ! People could no more trust their own senses! It is a difficult matter to tell a story as it should be told ; for, after the party separates, it is necei^eary to fly always from one to another, to bring them forward to the same notch of time. In conformity Avith this laudable measure, the writer of this notable tale must return to his fair fugitive, whom he left in circumstances more perilous than any of his readers can well suppose, or than any of her connec- tions, save her uncle's spirit, seemed to be aware of. If they were, they took no concern about the matter. Had Allan known of her danger, how his heart would have been wrung! but he concealed his name and disgrace from every one save his brother, who was in no hurry to relieve him, until the gallant triumvirate had accomplished their purposes with Susan, which the greater part of my readers will remember were wearing but too near to a consum- mation. They are, I know, quite impatient to get into a detail of all the circumstances ; but there arc some incidents that it is painful for an author to enumerate, and it is only in adherence to truth that he submits to the ungracious task. Without them, the tale cannot go on, so they must needs be told. The circumstances in the present case were then precisely as follows. « « * • ♦ ' ' Well, I must trust to your protection for this night," said Susan. "What is the name of the lady, your friend, to whose house I am going?" '•Mrs. M' , of St. James' Street," said he. " Very well." She took her Indian shawl about her shoulders, and after turning six or seven times round in the apartment, as if looking for something else, she took hold of Mr. M' 'sprofifered arm, and he led her out. "God bless you!" said she. " Amen with all my heart," said he, "and the lovely wisher to boot." "And God wiU bless j'ou," added she, "for this unmerited kindness to a poor friend- less orphan." " O wad some power the giflie gie us. To see oursels as others see us !" says Burns, but I have often thought this prayer should be reversed, for if we knew the motives and intentions of others, as well as we do our own, how often would we eschew the errors into which we fall ! and if Miss Somerville had known her conductor's intentions at that time, as well as he himself knew them, how far would she have been from blessing him ! Yet, poor fellow ! he rejoiced in it, and nothing in the world could have made him so happy as taking that lovely and innocent young lady home with him that night, and ruining her. It is a pity there should be gentlemen of such dispositions, but nobody can help it. 178 WELLDEAN HALL. "Mrs. M' , in St. James' Street ! Mrs. M' in St. James' Street!" In the hurry of departure, Susan could not think or suspect who Mrs. M' , of St. James' Street was, but repeating it to herself all the way down the stair; just as she came to the door of the coach, it came to her recollection that she had met with that lady before, and not a very great while ago. "I beg your pardon, sir," said she, "I have forgot something in the apartment that I left; ex- cuse me for a little." '•' Please step into the coach, madam, I will go up and bring it." " No, you can- not bring it, I must go myself." AVith that she wrung her arm out of his, and ran up the stairs. When she came to the place she had left, the man was just in the act of locking it up. But when he saw her come thus hastily to the door, he opened it instinctively, and she entered. Instead of looking for aught she had left, she seated herself in the chair, and desired the turnkey to lock her up till to-morrow, and at his peril to let any one enter the door of that apartment till then. The honest man began to ex- postulate, telling her that the matter was settled, and that neither he nor his captain had any more charge of her; but seeing her so peremptory, he obeyed, and went to consult a higher power, think- ing that the lady was a little deranged in her mind. M' ■ did not w-ait long below in the court of the prison, but impatient at the young lady's stay, went likewise up to her apartment, where he was refused admission. At first he began to abuse the turnkey, thinking he had locked her up through mistake, but finding that it was by her own desire, he began to suspect that she had discovered some- thing of the ambiguous character of the house where he had proposed taking her. Finding out the under-turnkey's ideas of the state of her mental faculties, he said it was but too true, and however disagreeable it might be, there would be a necessity of carrying her away home by force. This he urged strongly as a last resource, and was joined by all the underlings about the prison, but the captain, or principal keeper, would not permit it, for fear of raising an alarm, and making a disturbance at that time of the evening. He undertook, however, to keep the lady in safe custody until next day, lest any evil might befall her. M' , by dint of entreaty, got a conversation with her over a half- door before he went away, and there was no manner of blandishment, or passionate regret, that he did not use, insomuch that Miss Somerville was again melted into an affectionate generosity, which she could not repress, yet continued firm in her resolu- tion. He was obliged to go home with a grieved heart, and relate to his associates this first failure of his grand enterprise; on which the rest of the night, or rather morning, was spent by them in devising new schemes more adapted to the characters of those with whom they had to do, and in relating other adventures of the like nature. Eveiy man and woman in the world is engaged in the pursuit of happiness, and though they wonder at one another, yet all continue to pursue it in their own way. Nice young profligate puppies of gentlemen in general, believe that they enjoy life in a most exquisite way. We'll not quarrel with them about that, but we'll force them to admit what all the world sees, that they are of short duration, and generally followed by bitter fruits. Susan spent a sleepless night, but scarcely were her thoughts ever otherwise employed than on Mr. M' . His kindness and generosity interested her, and if it had not been for the naming of one lady, of whose character she had weighty suspicions, she thought she could have trusted him, and gone with him to any part of the kingdom. So difficult is it for suspicion to find entrance into a guileless heart. Next morning she sent for the principal keeper, a man well known for probity and honour, and to him she communicated her case, all save two cir- cumstances. The one was the private behaviour of her cousin Kandal to her, and the other was the name of the ladytowho.se houseM' proposed tohavetaken her over night. The latter subject was several times at the root of her tongue, but timidity withheld it from being uttered. She had a certain feeling of kindness, or generosity, hankering about her heart for the young gentleman, and she could not bear, with one dash, to run the risk of blotting it out for ever. She therefore asked the keeper only about his name and connections, and what circle of society he kept ? The keeper had heard the name and title of the gentlemen, but knew nothing about him further. He promised, however, in a short time to satisfy her in all these points. " I have a Highland officer about the prison," said he, "principally for the purpose of carrying and bringing messages; I am sure he will either know the gentleman himself, or find those in a few minutes that will give you a list of all his pedigree for forty generations." The keeper was glad thus to amuse the lady, and reconcile her to what appeared to him an inconsis- tency in her prosecutor. He had during the morn- ing got one letter, and one charge after another, about his prisoner, until he knew not well how to proceed, yet, for his own security he resolved to de- tain her. The bucks, terrified that she should get aw^ay from under their thumbs, as they termed it, had put the attorney upon different manoeuvres to detain her in prison, until she should be obliged to accept of their relief on their own conditions. They knew too well, that having secured Allan, they had little to fear the interference of ' any other. The keeper likewise entered into her scruples, or pre- tended to do so, of getting so deeply obligated to an utter stranger. "It is not, madam," said he, "what you or I may feel, and know to be the truth, but how the world may view it. A young lady's character is her all, or next to that, and better had 179 you remain a year in this place, than owe your Uberty to some gentlemen, even though their motives may be unimpeachable. Though it is a truism that things must be as they are, yet their effects are too often modelled by the judgment of the world. 