GIFT OF SEELEY W. MUDD and GEORGE I. COCHRAN MEYER ELSASSER DR. JOHN R. HAYNES WILLIAM L. HONNOLD JAMES R. MARTIN MRS. JOSEPH F.SARTORI to the UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SOUTHERN BRANCH 9tl V/ils on - 1 son's Ta les of bord e rs and _ of ojLland , date stamped below (G9U WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS, AND OF SCOTLAND. WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS AXD OF SCOTLAND. HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, AND IMAGINATIVE. REVISED BY ALEXANDER LEIGH TON. LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE, Paternoster Row. 1887- id • • •• ■••• .. .... • • • i 5833 CONTENTS. PAGE The Vacant Chair (John Mackay JVilson) 1 The Faa's Revenge (John Mackay Wilson) 18 Kate Kennedy (Alexander Ltighton) 50 Recollections of Ferguson (Hugh Miller) 83 The Disasters of Johnny Armstrong (Alexander Campbell) 128 The Professor's Tales — (Professor Thomas Gillespie) : — The Mountain Storm 160 The Fair Maid of Cellardykes 172 Prescription: or, The 29th of September... (Alex.Leighton ) 193 The Countess of Wistonbury (Ah cander Campbell) 225 Midside Maggie; or, The Bannock o' Tollishill— (John Mackay Wilson 257 A Wife or the Wuddy (John Mackay Wilson) 1 Lord Durie and Christie's Will (Alexander Ltighton) 33 Recollections of Burns (Hugh Miller) 65 The Professor's Tales Professor Thomas Gillespie) — The Con vi vi a lists 122 * Philips Grey HI Donald Gorm ( i7exander Campbdl) 155 The Surgeon's Tales (Alexander Leigh Ion) The Cured Ingrate 188 The Adopted Son (John Mack as generous, and as free. Nine fair children sat around vheir domestic hearth, and one, the youngling of •4 TALES OE THE BORDERS. the flock, smiled upon its mother's knee. Peter had never known sorrow ; he was blest in his wife, in his children, in his flocks. He had become richer than his fathers. He was beloved by his neighbours, the tillers of his ground, and his herdsmen; yea, no man envied his prosperity. But a blight passed over the harvest of his joys, and gall was rained into the cup of his felioity. It was Christmas-day, and a more melancholy-looking sun never rose on the 25th of December. One vast, sable cloud, like a universal pall, overspread the heavens. For weeks, the ground had been covered with clear, dazzling snow ; and as, throughout the day, the rain continued its unwearied and monotonous drizzle, the earth assumed a character and appearance melancholy and troubled as the heavens. Like a mastiff that has lost its owner, the wind howled dolefully down the glens, and was re-echoed from the caves of the mountains, as the lamentations of a legion of invisible spirits. The. frowning, snow-clad precipices ivere instinct with motion, as avalanche upon avalanche, the larger burying the less, crowded downward in their tremendous journey to the plain. The simple mountain rills had assumed the majesty of rivers; the broader streams were swollen into the wild torrent, and, gushing forth as cataracts, in fury and in foam, enveloped the valleys in an angry flood. But, at Marchlaw, the fire blazed blithely ; the kitchen groaned beneath the load of preparations for a joy fid feast • and glad faces glided from room to room. Peter Elliot kept Christmas, not so umch because it was Christinas, as in honour of its being the birthday of Thomas, his first-born, who, that day, entered his nineteenth year. With a father's love, his heart yearned for all his children; but Thomas was the pride of his eyes. Cards of apology had not then found their way among our Border hills ; and as all knew that, although Peter admitted no spirits within his threshold, nor a drunkard at his table, he was, never THE VACANT CHAIR. theless, no niggard in his hospitality, his invitations wore accepted without ceremony. The guests were assembled ; and the kitchen being the only apartment in the building- large enough to contain them, the cloth was spread upon a long, clear, oaken table, stretching from England into Scot- land. On the English end of the board were placed a ponderous plum-pudding, studded with temptation, and u smoking sirloin ; on Scotland, a savoury and well-seasoned haggis, with a sheep's-head and trotters ; while the inter- mediate space was filled with the good things of this life, common to both kingdoms and to the season. The guests from the north and from the south were arranged promiscuously. Every seat was filled— save one. The chair by Peter's right hand remained unoccupied. Ha had raised his hands before his eyes, and besought a bless- ing on what was placed before them, and was preparing to carve for his visitors, when his eyes fell upon the vacant chair. The knife dropped upon the table. Anxiety flashed across his countenance, like an arrow from an unseen hand. " Janet, where is Thomas ?" he inquired ; " hae nane o' ye seen him ?" and, without waiting an answer, he con- tinued — " How is it possible he can be absent at a time like this ? And on such a day, too ? Excuse me a minute, friends, till I just step out. and see if I can find him. Since ever I kept this day, as mony o' ye ken, he has always been at my right hand, in that very chair ; and I cann i think o' beginning our dinner while I see it empty." " If the filling of the chair be all," said a pert young sheep-farmer, named Johnson, "I will step into it till Master Thomas arrive." " Ye're not afaither, young man," said Peter, and walked out of the room. Minute succeeded minute, but Peter returned not. The guests became hungry, peevish, and gloomy, while an ex- cellent dinner continued spoiling before them. Mrs. Elliot, b TALES OF THE BORDERS. whose good-nature was the most prominent feature in hei character, strove, by every possible effort, to beguile the unpleasant impressions she perceived gathering upon their countenances. " Peter is just as bad as him," she remarked, " to hae gane to seek him when he kenned the dinner wouldna keep. And I'm sure Thomas kenned it would be ready at one o'clock to a minute. It's sae unthinking and unfriendly like to keep folk waiting." And, endeavouring to smile upon a beautiful black-haired girl of seventeen, who sat by her elbow, she continued in an anxious whisper — " Did ye see naething o' him, Elizabeth, hinny ?" The maiden blushed deeply ; the question evidently gave freedom to a tear, which had, for some time, been an un- willing prisoner in the brightest eyes in the room ; and the monosyllable, " No," that trembled from her lips, was audible only to the ear of the inquirer. In vain Mrs. Elliot despatched one of her children after another, in quest of their father and brother ; they came and went, but brought no tidings more cheering than the moaning of the hollow wind. Minutes rolled into hours, yet neither came. She perceived the prouder of her guests preparing to withdraw, and, observing that "Thomas's absence was so sin^idar ud unaccountable, and so unlike either him or his father, she didna ken what apology to make to her friends for such treatment; but it was needless waiting, and begged they wo lid use no ceremony, but just begin." No second invitation was necessary. Good humour ap- peared to be restored, and sirloins, pies, pasties, and moor- fowl began to disappear like the lost son. For a moment, Mis. Klliut apparently partook in the restoration of cheer- fulness ; but a low sigh at Iter elbow again drove the colour from her xosy checks. Her eye wandered to the farther end of the table, and rested on the unoccupied seat of her husband, and the vacant chair of her first-born. Tier heart THE VACANT CnAIIt 7 fell heavily within her ; all the mother gushed into her bosom ; and, rising from the table, " What in the world can be the meaning o' this?" said she, as she hurried, with a troubled countenance, towards the door. Her husband met her on the threshold. " Where hae ye been, Peter ?" said she, eagerly ; " hae