1 wUl send for Malcolm, and have this matter cleared up" Malcolm was sent for, and soon arrived with his bonnet in his hand. " Malcolm, do you know anything of the gentle- man that came in a coach last night, and waited on this lady?" " Does the lady not know anything of him her own self?" said Malcolm, with true Highland caution. ^^ "That is no answer to the question I put to you," said the keeper, sternly. "Hu, not at haU, your honour; but hersel was peen thinking— that if laidy would be tahaking in shentleman's ' "Hold your peace, you Highland rascal ! You have no right to form any conjecture of aught that passes here by my authority. I ask you, if you know aught of Mr. M' , who was here last night, or of his connections, and I desire you to answer me without further circumlocution'?" " Te fillain ! " said Malcolm, " has he peen pehav- ing pad to te dhear Ihady ]" Miss Somerville never having conversed with a native Highlander, at least with one of Malcolm's rank, before, was so much amused by his shrewd and obstinate caution, as well as his uncouth dialect, that she smiled at this last question. The keeper also smiled, which, encouraging Malcolm in his petulance, ] he went on. j "Hu! hope she would only pe some frheedom Ihove. Highland shentlemans pe fei-y pad for frhee- dom Ihove ; if te Ihaidy pe peautifulmost, she pe very pad indheed." The keeper, finding that nothing would be gotten out of Malcolm, if there was any risk of a High- lander's character being impeached, took a wiser course, and assured him, that so far from behaving ill to the lady, he had acted so nobly, that she was anxious to know a little more of him, to make him some amends, or acknowledgment, at least. Mai- colm's eyes gleamed with joy and pride. "Hu! she might pe shoor of tat! All tat you hafe to do with Highland shentlemans is, to confi- dence him. Hereel pe fery sorry tat she not kif cood informhation, she know so less of him. But there pe one Maister Ronald Macmurrich, a shairman of the Rhegister, who is his full cousin py te creat crhandmhother's side ; she pe tell you all and mhore. Had she peen of Clan-Donachie, or Clan-Stuhart (all out of Appin) or te long Clan-Khattanich, she could hafe cone through all teir plood." Here Malcolm was stopped short in his muster-roll, and sent in search of Ronald Macmurrich. In the meantime, the keeper remained convereing -with Susan, and advised her strongly to apply to her THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. cousin Randal, who, he said, waij her natural ^.'unrdian, and obliged both in honour and law Uj jay t very farthing that was contracted during the lifetime of her uncle, aa it was on his credit that the debt v taken on; and there being apart of her couBJii » behaviour which she did not choo% to divulge, the keeper wondered at her pride and Bhyneas, and sup- posed that she had drawn too freely on her r- bounty previous to that time. "This is Mhaster Ronald Macmurrich, eir," said Malcolm, entering briskly with his l>onnet in bis hand, and bowing with a grace becoming a man of higher rank, "and though I would peen saying it, she pe shentleman that you might pe thcpendanoe on him's worts." " Come away, Mr. Ronald, I want to conTcrse with you in this lady's presence for a minute or two. Malcolm, you need not wait. Ronald, do you know anything of Mr. M' of G h? Malcolm, I tell you, you need not wait." " Hu ! it mak fcrj' Ihittlc dufferance to her nain- sel to whait a few mhinutes to be oblhiging your honour." " No, no — off, off. What are you standing there for, sirrah?" " I can stand anywhere that your honour plheases. I can be sthanding here then." " Go out at the door, I tell you, and cloee it" " Hu ! but your honour will soon pe wanting hur ackain; and more the less Maistcr Ronald has peen got a fery pad mhemory, and he'll pe Ihoeing te for- get of mhany things." " Hu, shay, shay, she pe fcrj- creat of truth all tat Maister ilhawcom has peen to say." The captain finding that the two cronies were de- termined to keep together, thought it beet to humour them ; for he knew if any of them grew obstinate, he might as well contend with a mule. "So you know the young laird of G— — h, Ronald!" "Hu, what then? Pless your honour, she pe full coosin to himself. Mach-Vich-.\laetcr More Machouston Macmurrich was her crhandmhother s fhather; and he was khotlen upon a child of Kin- loch-Mhudart's." " And, py my faith, that's all vcr>- true that Maister Rhonald says ; and she could pe taking her sworn oath to every whord of it." "What sort of a gentleman is he ?"' "Hu! the finest shentleman that's in the whole world. And upon my soul, you would not pe find- ing such a shentleman if you were to ride fhifty thousand mhiles." "Ay, she be all truth and mhore that Maister Rhonald says." " What sort of moral character does he hold ?" "More-ill? Hu. no. He has not cot one single spark of that in his whole pody and souhl. ' " No, you may swore that, Maister Macmurrich." " What ? Not one spark of morality ?' ibO WKLLDEAN HALL. "Morliality? Ay. Devil u single Bciap of her, I'll pc Bworu. Murhulity ! What she pe'f" Here the captain and Misd Soiucrville could not contain their gravity, which staggered Ronald a little, and made him ask the last question. " Tiuit is, perhaps, too general a tenn to he fully understood," said the keeper; "we shall enter into particulars; and as it is all in good friendship, you may answer mo freely. In the first place, then, can you tell me how he has hehavcd himself hi general with regard to women?" " Go, ter never was a shcntleman pchavcd bo pettcr since ta world was made. You know, if ta Ihaidy was pcing fhery pohnny, and fhery hamiable, and fhery khind, why you know I could not pe answering for myself, and far less for him ; but Til take it upon me to pe sworn, that he woiild not force a child against her own will." "So you may, so you may, Maister Hhonald." "What sort of company does he keep? Can you tell me the names of any of the ladies or gentlemen whose houses he visits at?" " Hu, he goes to the roots of all the lliadies, and all the Ihords of ta whoule kingdom; and to ta hadfucats, and to tc grhand mhinisters tat prheach. There is not a shcntleman in ta whoule world that is so well taken hould of 1 can pe sworn of tat too." " Indheed so you can, Maister Rhonald, and so can I too." "He might have peon kettingonchearl'sdhaughtcr last year; and I do know tat tore was mhany traps laid to hould him into her; but there were so very mhany fine Ihadies after him, that he would not pe taken." " Yes, Maister Rhonald, that is vhcry troo. And he would have kotten fifty thousand pounds with her, and more; and there was none deserved it so well." " Hu ay, you may pe saying tat; for it is a kood man, and so khind to the poor at home." "Is he indeed noted for kindness to the poor?" said Susan, with some degree of warmth. " Indheed it is, mattam. She pe so much coot- ness and khindness, that he'll pe koing through his poor fharmcrs once a year, and when any of them has peen kot a fhery pretty daughter, he takes them off their hands altogether, and pring them to this town to make Ihadies of them. And it is fheiy khind, for then they would pe trudging at home, and working like bhaists." This was rather an equivocal recommendation; but Miss Somei-ville, noting that it was given in seriousness, put the best interpretation on it that it could bear; and before they could proceed any further with their inquiries, Mr. M' arrived, and, sending in his name, was admitted. In this most perilous situation we must again leave poor Susan, like a lamb strayed from the flock, whom three wolves are watching to devour, in order to bring forward our tale. Allan was in the same jail with her, astonished and grieved at the rcmiusnesB of his brother in relieving him, and concerned about his dear cousin, whom he now found by experience to be dearer to him than life. At this period their circumstances were totally unknown to one another. After Gilbert had taken a sound sleep, he rose about mid-day, and went in search of his friend Andrew, to whom he imparted his plan, and the agreement he had entered into with the housekeeper, in the absence of all higher concerns of the house; and it being no frightful thing to speak of a ghost, or to think of a ghost in fair day light, Andrew was nothing averse to the plan. Hunger is hard to bide at all times. Thirst is worse; but when fear is ab- sent, it is disregarded ; bo the two friends had no- thing ado but to sip a little brandy and water, and talk over the ad'air until the evening. At rather an early hour they repaired to the library, in which they kindled a fire; and stored with all the good things of this life, they intended perhaps to remain there longer than one night. Andrew never seemed to believe that the ghost would really aj)iicar. Gilbert firmly believed that it would, and at first proposed that Andrew should speak to it, and that he himself would try to recol- lect distinctly what it said ; but of this Andrew did not approve. "No-billy- no-no-no-no — not-speak — not-speak — no - no - no - no. Speak -me-first — speak-me — speak- then— speak-then— speak-then — yes-yes-yes-yes-yes. Not-otherwise — not-otherwise — no-no-no-no." Gilbert assured him that no spirit had power to speak to a baptized Christian until once it was spoken to, and that it was only permitted to answer such questions as were put to it. For his part, he said, though the world jeered his belief, he was con- vinced that this was a real apparition, and that it had something to communicate of importance; and he knew that he had not courage, or rather nerve, to speak to it, unless he was the length of a certain stage of inebriety, and then he was afraid of nothing either on earth or in hell. But, on the other hand, as it Jiad once happened before, when he got to that regardless stage, he could remember nothing that passed, so that it served no manner of purpose his speaking to the apparition, unless a sober man were present to take note of every word, sign, and look. He said that there was therefore a necessity that Andrew should refrain, in a great measure, from drinking, till the issue of their night's adventure should be decided, and that he should then have a right to make up his lee-way with double interest. Violent and rapid were Andrew's protestations against this measure, but Gilbert's resolve was not to be shaken, and he possessed a control over the other, which, though never admitted, was daily practised. Andrew's portion of brandy toddy w^as limited to a small quantity. Gilbei-t's was to be without measure, othei-wise than by the tappit-hen of discretion. 1»1 They were both taken rather at unawares. They had never calculated on any disturbance till about midni-ht, that bein- the usual time of the ghost s appearance in the library; so they had drawn in the corner of the table between them, and placed themselves, one on each side of the fire, resolved to enjoy themselves as long as they could, and, at all events, let the evil hour come hindmost. Gilbert had only swallowed one glass of strong brandy totldy, and Andrew one much weaker; and while they" were yet in keen argument on this contested point, their elocution was cut short by Andrew, who made a sudden bolt across between the fire and table, nearly overturning the latter, and took his station in a cowering posture between his companion and the wall. This was the work of a moment. Gilbert, whose face was turned towards the fire, naturally looked about to see what had affrighted his associate, and there beheld the old laird walking composedly backward and forward before the old black book-case. He appeared to be dressed in his night-gown and slippers, and had, as it were, a white cloth tied round his head. It was so like him, that it represented him in every part, so that it was hardly possible to believe it to be anything else, save the old laird himself risen from the grave. Gilbert was struck motionless, and almost deprived of sense ; and though he had made up his mind to be composed, yet his tongue clave to his mouth, his ears rung, and for a space he could neither be said to speak, hear, nor see. He felt as if falling into a faint, and longed exceedingly to be deprived of all feeling for a time. It would not do; the strength of his constitution carried him over it ; but all that he could do was to sit like a statue, fixed on his seat, and stare at this strange visitant. It appeared as if studious not to alarm them ; it had not any of the threatening looks or attitudes that it had assumed towards some, nor did it fix its looks at all on them, but walked with a slow gliding motion, from one side of the room to the other, and again retraced its steps, apparently in a state of patient Buffcrancc. Andrew, whose tongue was merely a pendulum to his feelings, and wagged of its own accord when the machine was wound up, was the first who broke Hilencc, beginning, it is true, with a prayer, but ending.with an injunction that brought everything ir. "0-Lord-God — deliver — ' liver -'liver -'liver - '" ; — n'lve ■ nave - save • save - save -us - is - is - is - is. Oibby - Gibby - Gibby - Gibby - Gibby— speak - speak - ': -speak. Now-or - never— now-or-never — now- --vcr— now-now-now-now. What-want — what- want— what-want— what-what-what-what-whatV The (?ho«t at this paused, and turned its face to- ward them; and, though it did not lift its eyes from the floor, made as though it would have come 'lose to them. Andrew instantly took up his sharp "No-no-no — keep- off— keep-off— keep-keep- OilJpj-GMy-OMy-aihby," &c. THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. Unconnected and vehement as these Rpeeches of Andrew's were, they had the effect of bringing Gilbert somewhat to himself, and he pronounced these words, rather down his throat than with his lips: "In the name of God, tell what you have to reveal, and what can be done for your repose." " I told you already, and woe be to you that you have not done it," said the apparition. "I give you the charge once more ; and know, that virtue and life depend on its instant fulfilment." " If I remember aright," said Gilbert, "the thing that you desired me to Ao was impossible, or at least would have taken a lifetime to have accom- plished. In one word, what must I dol" " Go through these books," said the spirit, point- ing at the three huge volumes of Greek and Latin classics, "as you would wish to live and thrive, and never see my face again. It is a charge with which I intrust you ; and if you have not patience to turn over every leaf, at least look into the pages marked on the boards. I know you to be honest; therefore, oh do this without delay, for my sake, as well as for your own. If you prove unfaithful, better had it been for you both that you never had been born. Farewell, and may the God of peace and mercy be with you ! " This moment he was standing before them in an earthly form, and speaking to them in an audible voice ; the next he was gone, and none of them saw how, or by what place, he departed. They both averred that they believed they were, for the space of two or three seconds, blinded by some supernatural means, and saw nothing. For a good while after- wards, they sat in mute and awful astonishment, Andrew still keeping his hold between Gilbert and the wall. "This is wonderful," said Gilbert, after some minutes had elapsed; "What can be in these books V " See-that-billy- see-that-see-that-see-that-see-see- see-see." And so saying he arose from his den, gazing sternly at every corner of the room. ' ' Blest- be-God-blest-be-God," said Andrew, and this he re- peated at least a hundred times. Gilbert opened the press, and took down the three volumes, which they inspected narrowly. There was nothing marked on the boards that they could discern. They held them open, with the leaves downward, and shook them, but there was nothing that fell out of them. That was, however, little to be wondered at, for they were in boards, and not a leaf of them cut up. They had, therefore, nothing for it but to begin each to a volume, in order to cut them all up and turn over every leaf. They had not gone far on with this task until Andrew, who had again fallen a poring about the boards, discovered some figures on the inside of one of them, made with a pencil, and scarce distinguishable. These, he thought, might refer to some pages, as the apparition had hinted, and, turning to the first numbered on the board, in the double of the octave, which was uncut, 182 i i^ ^ ^ WELLDEAN HALL. ho found a note for i;lO0O. Having now discovered the key, in the course of three minutes they had treasure lying on the table, in bonds, bills at in- terest, &c., to the amount of nearly a plum. But what they reckoned of most value was the late laird's will, regularly signed and witnessed, together with two short codicils in his own holograph. And be- sides, they found