ye s en naething o' him ?" "Naething ! naething !" replied he ; " is he no cast up yet ?" And, with a melancholy glance, his eyes sought an answ er in the deserted chair. His lips quivered, his tongue falte ed. " *ude forgie me !" said he ; " and such %. day for even an enemy to be out in ! I've been tip and doun every way that I can think on, but not a living creature has seen or heard tell o' him. Ye'll excuse me, neebors," he added, leavir g the house ; " I must awa again, for I canna rest," " 1 ken by mysel', friends," said Adam Bell, a decent- looki g Northumbrian, " that a faither's heart is as sensi- tive as the apple o' his e'e ; and I think we would show a want o' natural sympathy and respect for our worthy neigh- bour, if we didna every one get his foot into the stirrup without loss o' time, and assist him in his search. For, in my rough, country way o' thinking, it must be something particularly out o' the common that would tempt Thomas to be amissing. Indeed, I needna say tempt, for there could be n inclination in the way. And our hills," he concluded, in a lower tone, " are not ower chancy in other respects, besi es the breaking up o' the storm." " Oh I" said Mrs. Elliot, wringing her hands, " I have aad the coming o' this about me for days and days. My head was growing dizzy with happiness, but thoughts came stealing upon me like ghosts, and I felt a lonely soughing about my heart, without being able to tell the cause ; but the cause is come at last ! And my dear Thomas — the very pride and staff o' my life — is lost ! — lost to me for ever !" 8 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " I ken, Mrs. Elliot," replied the Northumbrian, " it is an easy matter to say compose yourself, for them that dinna ken what it is to feel. But, at the same time, in our plain, country way o' thinking, we are always ready to believe the worst. Fve often heard my father say, and I've as often remarked it myself, that, before anything happens to a body, there is a something comes ower them, like a cloud befoi'e the face o' the sun; a sort o' dumb whispering about the breast from the other world. And though I trust there is naething o' the kind in your case, yet, as you observe, when I find myself growing dizzy, as it were, with happiness, it makes good a saying o' my mother's, poor body ! ' Bairns, bairns,' she used to say, ' there is ower muckle singing in your heads to-night ; we will have a shower before bedtime.' And I never, in my born days, saw it fail." At any other period, Mr. Bell's dissertation on presenti- ments would have been found a fitting text on which to hang all the dreams, wraiths, warnings, and marvellous circumstances, that had been handed down to the com- pany from the days of their grandfathers ; but, in the present instance, they were too much occupied in con- sultation regarding the different routes to be taken in their search. Twelve horsemen, and some half-dozen pedestrians, were seen hurrying in divers directions from Marchlaw, as the last faint lights of a melancholy day were yielding to the heavy darkness which appeared pressing in solid masses down the sides of the mountains. The wives and daugh- ters of the party were alone left with the disconsolate mother, who alternately pressed her weeping children to her heart, and told them to weep not, for their brother would soon return; while the tears stole down her own cheeks, and the infant in her arms wept because its mother wept. Her friends strove with each other to inspire hope, THE VACANT CHAIR. 9 and poured upon her ear their mingled and loquacious consolation. But one remained silent. The daughter ol Adam Bell, who sat by Mrs. Elliot's elbow at table, had shrunk into an obscure corner of the room. Before her face she held a handkerchief wet with tears. Her bosom throbbed convulsively ; and, as occasionally her broken sighs burst from their prison-house, a significant whisper passed among the younger part of the company. Mrs. Elliot approached her, and taking her hand ten- derly within both of hers — " O hinny ! hinny ! " said she, " yer sighs gae through my heart like a knife ! An' what can I do to comfort ye ? Come, Elizabeth, my bonny love, let us hope for the best. Ye see before ye a sorrowin' mother 1 — a mother that fondly hoped to see you an' — I canna say it 1 — an' am ill qualified to gie comfort, when my own heart is like a furnace ! ' But, oh ! let us try and remember the blessed portion, ' Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth,' an' inwardly pray for strength to say, ' His will be done ! ' " Time stole on towards midnight, and one by one the unsuccessful party returned. As foot after foot ap- proached, every breath was held to listen. " No, no, no I " cried the mother again and again, with increasing anguish, " it's no the foot o' my ain bairn ; " while her keen gaze still remained riveted upon the door, and was not with- drawn, nor the hope of despair relinquished, till the indi- vidual entered, and, with a silent and ominous shake of his head, betokened his fruitless efforts. The clock had struck twelve ; all were returned save the father. The wind howled more wildly ; the rain poured upon the windows in ceaseless torrents ; and the roaring of the mountain rivers gave a character of deeper ghostliness to their sepulchral silence ; for they sat, each wrapt in fore- bodings, listening to the storm; and no sounds were heard, save the groans of the mother, the weeping of her children, 10 TALES OF THE BORDERS. and the bitter and broken sobs of the bereaved maiden, who leaned her head upon her father's bosom, refusing to be comforted. At length the barking of the farm-dog announced foot- steps at a distance. Every ear was raised to listen, every eye turned to the door; but, before the tread was yet audi- ble to the listeners — " Oh 1 it is only Peter's foot 1 " said the miserable mother, and, weeping, rose to meet him. " Janet, Janet ! " he exclaimed, as he entered, and threw his arms around her neck, " what's this come upon us at last V " He cast an inquisitive glance around his dwelling, and a convulsive shiver passed over his manly frame, as his eye again fell on the vacant chair, which no one had ven- tured to occupy. Hour succeeded hour, but the company separated not,- and low, sorrowful whispers mingled with the lamentations of the parents. " Neighbours," said Adam Bell, " the morn is a new day, and we will wait to see what it may bring forth ; but, in the meantime, let us read a portion o' the Divine word, an' kneel together in prayer, that, whether or not the day- dawn cause light to shine upon this singular bereavement, the Sun o' Righteousness may arise wi' healing on his wings, upon the hearts o' this afflicted family, an' upon the hearts o' all present." "Amen!" responded Peter, wringing his hands; and his friend, taking down the Ha' Bible, read the chapter wherein it is written — " It is better to be in the house of mourning than in the house of feasting;" and again the portion which sayeth — "It is well for me that I have been afflicted, for before I was afflicted I went astray." Tlie morning came, but brought no tidings of the lost son. After a solemn farewell, all the visitants, save Adam Bell and his daughter, returned every one to their own ho^se; and the disconsolate father, with his servants, acrnin TTTE VACANT CHATR. 