a paper, in which was contained a list of all his funds, small and great. It was almost witliout end, and puz/ded our two heroes not a little. They found that every pound was at the higliest legal interest, save in one concealed drawer within the book-case, which was full of gold ; and though the shelf was described, yet with all their ingenuity they could not find out the secret. Had the book- Btller succeeded in carrying his point, what a bargain some would have gotten of that clumsy collection of classical authore ! So heavy and impenetrable had the old laird judged these works to be, that he trusted his dear treasures in them, in preference to any lock or key under which he could secure them. And after this great secret was discovered, it was remembered that he never locked tiiat book-case; it stood always wide open. He found, by experi- ence, how perfectly safe his money was there ; and I am told, that a certain wealthy and verj' worthy gentleman at the Scottish bar practises the same mode of depositing his bills and cash to this day. I give this hint, as a sincere friend, to officious ser- vants and lacqueys, in hopes they will have the foresight, at some leisure hour now and then, to cut up and inspect all their master's neglected books. They may find something there worth their while. Our two gallant heroes forgetting, and altogether neglecting the pleasures of the jug, in this notable discovery of theirs, waited not till day, but, locking up the classics in a secure place, they packed up their treasures, the will, and the list of the monies, and marched for Edinburgh. Not knowing where to find any of the other members of the family, they of course waited on Randal, whom they found con- fined to his chamber, emaciated and diseased. Him they informed, that after all the servants had been driven from the house, they had taken their lives in their hands, trusted in heaven, and watched last night in the library, where they had made some discoveries of great importance, but which they were not at liberty to divulge, except in the presence of his brother Allan, and his cousin Susan Somerville, and therefore they begged that he would, with all haste, expedite such a meeting, accompanied by legal authorities. Randal rung the bell, and ordered the servant to bring in some brandy and water. "My excellent and worthy friends," said he, "you have laid me under infinite obligations: if it had not been for your courage, my house might have been pillaged, and everything in it gone to waste. Come, sit down, take a glass with me, and tell me all that you have 1 done, seen, and karncd." Fatigued with their journey, both of them biytlicly accepted of the in- vitation, sat down, and drank to the better health of the laird, but at first were very shy in communi- cating the extraordinary intelligence with which their bo.soms wxre charged, but which at the same time was working there like barmy beer in corked bottles, ready to burst. Consequently, by dint of clicitation, Randal, ere long, undci-stood that they had discovered both his late uncle's will, and his concealed hoards. "Why, my most excellent and worthy friend.^," said Randal, "you know you arc both poor men, and it is a pity you should be so, for two more noble, intrepid, fearless hearts, I believe, beat not in Christendom. It is on that I ground the proposal I am going to make. I know you fear none living; indeed, you have none to fear, and you have proven that you fear not the dead ; therefore be men ; put that will and that list into my hands, to whom they of right belong, and I'll give each of you a thousand pounds, and fifty pounds yearly to drink my health, as long as 1 live, and you together." ' ' Either - too - much - too - much-too - much - much- much-much. Else-too-little-billy -too-little-too-little- too-little. Ooo-ay -yes-yes-yes. " "Make your own terms, then, Mr. Car, my worthy honourable old buck; but let them be in conscience, you know — in some bounds of conscience between friends." " Ooo - ay - y es - yes - yes - yes - yes — consh' - consh' - consh'-consh'-bc-surc-bc-sure -be - sure — what - else - what-else- what-efoe ? What - what -what- what- what what?" The desperate accents laid upon these two mono- syllables in italics made Randal suspect that there was some small spark in Andrew's feelings that was scarcely congenial with his own, and he began to look a little sheepish, or rather scoundrelish, which is a much worse kind of look than a sheep's. " I think, my friend Andrew," said Gilbert, "the proposal of my master is a noble and liberal proposal, and ought to be duly considered before we go farther. It will perhaps never be in our power again to make so good a bargain. We are both growing old, and it is a dismal thing to have poverty and age staring us in the face at the same time." "Spoken like yourself, my old trusty sen'ant ! Spoken like a man whose spirit rises above being a drudge and a beggar all your days. The world has not been your friend nor the world's law, therefore obey the first law in nature, and stand for your- selves. I do not intend to bereave my brother and cousin of a farthing that is their natural right, only is it not better that they should be somewhat depen- dent on me ] Is it not better in every point of view 1 For themselves it must be. Put then all these papers and documents into my hands, and hence- forth you shall be my friends and confidants, and managers of all my concerns. " a3 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. • What say you to this, my friend Andrew?" said Gilbert. ' ' What -say - Gibby- what -say - what-say-what-say- what- what - what -what - u-hat ? Tell - ye - what - say - billy-tell ye -what-say -tell-ye-tell -ye- tell -ye. Say hell-billy-hell-hcll-hell-hell-hcll-hell-/ie?;." "Stop now and consider, my dear friend," said Randal. " You have been long known as a man of prudence and discernment. You must see that what I request is right and proper, and best for all parties. And moreover, what is it to you who possesses the funds, provided you get so good a share % There is enough for all parties, you know. Therefore just give me the hand of friendship each of you. Put the papers into my hands, and trust my honour." " Do not you think, Andrew," said Gilbert, ''that what my master requests is reasonable, and may be done with all honour and conscience? ISTo one has seen these bills and papers but ourselves." ' ' Damn'd -soul- Gibby - dam - sou l-dam-soul-dam- soul - soul - soul. Heaven - saw - Gibby- heaven- saw - beaven-saw-heavcn-heaven-hcaven-heaven ! " With that the tears poured over Andrew's furrowed cheeks, his inarticulate utterance entirely failed him, and he stood sobbing and looking ruefully in Gilbert's face, with his arm stretched upward at its full length, and his forefinger pointed to heaven. Gilbert con- templated this striking position of his friend for a while with apparent delight, then, coming slowly toward him, as if afraid of defacing so fine a statue, he threw his arms about him, and pressed him to his bosom. " My friend and my brother till death," exclaimed he, "I am so glad to see that your honour and integrity arc not to be tarnished ! Before I would have yielded to the disgraceful request pre- ferred to us, I would have submitted to be hewn in pieces, and I wanted to try you a little, to find if I might depend on you standing by me." Andrew threw up both his arms, flung his head a cast backward, and pulled up one of his knees as high as his breast, and shouted out, " Hurra-hurra- hurra-hurra-ra-ra-ra-ra-true-man -yet-true- man-j'ct- true- blue -true - blue - true - blue - trouble - trouble - trouble. Ha-ha-ha-hurra-hurra-hurra," &c. "Gentlemen," said Randal, "are you come here to mock me ? I think your behaviour testifies as much. But I will show you that I am not to be mocked by such boors and beggarly rascallions as you, and what you refuse to do by fair means, you shall \,c compelled to do." With that he rung the bell, and ordering the servant to bring a guard of police, he locked the door upon himself and our two hcroen. " Rascallions, Gibby— rascallions-' scallions-'scal- Itons-'scallions. I'll-'nihilatc-him-Gibby— 'nihilate- 'nihilatc-'nihilate." aillwrt restrained his friend, assuring him that the object of his resentment was neither worthy of being touched nor looked at by a man of honour, like Andrew Car, who would be di.sgraced by laying a finger on him. This calmed the indignant game- keeper, who, in all probability, would have sub- jected himself and friend to a severe punishment