11 renewed their search among the hills and surrounding villages. Days, weeks, months, and years rolled on. Time had subdued the anguish of the parents into a holy calm; but their lost first-born was not forgotten, although no trace of his fate had been discovered. The general belief was, that he had perished on the breaking up of the snow ; and the few in whose remembrance he still lived, merely spoke of his death as a " very extraordinary circumstance," re- marking that " he was a wild, venturesome sort o' lad." Christinas had succeeded Christmas, and Peter Elliot still kept it in commemoration of the birthday of him who was not. For the first few years after the loss of their son, sadness and silence characterized the party who sat down to dinner at Marchlaw, and still at Peter's right hand was placed the vacant chair. But, as the younger branches of the family advanced in years, the remembrance of their brother became less poignant. Christmas was, with all around them, a day of rejoicing, and they began to make merry with their friends ; while their parents partook in their enjoyment, with a smile, half of approval and half of sorrow. Twelve years had passed away ; Christmas had again come. It was the counterpart of its fatal predecessor. The hills had not yet cast off their summer verdure ; the sun, although shorn of its heat, had lost none of its bright- ness or glory, and looked clown upon the earth as though participating in its gladness ; and the clear blue sky was tranquil as the sea sleeping beneath the moon. Many visitors had again assembled at Marchlaw. The sons of Mr. Elliot, and the young men of the party, were assem- bled upon a level green near the house, amusing them- selves with throwing the hammer, and other Border games, while himself and the elder guests stood by as •spectators, recounting the deeds of their yoxxth. Johnson, 12 TALES OF THE BORDERS. the sheep- farmer, whom we have already mentioned, notf a brawny and gigantic fellow of two-and-thirty, bore away in every game the palm from all competitors. More than once, as Peter beheld his sons defeated, he felt the spirit of youth glowing in his veins, and, " Oh 1 " muttered he, In bitterness, "had my Thomas been spared to me, he would hae thrown his heart's bluid after the hammer, before he would hae been beat by e'er a Johnson in the country I" While he thus soliloquized, and with difficulty re- strained an impulse to compete with the victor himself, a dark, foreign-looking, strong-built seaman, unceremoni- ously approached, and, with his arms folded, cast a look of contempt upon the boasting conqueror. Every eye was turned with a scrutinizing glance upon the stranger. In height he could not exceed five feet nine, but his whole frame was the model of muscular strength ; his features open and manly, but deeply sunburnt and weather-beaten; his long, glossy, black hair, curled into ringlets by the breeze and the billow, fell thickly over his temples and forehead; and whiskers of a similar hue, more conspicuous for size than elegance, gave a character of fierceness to a countenance otherwise possessing a striking impress of manly beauty. Without asking permission, he stepped forward, lifted the hammer, and, swinging it around his head, hurled it upwards of five yards beyond Johnson's most successful throw. " Well done ! " shouted the aston- ished spectators. The heart of Peter Elliot warmed within him, and he was hurrying forward to grasp the stranger by the hand, when the words groaned in Lis throat, " It was just such a throw as my Thomas would have made ! — my own lost Thomas ! " The tears burst into his eyes, and, without speaking, he turned back, and hurried towards the house to conceal his emotion. Successively, at every game, the stranger had defeated. The vacant chair. 13 all who ventured to oppose liim, when a messenger an- nounced that dinner waited their arrival. Some of the guests were already seated, others entering ; and, as here- tofore, placed beside Mrs. Elliot was Elizabeth Bell, still in the noontide of her beauty; but sorrow had passed over her features, like a veil before the countenance of an angel. Johnson, crest-fallen and out of humour at his defeat, seated himself by her side. In early life he had regarded Thomas Elliot as a rival for her affections ; and, stimulated by the knowledge that Adam Bell would be able to bestow several thousands upon his daughter for a dowry, he yet prosecuted his attentions with unabated assiduity, in despite of the daughter's aversion and the coldness of her father. Peter hud taken his place at the table ; and still by his side, unoccupied and sacred, appeared the vacant chair, the chair of his first-born, whereon none had sat since his mysterious death or dis- appearance. " Bairns," said he, " did nane o' ye ask the sailor to come up and tak a bit o' dinner wi' us ? " " We were afraid it might lead to a quarrel with Mr. Johnson," whispered one of the sons. "He is come without asking," replied the stranger, entering ; " and the wind shall blow from a new point if I destroy the mirth or happiness of the company." " Ye're a stranger, young man," said Peter, " or ye would ken this is no a meeting o' mirth-makers. But, 1 assure ye, ye are welcome, heartily welcome. Haste ye, lasses," he added to the servants; "some o' ye get a chair for the gentleman." "Gentleman, indeed!" muttered Johnson between his teeth. " Never mind about a chair, my hearties," said the sea- man ; " this will do ! " And, before Peter could speak to withhold him, he had thrown himself carelessly into the 14 TALES OF THE BORDERS. hallowed, the venerated, the twelve-years-unoccupied chair! The spirit of sacrilege uttering blasphemies from a pulpit could not have smitten a congregation of pious worship- pers with deeper horror and consternation, than did this filling of the vacant chair the inhabitants of Marchlaw. "Excuse me, sir! excuse me, sir!" said Peter, the words trembling upon his tongue ; " but ye cannot — ye cannot sit there ! " " O man ! man ! " cried Mrs. Elliot, " get out o' that ! get out o' that ! — take my chair ! — take ony chair i' the house ! — but dinna, dinna sit there ! It has never been sat in by mortal being since the death o' my dear bairn ! — and to see it rilled by another is a thing I carina endure ! " " Sir I sir ! " continued the father, " ye have done it through ignorance, and we excuse ye. But that was my Thomas's seat! Twelve years this very day— his birth- day—he perished, Heaven kens how ! He went out from our sight, like the cloud that passes over the hills — never — never to return. And, sir, spare a father's feelings ! for to see it filled -wrings the blood from my heart ! " " Give me your hand, my worthy soul ! " exclaimed the seaman ; " I revere— nay, hang it ! I would die for your feelings I But Tom Elliot was my friend, and I cast an- chor in this chair by special commission. I know that a sudden broadside of joy is a bad thing ; but, as I don't know how to preach a sermon before telling you, all I have to say is — that Tom an't dead." "Not dead!" said Peter, grasping the hand of the stranger, and speaking with an eagerness that almost choked his utterance: "Osir! sir! tell me how!— howl — Did ye say, living? — Is my ain Thomas living? " "Not dead, do ye say?" cried Mrs. Elliot, hurrying to- wards him and grasping his other hand — "not dead! And shall I see my bairn again? Oh ! may the blessing o' Heaven, and the blessing o' a broken-hearted mothei THE VACANT CHAIR. 