by giving the atomy, as he called him, a sound drubbing. The men of office soon arrived. Randal charged the two men with having robbed his house in the country, and taking from thence some papers and' documents of value, which they refused to give up. The lieutenant of the guard said it was a most seri- ous charge, and took the two companions forthwith into custody, locking them up in the black hole till the hour of cause. They were examined by the sheriff-substitute, and Randal being unable to leave his chamber, his worthy friend, the attorney aforementioned, appeared in his stead, and in a laboured harangue, accused the prisoners of "having got clandestinely into the house of Welldean, under pretence of watching for a ghost that they say had disturbed the family, and from an apartment in that house, had stolen and secreted some papers of great value, of which they refused to give any account to the owner." And forthwith prayed judgment against them, that they might be searched, the papers restored to the right- ful owner, and the delinquents committed for trial ! The j udge said the charge was of a serious as well as singular nature, but that it bore inconsistency on the very face of it. For how was it supposable, that if the two men had robbed the house only last night of things of so much value, that they should post up to town to the very man whom they had robbed, to inform him what they had done, and lay a statement of the matter before him. He then re- quested the prisoners to speak for themselves, that he might thereby be enabled to form a judgment according to truth. Gilbert arose, and in a clear and concise speech of considerable length, related the circumstances precisely as they happened, to the great astonish- ment of the court ; and then proceeded to put into the sherifTs hands, the valuable documents and bonds that he held, saying, that he would merely keep a list of them for his own satisfaction, and was glad of having this public opportunity of depositing so weighty a charge; it having been because he and his friend refused to give it up privately to his master that they were sent there. The judge said they had proven that it could not have been deposited in safer or better hands. But as the papers were of too high value to be carrying about one's person, he would lock them in a place of safety till the legatees and executors could be con- vened. At the same time he commended, in high terms, the intrepidity, truth, and candour of the two friends; and remarked, that the spirit mani- fested by the young gentleman, in the demand he made upon them, and afterwards in seizing them as depredators, was disgraceful to the country and to all concerned with him, and ought to be held in the 184 TIBBY JOHNSTON'S WRAITH. utmost reprobation. He thcu dismissed them, de- siring them to go with all diligence in search of the young gentleman and lady that were co-heirs with the present possessor, and, as it appeared by the will, more favoured than he, of which he hoped they would likewise be more deserving. The honest attorney, perceiving how matters were likely to turn about, made a virtue of forwarding that which he could no longer oppose, and conducted our two heroes straight to the Canongate jail, where Allan and Susan lay confined in sorrowful mood, little aware of what fortunes they were now possessed. They had only that morning made a discovery of each other, and that at a most critical period, just as Susan was going finally off with Mr. M' after many demurs. AVhen she beheld her lover so emaciated by sickness, grief, and misfortune, she melted into tears, and stretched out her hand to him, which he clasped in both of his, and pressed to his lips. They found themselves companions in misfor- tune, as they had been in infancy and youth, and their reconciliation was made up in the heart, and took place naturally, without any eflort of the one to refuse, or the other to beg it ; and for all the for- lorn and neglected state in which they found each other, that was perhaps the sweetest morning ever they had spent in their lives. On Allan being introduced, Mr. M' and the keeper withdrew, but the two former bowed to each other slightly, as men slightly acquainted do when they meet. As soon as the two lovers got a little breath from more important matters. Miss Somerville asked Allan what he knew of that young gentleman that went out with the captain] '■'! only saw him once in my brother's lodgings," said he ; " he is a constant associate of his ; a young man' of loose principles, or rather, of no principles at all. He is said to have led my brother into many follies." " An associate of your brother's f said she, with something more than ordinary earnestness. " Yes," said he, " they live together. " Susan became fixed like a statue. She saw, as through a glass darkly, the machinations that had been laid for destroying her peace. She thought of the disgraceful proposal that had been broadly made to her by her cousin Randal — of Mrs. M' in St. James' Street, the very woman who had tried, in concert with Mrs. Mayder, to get her into his power; and she strongly believed that this imprison- ment and proffered relief had all proceeded from the same source. " What a vile heartless wretch that man of fashion, my cousin Randal, is!" thought she to herself; "no matter, he is Allan's brother, and Allan shall never know his true character if I can prevent it." They were instantly released, on granting the attorney their joint-bill for the two sums, and were man and wife in three months there- after. Randal never left the chamber to which he was then confined, till carried out of it to his grave. He fell, unlamented, the victim of youthful folly and unrestrained libertinism. Gilbert was again constituted house-steward and butler at Welldean Hall, which two lucrative posts he maintained as long as he lived. Andrew Car was made game- keeper, and the two friends had a jug or two of brandy toddy together, unrestrained, for many long years. The concealed drawer of gold was at last found out ; the ghost cf the old laird was never seen any more ; and the year before last, when I was at Welldean Hall, Allan and his lady were both living in great happiness, though far advanced in age. TIBBY JOHNSTON'S WKAITH. " Holloa, Wat, stop till I come up w'ye. Dinna just gallop at sic a rate, man, else you'll founder your horse, an' brik your ain neck into the bargain. Whatten a gate o' riding is that ] Stop till I speak to you; I have something to say to you." ' •' What do you want with me ] Tell me directly, for I hac nae a moment to wait. Do you not see that I am in a hurry 1 " "To be sure I see that, but then you are always in a hurry. Stay till I come up w'ye, an' then I'll tell you what I want. I have something very par- ticular to say to you. What nonsense is it to ride at that rate ? I'll tell you what I want w'ye : can you tell me precisely what o'clock it is?" "Confound the fellow! What do you mean to stop me for sic a trifle as that, an' me riding atween death an' life for the doctor '! " "For the doctor? llech! wow! Wat, man, but I 1 didna ken that. What is it that's gane wrang w'ye ? " "What's gane wrang ! 0, bless your heart, man, a's gane wrang thegither. There was never sic a job kend i' this world. Our mistress has seen a wraith; she saw Tibby Johnston's wraith last night, an' she's dead wi' the fright this morning." ' ' Dead wi' tlie fright I Wow, AVat, is she really dead?" "Dead! bless you, sir, she's clean dead. There never was sic a business in this country. M}' heart's like to break, an' I'm amaist ficyed out o' my wits among a' ither mischiefs. 