16 be upon the bearer o' the gracious tidings! But tell me — tell me, how is it possible ! As ye would expect happiness here or hereafter, dinna, dinna deceive me ! " " Deceive you ! " returned the stranger, grasping, with impassioned earnestness, their hands in his — "Never! — never I and all I can say is — Tom Elliot is alive and hearty." " No, no I " said Elizabeth, rising from her seat, " he does not deceive us ; there is that in his countenance which bespeaks a falsehood impossible." And she also endeavoured to move towards him, when Johnson threw his arm around her to withhold her. " Hands off, you land-lubber ! " exclaimed the seaman, springing towards them, " or, shiver me ! I'll show day- light through your timbers in the turning of a hand- spike ! " And, clasping the lovely girl in his arms, " Betty 1 Betty, my love I " he cried, " don't you know your own Tom ? Father, mother, don't you know me ? Have you really forgot your own son ? If twelve years have made some change on his face, his heart is sound as ever." His father, his mother, and his brothers, clung around him, weeping, smiling, and mingling a hundred questions together. He threw his arms around the neck of each, and in answer. to their inquiries, replied — "Weill well! there is time enough to answer questions, but not to-day — not to-day ! " " No, my bairn," said his mother, " we'll ask you no questions — nobody shall ask you any 1 But how — how were ye torn away from us, my love ? And, hinny ! where — where hae you been ? " " It's a long story, mother," said he, " and would take a w r eek to tell it. But, howsoever, to make a long story short, you remember when the smugglers were pursued, and wished to conceal their brandy in our house, my 16 TALES OF THE BORDERS. father prevented them ; they left muttering revenge — and they have been revenged. This day twelve years, I went out with the intention of meeting Elizabeth and her father, when I came upon a party of the gang concealed in Hell's Hole. In a moment half a dozen pistols were held to my breast, and, tying my hands to my sides, they dragged me into the cavern. Here I had not been long their prisoner, when the snow, rolling down the mountains, almost totally blocked up its mouth. On the second night they cut through the snow, and, hurrying me along with them, 1 was bound to a horse between two, and, before daylight, found myself stowed, like a piece of old junk, in the hold of a smuggling lugger. Within a week I was shipped on board a Dutch man-of-war, and for six years was kept dodging about on different stations, till our old yawning hulk received orders to join the fleet, which was to fight against the gallant Duncan at Camperdown. To think of fighting against my own countrymen, my own flesh and blood, was worse than to be cut to pieces by a cat-o'-nine tails ; and, under cover of the smoke of the first broadside, I sprang upon the gunwale, plunged into the sea, and «\vam for the English fleet. Never, never shall I forget die moment that my feet first trode upon the deck of a British frigate! My nerves felt as firm as her oak, and my heart free as the pennant that waved defiance from her masthead ! I was as active as any one during the battle; and when it was over, and I found myself again among my own countrymen, and all speaking my own language, I fancied — nay, hang it ! 1 almost believed— I should meet my father, my mother, or my dear Bess, on board of the British frigate. I expected to see you all again in a few weeks at farthest ; but, instead of returning to Old England, before I was aware, I found it was helm about with us. As to writing, I never had an opportunity but once. We were anchored before a French fort; t\ THE VACANT CHAIR. 17 packet was lying alongside ready to sail ; I had half a side written, and was scratching my head to think how I should come over writing about you, Bess, my love, when, as b;id luck would have it, our lieutenant comes to me, and says he, ' Elliot,' says he, ' I know you like a little smart service; come, my lad, take the head oar, wbila we board some of those French bumb-boats under the batteries ! ' I couldn't say no. We pulled ashore, made a bonfire of one of their craft, and were setting fire to a second, whr-n a deadly shower of small shot from the garrison scuttled our boat, killed our commanding officer with half of the crew, and the few who were left of us were made prisoners. It is of no use bothering you by telling how we escaped from French prison. We did escape ; and Tom will once more fill his vacant chair." Should any of our readers wish farther acquaintance with our friends, all we can say is, the new year was still young when Adam Bell bestowed his daughter's hand upon the heir of Marchlaw, and Peter beheld the once vacant chair again occupied, and a namesake ot the third generation prattling uu his knef l& TALES OF THE BORDERS. THE FAA'S REVENGE. A TALE OP THE BORDER GIPSIES. Brown October was drawing to a close — the breeze had acquired a degree of sharpness too strong to be merely termed bracing — and the fire, as the saying is, was becom- ing the best flower in the garden — for the hardiest and the latest plants had either shed their leaves, or their flowers had shrivelled at the breath of approaching winter — when a stranger drew his seat towards the parlour fire of the Three-Half-Moons inn, in Rothbury. He had sat for the space of half an hour when a party entered, who, like him- self (as appeared from their conversation), were strangers, or rather visitors of the scenery, curiosities, and antiquities in the vicinity. One of them having ordered the waiter to bring each of them a glass of brandy and warm water, without appearing to notice the presence of the first men- tioned stranger, after a few remarks on the objects of in- terest in the neighbourhood, the following conversation took place amongst them: — "Why," said one, "but even Rothbury here, secluded so, it is from the world, and shut out from the daily intercourse of men, is a noted place. It was here that the ancient and famous northern bard and unrivalled ballad writer, Ber- nard Rumney, was born, bred, and died. Here, too, was born l)r. Brown, who, like Young and Home, united the characters of divine and dramatist, and was the author of 1 Barbarossaf ' The Cure of Said,' and other works, of which posterity and his country are proud. The immediate neighbourhood, also, was the birth-place of the inspired THE FAA'S REVENGE. 19 boy, the heaven-taught mathematician, George Coughran, who knew no rival, and who bade fair to eclipse the glory of Newton, but whom death struck down ere he had reached the years of manhood." "Why, I can't tell," said another; "I don't know much about what you've been talking of; but I know, for one thing, that Rothbuiy was a famous place for every sort of games; and, at Fastren's E'en times, the rule Avas, every male inhabitant above eight years of age to pay a shilling, or out to the foot-ball. It was noted for its game-cocks, too — they were the best breed on the Borders." " May be so," said the first speaker; " but though I should be loath to see the foot-ball, or any other innocent game which keeps up a manly spirit, put down, yet I do trust that the brutal practice of cock-fighting will be abolished, not only on the Borders, but throughout every country which professes the name of Christian; and I rejoice that the practice is falling into disrepute. But, although my hairs are not yet honoured with the silver tints of age, I am old enough to remember, that, when a boy at school on the Scottish side of the Border, at every Fastren's E'en which you have spoken of, every schoolboy was expected to pro- vide a cock for the battle, or main, and the teacher or his deputy presided as umpire. The same practice prevailed on the southern Border. It is a very old, savage amuse- ment, even in this country; and perhaps the preceptors of youth, in former days, considered it classical, and that it would instil into their pupils sentiments of emulation; in- asmuch as the practice is said to have taken rise from Themistocles perceiving two cocks tearing at and fighting with each other, while marching his army against the Per- sians, when he called upon his soldiers to observe them, and remarked that they neither fought for territory, defence of country, nor for glory, but they fought because the one would not yield to, or be defeated by the other; and he 20 TALES OF THE BORDERS. desired his soldiers to take a moral lesson from the barn- door fowls. Cock-fighting thus became among the heathen Greeks a political piecept and a religious observance — and the Christian inhabitants of Britain, disregarding the reli- gious and political