0, bless your heart, man, there never was the like o' this! — Never, never! Oh! dead? Bless ye, she's cauld dead, sir! " " Why then, Wat, it was real true what j'e said, that ye war riding atween death an' life ; for, gin the wife be dead and the doctor living, there's nae 65 21 THE ETTPJCK SHEPHERD'S TALES. doubt but ye're riding atween them. But, dear Wat, mony a daft thing ye hae done i' your life, but ye never did aught half sae ridiculous as this, to gallop at sic a rate bringing the doctor to a dead wife." "0, bless your heart, man, what can folk do? Folk are glad to keep a grip o' life as lang as they can; an' even after it flees out at the window, they'll whiles hing by the tail. But it's the fashion now. Everybody sends for the doctor to their wives after they're dead." "Ay, an' gin a' tales be true, the doctors whiles come to them after they're dead an' buried baith, without being sent for. But truly, Wat, there is something sae far ayont a' ordinary things in this business, that ye maun 'light an' tell me a' about it. Your mistress saw Tibby Johnston's wraith, you say, an' is dead wi' the fright. But what is come o' Tibby Johnston 1 Is there ought the matter wi' her?" "0, bless your heart, sir, Tibby's dead too. There never was sic a job seen ! I hardly ken what Fm doing. Of a' the nights that ever was about a town, 0, bless you, sir, you never saw the like o't ! I maun gae ride, ye see. If the beast should drap dead aneth me there's nae help for it." "Tak just a wee time, Wat, an' dinna be in sic a fike. What do ye expect that the doctor can do for the dead woman?" ' "0, bless your heart, wha kens? It's a' that folk can do. Auld Kilside says he'll maybe open a vein, and gar her refusticat. Hap, woy, beast. For gude sake, get on; fareweel." " Open a vein an' gar her refusticat ! ha, ha, ha .' Hap, woy, beast. There goes Wat like a flying eagle ! Weel, I canna help laughin' at the gouk, although I'm sorry for the cause o' his confusion an' hurry. If thae twa women really are baith dead, thae haena left ither twa like them i' the parish, an' few i' the hale country. I'll e'en gac up the water a mile or twa, an' try if I can get the parti- culars." David went away up the water as he had resolved, and every one that he met with, he stopped to ask what time of the day it was; to make some observa- tions on the weather; and, finally, to inquire if there were any news up the country; knowing, if any of them had heard of the events at Carlshaw, they would inform him ; but he got no satisfactory account until he reached the place. It was at the foot of Milseyburn-path that he stopped Wat Scott riding for the doctor, and from that to Carlshaw is at least six miles ; so far had he travelled to learn the particulars of that distressing event. David Proudfoot was a very old man, herding cows, when I was a tiny boy at the same occupation. He would often sit with the snuff-mull in his hand, and tell me old tales for hours together; and this was one among the rest. He cared for no tales, unless he had some share in the transactions himself. The story might be told in few wordg, but it would gpoil my early recollections, and I could not endure to see it otherwise than a« David told it, with all ite interpolations. " When I wan to Carlshaw, I gaed hrm iuio the stable, and then into the byre, but there wa£ naeUxly to be seen. The yauds were standing nickering at the manger, and the kye were rowting ower the crib. A' isna right here, indeed, quo' I to my- sel, as I eneckit the door ahint me; for when Mrs. Graham was in her ordinary way, there was nae servant about the house durst neglect their charge that gate. The plough wa^j standiu' idle on the houm, an' the harrows lying birstling on the sawn croft. It's e'en a picture o' desolation, quo' 1 to mysel. Every ane'a miosed amang their ain ; but gae without the bounds o' the farm, just beyond that dike, an' there's no ane thiukin' o' the loss. I was right. When you an' I slip away to our lang hame, my man, others will just pop into our places, an' laugh, an' fike, an' mind their ain aflairs, an never ane will think o" us ava. " Weel, I didha like to intrude on a family in distress, for I was but a young man then ; eac 1 thinks that I'll chap away up to Matthew Hyslop's bit hou.se, and see if it be true that the gouk said; for if he has lost his wife, Tibby John(«ton, says I to mysel, he'll never put the like o' her in her sboon. When I gaed up near the cot -house, they had nae apartments there to hide themselves in frac the cc o' the warld; an' there I saw Matthew sitting on the green brae side, an' a' his five bairns about him; an' he had the mucklc Bible open in his hand, but when he saw me he closed it, and laid it down. '"How's a' wi' ye the day, Matthew?' quo' I. "'I canna complain, an' I winna complain, Davie,' said he. 'I am just as it has been the will o' the Lord to make me. Hale in health, but broken in heart, Davie. We hac been visited wi' a heavy dispensation here last night.' '"Wow, Matthew, but I'm wae to hear that,' quo' I. 'Pray, what has happened i' your family V " ' It has pleased the Almighty to take thae poor bairns' mother frae their head last night, David; and here am I left as helpless and disconsolate a poor man as the sun o' heaven has this day risen on.' "'It is a heavy trial, Matthew," quo' 1. "But ye maunna repine. Ye maun bear it like a man, and a Christian. Your wife has only paid a debt that she has been awn for these forty ycai-s, an' ye maun trust in Heaven, an' be resigned.' " ' So I am, so I am, David. You have said the truth, and I am resigned. But our fallen nature is weak, and the human heart maun be allowed some yearnings ower what it held dearest in life. I hope my kind Maker and Eedeemer will forgive my tears, for my grief's no out o' my repining at the execution o' his just decrees; but, oh! David, sic a woman as I hae lost.' 18G TIBBY JOHNSTUN'S WUAITII. " ' She waa a good woman, Matthew,' says I. ' If Tibby Joliiiston wasna a good woman and a Chris- tian, mony anc may be feared.' '"There's nane kens what she was but mysel, David. We hae lived thegither for these fifteen years, and I never heard the word of discontent frac her tongue, nor saw a frown on her l)row. She had the true feelings of a wife and a mother; for she only lived in and for her family. Their happiness was hcr.s; an' a' their pains, an' a' their wants, she felt as her own. But, ower and aboon that, she had a warm heart to a' mankind, and a deep reverence for every sacred thing. Had my dear woman died in my arms, my heart watlua liae been sac sair; but oh, David! she died out on the hill, wi' no ac friend near, to take her last farewell, to support her head, or to close her ee.' " I held my tongue, and could make no answer, for he was sobbing sae hard that his heart was like to burst. At length be came to himscl, and composed his voice as well as he could. " ' I maun tell ye ower ilka thin^ as it happened, David,' said he; 'for I hae nae pleasure i)ut in speaking about her whose head's lying low in tliat house the da}*. When slie wakcn'd yesterday morn- ing, she says to me, 'Bless me, ilatthew,' Ay, slie had ay that bit sweet, harmless by-word — ' Bless me, bairn,' or, 'Bless me, Matthew.' Mony a time she said it ; though I whiles reproved her, and said it was sac like a papish signing and blcs.sing her- sel, that I didna like to hear it. Then she wad gic a bit short laugh — ye mind her good-natured, bashfu' laugh, David ? — and say, that she would try to remember no to say't again ; but out it came the very next word, and there was nae mair about it, for laith wad I hae been to hae higgled wi' her, an' vex'd her about ony thing ! My canny woman I Sae, as I was saying, she says to me, when she waken'd, 'Bless me, Matthew, sic a dream as I hae had last night I I dreamed 1 was gaun away the day to be married to a new bridegroom, an' leave you an' the bairns to shift for yourselfe. How wad ye like that, goodman?' 1 said something in a joking way, whilk it is needless to repeat, that there was nane wad be sic a fool as to take her aif my hand, but if they did, that I wad soon get a better. 'Ay!' quo' she, 'it is easy for you to say sae, but weel I ken it's far frae your heart. But, Matthew,' continued she, in a graver tone, 'does it not bode ill to dream o' marriage ] I think I hae heard my auld aunt say, that to dream o' marriage was death. ' 'Daft body,' quo' I, 'ye trouble aye your head wi' vagaries. Whoever follows freets, freets will follow them. ' ' I saw mony a braw man riding on their horses, but I mysel gaed i' the fore-end, and was the brawest mountit o' them a',' said she. I thought nae mair about it, and she said nae mair about it ; but after we had gotten the breakfast, I sees her unco dinkly dressed, for she was soon made neat and clean. 'What are ye after the day, Tibby r quo' 18 I. 'I'm gaun to the market,' said she. 