moral, kept' up the practice, adding to it more disgusting barbarity, for their amusement." " Coom," said a third, who, from his tongue, appeared to be a thorough Northumbrian, " we wur talking about Roth- bury, but you are goin' to give us a regular sarmin on cock-fighting. Let's hae none o' that. You was saying what clever chaps had been born here — but none o' ye mentioned Jamie Allan, the gipsy and Northumberland piper, who was born here as weel as the best o' them. But I hae beard that Eothbury, as weel as Yetholm and Tweed- mouth Moor, was a great resort for the Faa or gipsy gangs in former times. Now, I understand that thae folk were a sort o' bastard Egyptians ; and though I am nae scholar, it strikes me forcibly that the meaning o' the word gipsies, is just Egypts, or Gypties — a contraction and corruption o' Gyptian /" " Gipsies," said he who spoke of Eumney and Brown, and abused the practice of cock-fighting, " still do in some degree, and formerly did in great numbers, infest this county; and I will tell you a story concerning them." "Do so," said the thorough Northumbrian; "I like a story when it's weel put thegither. The gipsies were queer folk. I've heard my farther tell many a funny thing about fhem, when he used to whistle 'Felton Loanin,' which was made by awd piper Allan— Jamie's faither." And here the speaker struck up a lively air, which, to the stranger by the fire, seemed a sort of parody on the well-known tu of " Johnny Cope." The other then proceeded with his tale, thus: — You have ail heard of the celebrated Johnny Faa, tli Lord and Karl of Little Egypt, who penetrated into Scot- THE FAA'S REVENGE. 21 land in the reign of James IV., and with whom that gallant monarch was glad to conclude a treaty. Johnny was not only the king, but the first of the Fa'a gang of whom we have mention. I am not aware that gipsies get the name of Faas anywhere but upon .the Borders; and though it is difficult to account for the name satisfactorily, it is said to have had its origin from a family of the name of Fall or Fa\ who resided here (in Rothbury), and that their superiority in their cunning and desperate profession, gave the same cognomen to all- and sundry who followed the same mode of fife upon the Borders. One thing is certain, that the name Fan not only Avas given to individuals whose surname might be Fall,but to the Winters and Claries — id genus omne — gipsy families well known on the Borders. Since waste lands, which were their hiding-places and resorts, began to be cidtivated, and especially since the sun of knowledge snuffed out the taper of superstition and credulity, most of them are beginning to form a part of society, to learn trades of industry, and live with men. Those who still prefer their fathers' vagabond mode of life — finding that, in the northern counties, their old trade of fortune-telling is at a discount, and that thieving has thinned their tribe and is dangerous — now follow the more useful and respectable callings of muggers, besom-makers, and tinkers. I do not know whether, in etiquette, I ought to give pre- cedence to the besom-maker or tinker; though, as com- pared with them, I should certainly suppose that the "muggers" of the present day belong to the Faa aristo- cracy; if it be not that they, like others, derive their no- bdity from descent of blood rather than weight of pocket — and that, after all, the mugger with his encampment, his caravans, horses, crystal, and crockery, is but a mere wealthy plebeian or bourgeois in the vagrant community. — But to my tale. On a dark and tempestuous night in the December of 22 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 1 G28, a Faa gang requested shelter in the out-houses of the laird of Clennel. The laird himself had retired to rest; and his domestics being fewer in number than the Faas, feared to refuse them their request. " Ye shall have up-putting for the night, good neigh- bours," said Andrew Smith, who was a sort of major-domo in the laird's household, and he spoke in a tone of mingled authority and terror. " But, sir," added he, addressing th« chief of the tribe — " I will trust to your honour that ye will allow none o' your folk to be making free with the kye, or the sheep, or the poultry — that is, that ye will not allow them to mistake ony o' them for your own, lest it bring me into trouble. For the laird has been in a fearful rage at some o' your people lately ; and if ony thing were to be amissing in the morning, or he kenned that ye had been here, it might be as meikle as my Hie is worth." " Tush, man!" said Willie Faa, the king of the tribe, " ye dree the death yell never die. Willie Faa and his folk maun live as weel as the laird o' Clennel. But, there's my thumb, not a four-footed thing, nor the feather o' a bird, shall be touched by me or mine. But I see the light is out in the laird's chamber window — he is asleep and high up amang the turrets — and wherefore should ye set human bodies in byres and stables ina night like this, when your Ha' fire is bleezing bonnily, and there is room eneugh around it for us a' ? Gie us a seat by the cheek o' your hearth, and ye shall be nae loser; and I promise ye that we shall be off, bag and baggage, before the skreigh o' day, or the laird kens where his head lies." Andrew Avould fain have refused this request, but he knew that it amounted to a command; and, moreover, while he had been speaking with the chief of the tribe, the maid-servants of the household, who had followed him and the other men-servants to the door, had divers of them been solicited by the females of the gang to have futurity the faa's revenge. 23 revealed to tliem. And whether it indeed be that curiosity is more powerful in woman than hi man (as it is generally said to be), I do not profess to determine; but certain it is, that the laird of Clennel's maid-servants, immediately on the hint being given by the gipsies, felt a very ardent de- sire to have a page or two from the sybilhae leaves read to them — at least that part of them which related to their future husbands, and the time when they should obtain them. Therefore, they backed the petition or command of King Willie, and said to Andrew — " Really, Mr. Smith, it would be very unchristian-like to put poor wandering folk into cauld out-houses on a night like this; and, as Willie says, there is room enough in the Ha'." " That may be a' very true, lasses," returned Andrew, " but only ye think what a dirdum there woidd be if the laird were to waken or get wit o't!" " Fearna the laird," said Elspeth, the wife ot King Willie — " I will lay a spell on him that he canna be roused frae sleep, till I, at sunrise, wash my hands in Darden Lough." The sybil then raised her arms and waved them fantas- tically in the air, uttering, as she waved them, the follow- ing uncouth rhymes by way of incantation — " Bonny Queen Mab, bonny Queen Mab, Wave ye your wee bits o' poppy wings Ower Clennel's laird, that he may sleep Till I hae washed where Darden springs." Thus assured, Andrew yielded to his fears and the wishon of his fellow-servants, and ushered the Faas into his master's hall for the night. But scarce had they taken their seats upon the oaken forms around the fire, when — " Come,'' said the Faa king, " the night is cold, pinching cold, Mr. Smith : and, while the fire warms without, is there naething in the cellar that will warm within 1 See to it, Andrew, man — thou art no churl, or thy face is fause." 