'I hae three spinles o' sale yarn for auld Tammie, an' I'm gaun to buy barley, an' saut, an' some ither little things for the house wi' the price o't.' ' Ye're a good creature, an' a thrifty ane,' quo' I: 'there never was a Ijctter about a poor man's hou.se. ' Then she leugh, an' fikit about putting a' things to rights for the bairns and me through tlie day ; for she likit a l>it praise, and wlienever I roosed her, she was as happy and as light-hearted as when she was nine- teen years auld. Then, after settling wi' the bairns what she was to bring ilk ane o' them, she set out wi' her yarn on her back, saying, that she wad be hame about the gloaming; but I wasna to be ony feared for her though she was gayen late, for she had been rather lang o' winning away and had muckle ado. " When the gloaming came, I began to weary, but I couldna get the bairns left, and was obliged to look and listen, and mony a lang look and lang listen I took in vain. 1 put the bairns ane by ane to their beds, and sat up till midnight. But then I could rest nae langer, sae I ran to a neighlwur to come and bide i' the house, and aff I set for the market town, expecting at every turn to meet my woman wi' her bit backfu'. I gaed a' the gate to the town without meeting wi' her, and cried the folk out o' their beds that I kend she dealt wi', but she hadna been seen there after three o'clock. At length after it was daylight I got some spearinge o' her at tlic holm-head. The weaver's wife there had seen her and spoken wi' her, and she told her that she was gaun to try the hill road, that she might be hame wi' some hue o' day. I took the hill road as fast as my feet would carry me, and a wild road it is, unfit for a woman wi' a burden to travel. There was but ae sheiling in the hale gate, if she keepit the right track, and 1 I'lad strong hopes that she had been nightit and stayed there until day. When I came to the shell and asked for her, the shepherd's wife started to her feet, ' What ! ' said she, holding up both her hands, ' did your wife no come hame last night?' 'No,' said 1. 'Then you will never see her again in life,' said she with great emotion, 'for she left this house after sunset. She asked a drink of milk, and complained of something about her heart that made her very ill; but nothing would prevail on her to stay. ' My heart grew as cold as a stone ; and without uttering another word I took the hill on my way homeward. A wee bit after I came ower the height, and no very far aiF the road — no aboon a bunder steps aneath the sand o' the mossy grain Oh, David, I canna tell ye nae mair! The sight that I saw there will hing about my heart to the day o' my death, an' the sooner that comes the better. She had died at her devotion, whilk was a great comfort to me, for she was in a kneeling posture, and her face on the ground. Her burden was lying beside her. My dear kind woman ! there wasna the least bit necessary thing forgotten ! There THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. was a play for ilk ane o' Ibe bairns— a whup to Harry, a knife to Jock, and a picture-beuk to little Andrew. She had us a' in her breast, and there's little doubt that her last petition was put up to Heaven for us. I can tell ye nae mair, David, but ye maun come up again Sabbath first and render the last duty to the best o' women. ' "I promised that I would, and said some words o' comfort to him that he was a great deal the better o'; but I hadna the heart to tell him what had be- fallen at Carlshaw, for I thought he couldna thole that. But down I comes mysel, to see if I can make ony further discoveries about matters. I was mair fortunate this time : an' it's wonderfu' what effect mortality has in making folk devout, for there I finds auld Yiddie the barnman, who never cared a fig about religion, sitting broggling and spelling at a kittle chapter in Nehemiah, thinkin' I daresay that he was performing a very devout act. An' Yiddie really had the assuriince when I came to him to pretend to be in a very religious frame o' mind. But gin ye had but heard Yiddie's sawpient sayings about the end o' man, as he ca'd it, really, callant, they wad hae edified ye very muckle. ' Ye're thrang at your beuk, Yiddie,' quo' I. ' ay, what can we do ? The end o' man's comin' on us a' ! We maun be preparing, lad; for death spares naebody, an' the mair's the pity. He maws them down as the gerse on the field, an' as a thing fa's in time it maun lie through a' eternity, ye ken. It is a hard compensa- tion this. But it shaws the workings of man, and the end of a' things is at hand. We maun e'en be preparing, lad, and do the best we can for a good up-pitting. ' ' ' I said something to Yiddie that he was a hantle the better o'. 'Yiddie,' says I, 'do you expect to mix vri' the auld Jews i' the neist warld '] ' ' What has put that i' your head 1 ' quo' he.' ' Because I dinna see how reading that lang catalogue o' names,' quo' I, 'can prepare ye for death or for another warld, unless ye expect to meet wi' a' the auld Jews that came back frae Babylon, and wish to be able to name ilka chap by his ain name. I'll teU ye what wad be as -ndselike, Yiddie. If ye wad repent o' a' your sins, and beg forgiveness and mercy at the throne o' grace, it would be as likely to gain you acceptance wi' Heaven as putting on a grave face, and spelling ower a string o' auld warld names. But gie us a' the particulars o' this hard compensation, Yiddie. Has the doctor no been able to restore your mistress to Ufe*' " ' Na na, lad, he wad be a wice doctor could do that; an' muckle sale he wad get; an' oh sic a bene- fit he wad be to man !' (I heard Yiddie didna like to die at a'. ) ' But as to our mistress that's gane, honest woman I there was nae doctor to be had, an' it was a' ane for that, for she was past redemption. I said there was nae mair hope after she fell into the second fit; an' neither there was; but the good- man wad be hoping against nature an' reason. After a', I dinna wonder muckle at it; for it was an awfu thing to see a wraith.' " 'Did she indeed see something that couldna be accounted for, Yiddie (' said I, 'and was that the immediate cause of her death V '"There's nae doubt but it was the cause o' her death,' said he, 'althougli the minister is sae dafts as to say that she had been affectit wi' the trouble afore, an' that had made her believe that she saw the shape o' her neighbour gaun at her side. But ony body kens that's nonsense. Thae ministers, they will aye pretend to be wicer nor ither fouk, an' the feint a sperk o' sense they ken ava, but just rhaini, rhaim, rhaiming aye the same thing ower again, like gouks i' June. But as to accounting for the thing, that's what I canna say naething about. She saw Tibby Johnston's wruith; but whether a wraith can be rightly accountit for or no, is mair nor I can persoom. ' " ' I can account for it very wcel, Yiddie,' says I, 'and I'll do it to set your mind at rest about that, for I hae heard it explained by my ain mother, and several cunning old people. Wraiths are of twa kinds, you see. They appear always immediately before death, or immediately after it. Now when a wraith is seen before death, that is a spirit sent to conduct the dying person to its new dwelling, in the same way as the Earl o' Hopetoun there, for instance, wad send a servant to conduct a stranger to his house at Rae-hill that had never been there before. These are sometimes good, and sometimes bad spirits, just according to the tenor of the person's life that lies on the bed o' death. And sometimes the deil mistakes himsel, and a spirit o' baith kinds comes : as, for instance, when Jean Swiuton departit, there was a white dow sat on the ae end o' the house, an' a corby on the ither ; but when the death psalm was sung, the corby flew away. Now, when the wraith appears after death, that's the soul o' the deceased, that gets liberty to appear to the ane of a' its acquaint- ances that is the soonest to follow it ; and it does that just afore it leaves this world for the last time ; and that's the true doctrine o' wraiths,' says I, 'and we should a' profit by it. ' '"Hech wow, man, but that's wonderfu'!' says he ; ' how do ye come to ken sicken things sae young ! Weel, of a' things i' the world I Avad like warst to see a wraith. But your doctrine hands very fair in this case ; for you see our mistress gaed away up to Matthew's house yestreen to see Tibby after she cam hame frae the mercat, for she was to bring her some word that deeply concerned her. Weel, she stayed there till the gloaming, and as Tibby wasna like to come hame, she came away, saying, 'She wad sec her the morn. ' " ' Ay, sae she will, Y'iddie, sae she will ! ' says I. ' But little did she ken, when she said sae, that she was to see her in a country sae far away.' 'It is a queer warld this,' said Yiddie. ' Howsomever I'll gang on wi' my story, as I dinna want to dive into 188 TIBBY JOHNSTON'S WRAITH. morality o'en now. Weel, as I was saying, she comes her ways; but in her road hamcward, ere ever she wist, saw Tibby gaiin twa or three steps afore her, and at the aff side o' the road, as if she had gaen by without tenting her. She had on her Sun- day chies, and appeared to hue a heavy Ijurden on her back, and she was gaun rather like ane dementit. The mistress then cried after her, 'Tiblty, is that you ] I think you're come by your ain house the night.' It made nae an.