24 TALES OF THE BORDERS i " Really, sir," replied Andrew — and, in spite of all ins efforts to appear at ease, his tongue faultered as he spoke — " I'm not altogether certain what to say upon that sub- ject; for ye observe that our laird is really a very singular man; ye might as weel put your head in the fire there as displease him in the smallest; and though Heaven kens that I would gie to you just as freely as I would tak to mysel, yet ye'll observe that the liquor in the cellars is not mine, but his — and they are never sae weel plenished but I believe he would miss a thimblefu'. But there is some excellent cold beef in the pantry, if ye could put up wi 1 (lie like o' it, and the home-brewed which we servants use." "Andrew," returned the Faa king, proudly — "castle have I none, flocks and herds have I none, neither have I haughs where the wheat, and the oats, and the barley grow — but, like Ishniael, my great forefather, every man's hand is against me, and mine against them — yet, when 1 am hungry, I never lack the flesh-pots o' my native land, where, (he nioorfowl and the venison make brown broo together. Cauld meat agrees nae wi' my stomach, and ser- vants' drink was never brewed for the lord o' Little Egypt. Ye comprehend me, Andrew?" "Oh, I daresay 1 do, sir," said the chief domestic of the house of Clennel ; "but only, as I have said, ye will recol- lect that the, drink is not mine to give; and if I venture upon a jug, 1 hope ye winna think o' asking for another." "We shall try it," said the royal vagrant. Andrew, with trembling and reluctance, proceeded to the cellar, and returned with a large earthen vessel filled with the choicest home-brewed, which he placed upon a table in the midst of them. " Then each took a smack Of the old black jack, While the (ire burned in the hall.' THE EAA'S REVENGE. 25 The Faa king pronounced the liquor to be palatable, and drank to his better acquaintance with the cellars oi the laird of Clennel; and his gang followed his example. Now, I should remark that Willie Faa, the chief of his tribe, was a man of crigantic stature; the colour of his skin was the dingy brown peculiar to his race; his arms were of remarkable length, and his limbs a union of strength and lightness; his raven hair was mingled with grey; while, in his dark eyes, the impetuosity of youth and the cunning of age seemed blended together. It is in vain to speak of his dress, for it was changed daily as his circumstances or avo- cations directed. He was ever ready to assume all char- acters, from the courtier down to the mendicant. Like his wife, he was skilled in the reading of no book but the book of fate. Now, Elspeth was a less agreeable personage to look upon than even her husband. The hue of Jier skin was as dark as his. She was also of his age — a woman of full fifty. She was the tallest female in her tribe; but her .stoutness took away from her stature. Her eyes were small and piercing, her nose aquiline, and her upper lip was "bearded like the pard." While her husband sat at his carousals, and handing the beverage to his followers and the domestics of the house, Eispeth sat examining the lines upon the palms of the hands of the maid-servants — pursuing her calling as a spaewife. And ever as she traced the lines of matrimony, the sybil would pause and exclaim — " Ha ! — money ! — money ! — cross my loof again, hinny, There is fortune before ye! Let me see! A spur! — a sword!— a shield ! — a gowden purse ! Heaven bless ye ! They are there ! — there, as plain as a pikestaff; they are a' in your path. But cross my loof again, hinny, for until siller again cross it, I canna see whether they are to be yours or no." Thus did Elspeth go on until her "loof had been crossed" by the last coin amongst the domestics of llui house o£ t'Aan- 26 TAXES OF THE BORDERS. nel; and when these were exhausted, their trinkets were d« manded and given to assist the spell of the prophetess. Good fortune was prognosticated to the most of them, and espe cially to those who crossed the loof of the reader of futurity most freely; but to others, perils, and sudden deaths, and disappointments in love, and grief in wedlock, were hinted, though to all and each of these forebodings, a something like hope — an undefined Avay of escape — was pended. Now, as the voice of Elspeth rose in solemn tones, and a; the mystery of her manner increased, not only were the maid-servants stricken with awe and reverence for the won- drous woman, but the men-servants also began to inquire into their fate. And as they extended their hands, and Elspeth traced the lines of the past upon them, ever and anon she spoke strange words, which intimated secret facts; and she spoke also of love-makings and likings; and ever, as she spoke, she would raise her head and grin a ghastly smile, now at the individual whose hand she was examining, and again at a maid-servant whose fortune she had read; while the former would smile and the latter blush, and their fel- low domestics exclaim — "That's wondwrfu'l— that dings a'! — ye are queer folk' hoo in the world do ye ken?" Even the curiosity of Mr. Andrew Smith was raised, and his wonder excited; and, after he had quaffed his third cup with the gipsy king, he, too, reverentially approached the bearded princess, extending his hand, and begging to know v.hat futurity had in store for him. She raised it before her eyes, she rubbed hers over it. "It is a dark and a difficult hand," muttered she: "here are ships and the sea, and crossing the sea, and great danger, and a way to avoid it — but the gowd ! — the gowd that's there! And yet ye may lose it a'! Cross my loof, sir — yours is an ill hand to spae— for it's set wi 1 fortune, and dangei and advenl ure." THE faa's revenge. 27 Andrew gave her all the money in his possession. Now it was understood that she was to return the money and the trinkets with which her loof had been crossed; and Andrew's curiosity overcoming his fears, he ventured to intrust Ins property in her keeping; for, as he thought, it was not every day that people could have everything that was to happen unto them revealed. But when she had again looked upon his hand— " It winna do," said she—" I canna see ower the danger ye hae to encounter, the seas ye hae to cross, and the moun- tains o' gowd that lie before ye yet — ye maun cross my loof again." And when, with a woful countenance, he stated that he had crossed it with his last coin — " Ye hae a chronometer, man," said she— "it tells you tht minutes now, it may enable me to show ye those that are to come ! " Andrew hesitated, and, with doubt and unwillingness, placed the chronometer in her hand. Elspeth wore a short cloak of faded crimson; and in a sort of pouch in it, every coin, trinket, and other article of value which was put into her hands were deposited, in order, as she stated, to forward her mystic operations. Now, the chro- nometer had just disappeared in the general receptacle of offerings to the oracle, when heavy footsteps were heard descending the staircase leading to the hall. Poor Andrew, the ruler of the household, gasped— the blood forsook his cheeks, his knees involuntarily knocked one against another, and he stammered out — 'For Heaven's sake, gie me my chronometer! — Oh, gie tne it! — we are a' ruined!" " It canna be returned till the spell's completed," rejoined Elspeth, in a solemn and determined tone — and her counte- nance betrayed nothing of her dupe's uneasiness; while her husband deliberately placed his right hand upon a sort oi dagger which he wore beneath a large coarse jacket that 28 TALES OF THE BORDERS. was loosely flung over his shoulders. The males in his retinue, who were eight in number, followed his example. In another moment, the laird, with wrath upon his coun- tenance, burst into the hall. " Andrew Smith," cried he, sternly, and stamping his foot fiercely on the floor, " what scene is this I see ? Answer me, ye robber, answer me; — ye shall hang for it!" "O sir! sir!" groaned Andrew, "mercy! — mercy! — O sir!" and he wrung his hands together and shook exceedingly. " Ye fause knave ! " continued the laird, grasping him by the neck — and dashing him from him, Andrew fell flat upon the floor, and his terror had almost shook him from his feet before — "Speak, ye fause knave!" resumed the laird; "what means your carousin' \vi' sic a gang? Ye robber, speak!" And he kicked him with his foot as he lay upon the ground. " O sir! — mercy, sir !" vociferated Andrew, in the stupor and wildness of terror; "I canna speak! — ye hae killed me outright ! I am dead— stone dead ! But it wasna my blame — they'll a' say that, if they speak the truth." " Out ! out, ye thieves ! — ye gang o' plunderers, born to the gallows ! — out o' my house !" added the laird, addressing Willie Faa and his followers. "Thieves! ye acred loon!" exclaimed the Faa king, start- ing to his feet, and drawing himself up to his Ml height — " wha does the worm that burrows in the lands o' Clennel ca' thieves? Thieves, say ye! — speak such words to your equals, hut no to me. Your forebears came ower wi' the Norman, invaded the nation, and seized upon land — mine invaded it also, and only laid a tax upon the flocks, the cattle, and the poultry— and wha ca' ye thieves? — or wi' what grace do ye ?peak the word?" "Away, ye audacious vagrant!" continued the laird; "ken ye not that the king's authority is in my hands? — and for your former plunderings, if I again find you setting foot upon ground o' mine, on the nearest tree ye shall find a gibbet." THE faa's revenge. 29 "Boast awa — boast awa, man," said Willie; "ye are safe here, for me and mine winna harm ye ; and it is a fougie cock indeed that darena craw in its ain barn-yard. But wait until the day when we may meet upon the wide moor, wi' only twa bits o' steel between us, and see wha shall brag then." "Away! — instantly away!" exclaimed Clennel, drawing his sword, and waving it threateningly over the head of the gipsy- " Proud, cauld-hearted, and unfeeling mortal," said El- speth, " will ye turn fellow-beings from beneath your roof in a night like this, when the fox darena creep frae its hole, and the raven trembles on the tree?" "Out! out! ye witch!" rejoined the laird. " Farewell, Clennel," said the Faa king ; " we will leave your roof, and seek the shelter o' the hill-side. But ye shall rue! As I speak, man, ye shall rue it!" "Rue it!" screamed Elspeth, rising — and her small dark eyes flashed with indignation — " he shall rue it — the bairn unborn shall rue it — and the bann o' Elspeth Faa shall be on Clennel and his kin, until his hearth be desolate and his spirit howl within him like the tempest which this night rages in the heavens !" The servants shrank together into a corner of the hall, to avoid the rage of their master; and they shook the more at the threatening words of the weird woman, lest she should involve them in his doom; but he laughed with scorn at her words. "Proud, pitiless fool," resumed Elspeth, more bitterly than before, " repress your scorn. ' Whom, think ye, ye treat wi' contempt ? Ken ye not that the humble addeT which ye tread upon can destroy ye — that the very wasp can sting ye, and there is poison hi its sting? Ye laugh, but for your want of humanity this night, sorrow shall turn your head grey, lang before age sit down upon your hrnw." 30 TALES OP THE BORDERS. "Off! off! ye wretches!" added the laird; ''vent your threats on the wind, if it will hear ye, for I regard them as little as it will. But keep out o' my way for the future, as ye would escape the honours o' a hempen cravat, and the hereditary exaltation o' your race." Willie Faa made a sign to his followers, and without speaking they instantly rose and departed ; but, as he him- self reached the door, he turned round, and significantly striking the hilt of his dagger, exclaimed — " Clennel ! ye shall rue it !" And the hoarse voice of Elspeth without, as the sound was borne away on the storm, was heard crying — "He shall rue it!" and repeating her imprecations. Until now, poor Andrew Smith had lain groaning upon the floor more dead than alive, though not exactly "stone dead" as he expressed it; and ever, as he heard his master's angry voice, he groaned the more, until in his agony he doubted his existence. When, therefore, on the departure of the Faas, the laird dragged him to his feet, and feeling some pity for his terror, spoke to him more mildly, Andrew gazed vacantly around him, his teeth chattering together, and he first placed his hands upon his sides, to feel whether he was still indeed the identical flesh, blond, and bones of Andrew Smith, or his disembodied spirit; and being assured that ho was still a man, he put clown his hand to feel for his chronometer, and again he groaned bitterly — and although he now knew he was not dead, he almost wished he were ao. The other servants thought also of their money and their trinkets, which,' as well as poor Andrew's chrono- meter, Elspeth, in the hurry in which she was rudely driven from the house, had, by a slip of memory, neglected to return to their lawful owners. Ii is unnecessary to dwell upon the laird's anger at lus domestics, or farther to describe Andrew's agitation; but i may say that ih<> laird was not wroth against the Run gang THE FAA'S REVENGE. 31 •ntliout reason. They had committed ravages on his flocks --they had carried off the choicest of his oxen — they destroyed his deer — they plundered him of his poultry — and they even made free with the grain that he reared, and which he could spare least of all. But Willie Faa considered every landed proprietor as his enemy, and thought it his duty to quarter on them. Moreover, it was his boisterous laugh, as he pushed round the tankard, which aroused the laird from his slumbers, and broke Elspeth's spell. And the destruction of the charm, by the appearance of their master, before she had washed her hands in Darden Lough, caused those who had parted with their money and trinkets to grieve for them the more, and to doubt the promises of the prophetess, or to "Take all for gospel that the spaefolk say." Many weeks, however, had not passed until the laird of Clennel found that Elspeth the gipsy's threat, that he should "rue it" meant more than idle words. His cattle sickened and died in their stalls, or the choicest of them disappeared; I lis favourite horses were found maimed in the mornings, wounded and bleeding in the fields; and, notwithstanding the vigilance of his shepherds, the depredations on his Hocks augmented tenfold. He doubted not but that Willie Faa and his tribe were the authors of all the evils which were besetting him : but he knew also their power and their matchless craft, which rendered it almost impossible either to detect or punish them. He had a favourite steed, which had borne him in boyhood, and in battle when he served in foreign wars, and one morning when he went into his park, he found it lying bleeding upon the ground. Grief and indignation strove together in arousing revenge within his bosom. He ordered his sluthhound to be brought, and his dependants to be summoned together, and to bring arms with them. He had previously observed foot-prints on the ground, and he exclaimed — 32 TALES OF THE BORDERS. "Now the fiend take the Fans, they shall find whose turn it is to rue before the sun gae down." The gong was pealed on the turrets of Clennel Hall, and the kempers with their poles bounded in every direction, with the fleetness of mountain stags, to summon all capable of bearing arms to the presence of the laird. The mandate was readily obeyed; and within two hours thirty armed men appeared in the park. The sluthhound was led to the foot- print ; and after following it for many a weary mile over moss, moor, and mountain, it stood and howled, and lashed its lips with its tongue, and again ran as though its prey were at hand, as it approached what might be called a gap in the wilderness between Keyheugh and Olovencrag. Now, in the space between these desolate crags stood some score of peels, or rather half hovels, half encampments — and this primitive city in the wilderness was the capital of the Faa king's people. "Now for vengeance!" exclaimed Clennel; and his desire of revenge was excited the more from perceiving several of the choicest of his cattle, which had disappeared, grazing before the doors or holes of the gipsy village. "Bring whins and heather," he continued — "pile them around it, and burn the den of thieves to the ground." His order was speedily obeyed, and when he commanded the trumpet to be sounded, that the inmates might defend themselves if they dared, only two or three men and women of extreme age, and some half-dozen children, crawled upon their hands and knees from the huts — for it was impossible to stand upright in them. The aged men and women howled when they beheld the work of destruction that was in preparation, and the cliil dren screamed when they heard them howl. But the laird of Clennel had been injured, and he turned a deaf car to their misery. A light was struck, and a dozen torches ap- plied at once. The whins crackled, the heather blazed, and the faa's revenge. 