«wer, but postit on; and turned a wee aff the road and fell down. Our mis- tress made a' the haste down to the place that she could, still thinking it was Tibby Johnston hcrscl, and she was gaun to lift her, and see what was the matter; but when she came to the spot there was nothing there, and no living creature to be seen. She was nae frightit that time at a' ; but, thinking she hadna seen distinctly, she lookit a' round about her, and cried out several times, 'Tibby, M'hat's come o' you ? Avhere away arc ye gane T or something to that purpose. But neither seeing nor hearing ought, she came back to the road, and held on her way. In less than three minutes after that, she saw Tibby gaun before her again, but still mair unsettled and distressed like than she Mas afore. The mistress didna speak that time, for she thought something was the matter wi' her, but she walked as fast as she i ye shall Min farther the day.' He was obliged to Her delirium increased, and forced her again lo a little bodily exertion, but it soon came to an end, and she fell into that sleep from which a' the atten- dants and a' the doctors in the warld could not have awaked her again. She's now lying a strcckit corpse in her ain bed, and the goodman, I fear, will gang out o' his right mind.' " Yiddie didna just tell it sae wcel, or sae pro- perly as that, but that was the subject matter. I came my way hame right douf an' heavy-hearted, for I had gotten a lesson read to me that I never could forget. "<)n the Saturday afore the twa burials, I was down at the road-side afore the sheep as usual, and there I sees Wat Scott coming galloping faster than ever. When he saw me he laid on his horse, think- ing to get by ere I wan on the road, but I was afore him ; and, fearing I couldna stop him otherwise, I brought my coat-tails o'er my head, and cowered afore him on the middle o' the road. Nae horse nor dog in the world will face ane in that guise, and in a moment Wat was galloping faster up the water than before he was doing down. But, goodness, as he was flyting and banning at me ! "'Wat, just 'light aff your beast feasible like,' says I, 'and lead it down the path, else never a foot could to come up wi' her, and thought aye she was winning some ground. At length she saw her drap down again on her face, and she thought she fell like ane that was never to rise again. On this our mistress gae a loud scream, and ran up to the spot, but there was nobody there. '"She saw nae mair, but came hame by hersel, and wonderfu' it was how she was able to come hame. As soon as she came in and saw the light she fainted, and gaed out o' ae fainting fit into anither the hale night, and was in great distress and horror o' mind. A' the servants o' the house sat up wi' her, and about day she fell into a quiet sleep. When she awakened she was a good deal composed, and we had hopes that she would soon be quite better, and the goodman went to a bed to get some rest. By ill luck, havering Jean Jinkens came in about nine o'clock to see the mistress, and ere ever ane could prevent her, tauld that Tibby Johnston had died out on the hill the last night ; and that her husband had found her this morning lying cauld and lifeless, wi' her burden on her back, and her face on the ground. '"This intelligence threw Mrs. Graham into a stupor, or rather she appeared striving to compre- hend something that was beyond the grasp of her mind. She uttered some half-articulate prayers, and then fell into a complete franazy, which increased every minute to a terrible degree, till her strength was clean gane, and she sank back lifeless on the bed. After muckle exertion by her attendants, she revived, but she wasna like hersel; her voice was altered, and her features couldna hae been kend. comply, and I questioned him what was the matter, and if he was riding for the doctor again '> '"Doctor, man! od bless your heart, it's ten times waur than the doctor this. There never was sic a job, sir, sin' this world stood up. Never. I do not see, for my part, what's to come o' folk. I think people be infatuate ! Bless you, sir, you never knew sic a business in your life. A' things are gawn to utter confusion now." " ' What is it, Wat, man ] AVhat is it ?' ' ' ' What is it ! Bless my soul, man, did you no hear 1 you never heard, sir, sic a business all your life. What think ye, the confounded idiot of a wright has done, but made our mistress' coffin so short that she canna get a foot into it. There never was sic a job seen in this country. Lord, sir, she'll never look intil't ! ' '"It is a very awkward and disagreeable job in- deed, Wat,' says I, 'and highly reprehensible ; but I should think, by using a little art, it might still answer. ' ' ' ' The thing is impossible, sir ! perfectly impos- sible ! The man must be a blockhead ! Bless your heart, sir, she'll never keek into it. Disagreeable ! Ay, there never was ought in the least like it. There, think of it — this is Saturday — the morn's the burial day. I wadna wonder but I hae a coffin to tak hame afore me the night after dark. It's enough to put ony man alive out o' his judgment. I think the folk be a' gane mad and stupid thegither.' "Wat galloped away from me, actually crying with perplexity, and exclaiming, that there never luas sic a job kend i' the world. The burials were 189 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. baith in the kirkyard on the Sabbath-day, at the game time:— and that is the hale story o' Tibby Johnston's wraith, my little man, sae aften spoken about in this country. When ye come to my time o' life, ye may be telling it to Homebody, »nd, if they should misljelieve it, you may eay that you heard it from auld Davie Proudffx»t'B ain moatb, and he was never kcnd for a liar. " A STORY OF GOOD QUEEX BESS. It is a fact well known to those versed in the annals of illustrious British families, that, after the death of Mary Queen of Scots, there was still an- other accomplished young lady, who was an only child, and so nearly related to both the English and Scottish crowns that Elizabeth became restlessly jealous of her, and consulted with the timid James by what means the young lady might be prevented from having a legitimate offspring. James, enter- ing keenly into the same feelings, urged Elizabeth to claim her as a royal ward, and then, having her under her own eye, she might readily find means, on some plausible pretence or other, to prevent her from marrying. Elizabeth acquiesced, and forth- with sent a message to that effect. The young lady, little knowing with whom she had to do, would willingly have gone to the court of her cousin, the English queen ; but neither her mother, step-father, nor guardian, would permit it. And though the answer they returned to the queen was humble and subservient, there was one intimation in it which cut Elizabeth to the heart, and prompted her to the most consummate means of revenge; it was, that the young lady was placed by her father's will under noble guardians in Scotland, who would not suffer the sole owner of two earldoms, and the presump- tive heir of two crowns, to be removed from under their charge. This roused the jealousy of the old vixen into perfect delirium, and from that moment she resolved on having the young lady cut off privately. These being known and established facts, the fol- lowing story will easily be traced by a few to the real actors and sufferers ; but, at the same time, I judge it incumbent on me to change the designation of the family and of the castle in some degree, that the existing relatives, numerous and noble, may not be apparent to every reader. Shortly after this message, there came into Scot- land, by King James's permission, a party of Eng- lishmen, with a stud of fine horses for sale. They lingered in the vicinity of Acremoor Castle (as we shall denominate it) for a good while, showing their fine horses here and there; and one of them, on pretence of exhibiting a fine Spanish jennet to the young lady, got admittance to the castle, and had several conversations with the mother and daughter, both together and separately. At the same period, there came to a farm-booae on the Acremoor estate, late one evening, « gjngular old woman, who pretended to be subject to fits, to be able to tell fortunes, and pre