33 the flames overtopped the hovels which they surrounded, and which within an hour became a heap of smouldering ashes. Clennel and his dependants returned home, driving the cattle which had been stolen from him before them, and rejoicing in what they had done. On the following day, Willie Faa and a part of his tribe returned to the place of rendezvous — their city and home in the mountains — and they found it a heap of smoking ruins, and the old men and the old women of the tribe — their fathers and their mothers — sitting wailing upon the ruins, and warming over them their shivering limbs, while the children wept around them for food. "Whose work is this?" inquired Willie, while anxiety and anger flashed in his eyes. "The Laird o' Clennel! — the Laird o' Clennel!" answered every voice at the same instant. "By this I swear!" exclaimed the king of the Faas, drawing his dagger from beneath his coat, "from this night henceforth he is laird nor man nae langer." And he turned hastily from the ruins, as if to put his threat in execution. " Stay, ye madcap!" cried Elspeth, following him, "would ye fling away revenge for half a minute's satisfaction?" "No, wife," cried he, "nae mair than I would sacrifice living a free and a fu' life for half an hour's hanginV " Stop, then," returned she, " and let our vengeance fa' upon him, so that it may wring his life away, drap by di - ap, until his heart be dry ; and grief, shame, and sorrow burn him up, as he has here burned house and home o' Elspeth Faa and her kindred." "What mean ye, woman?" said Willie, hastily; "if I thought ye would come between me and my revenge, I would drive this bit steel through you wi' as goodwill as I shall drive it through him." 84 TALES OP THE BORDERS. " And ye shall be welcome," said Elspeth. She drew him aside, and whispered a few minutes in his ear. He listened attentively. At times he seemed to start, and at length, sheathing his dagger and grasping her hand, he ex- claimed — " Excellent, Elspeth 1 — ye have it 1 — ye have it!" At this period, the laird of Clennel was about thirty years of age, and two years before he had been married to Eleanor de Vere, a lady alike distinguished for her beauty and ac- complishments. They had an infant son, who was the de- light of his mother, and his father's pride. Now, for two years after the conflagration of their little town, Clennel heard nothing of his old enemies the Faas, neither did they molest him, nor had they been seen in the neighbourhood and he rejoiced in having cleared his estate of such dan- gerous visitors. But the Faa king, listening to the advice of his wife, only " nursed his wrath to keep it warm," and retired from the neighbourhood, that he might accomplish, in its proper season, his design of vengeance more effec- tually, and with greater cruelty. The infant heir of the house of Clennel had been named Henry, and he was about completing his third year — an age at which children are, perhaps, most interesting, and when their fondling and their prattling sink deepest into a parent's heart— for all is then beheld on childhood's sunny side, and all is innocence and love. Now, it was in a lovely day in April, when every bird had begun its annual song, and flowers were bursting into beauty, buds into leaves, and the earth resuming its green mantle, when Lady Clen- nel and her infant son, who then, as I have said, was about three years of age, went forth to enjoy the loveliness and the luxuries of nature, in the woods which surrounded their mansion, and Andrew Smith accompanied them as their guide and protector. They had proceeded somewhat more than a mile from the house, and the child, at inter- vals breaking away from them, sometimes ran before his the faa's revenge, 35 mother, and at others sauntered behind her, pulling the wild flowers that strewed their path, when a man, springing from a dark thicket, seized the child in his arms, and again darted into the wood. Lady Clennel screamed aloud, and rushed after him. Andrew, who was coming dreaming behind, got but a glance of the ruffian stranger — but that glance was enough to reveal to him the tall, terrible figure of Willie Faa, the Gipsy king. There are moments when, and circumstances under which even cowards become courageous, and this was one of those moments and circumstances which suddenly inspired Andrew (who was naturally no hero) with courage. He, indeed, loved the child as though he had been his own ; and fol- lowing the example of Lady Clennel, he drew his sword and rushed into the wood. He possessed considerable speed of foot, and he soon passed the wretched mother, and came in sight of the pursued. The unhappy lady, who ran panting and screaming as she rushed along, unable to keep pace with them, lost all trace of where the robber of hei child had fled, and her cries of agony and bereavement rang through the woods. Andrew, however, though he did not gain ground upon the gipsy, still kept within sight of him, and shouted to him as he ran, saying that all the dependants of Clennel would soon be on horseback at his heels, and trusting that every moment he would drop the child upon the ground. Still Faa flew forward, bearing the boy in his arm, and disregarding the cries and threats of his pursuer. He knew that Andrew's was not what could be called a heart of steel, but he was aware that he had a powerful arm, and could use a sword as well as a better man; and he knew also that cowards will fight as desperately, when their life is at stake, as the brave. The desperate chase continued for four hours, and till after the sun had set, and the gloaming was falling thick on 86 TALES OF THE BORDERS. the hills. Andrew, being younger and unencumbered, had at length gained ground upon the gipsy, and was within ten yards of him when he reached the Coquet side, about a mile below this town, at the hideous Thrumb, where the deep river, for many yards, rushes through a mere chasm in the rock. The Faa, with the child beneath his arm, leaped across the fearful gulf, and the dark flood gushed between him and his pursuer. He turned round, and, with a horrid laugh, looked towards Andrew an . I unsheathed his dagger. But even at this moment the un.vonted courage of the chief servant of Clennel did not fail him, and as he rushed up and down upon one side of the gulf, that he might spring across and avoid the dagger of the gipsy, the other ran in like manner on the other side ; and when Andrew stood as if ready to leap, the Faa king, pointing with his dagger to the dark flood that rolled between them, cried — " See, fool ! eternity divides us !" " And for that bairn's sake, ye wretch, I'll brave it !" exclaimed Andrew, while his teeth gnashed together ; and he stepped back, in order that he might spring across with the greater force and safety. " Hold man !" cried the Faa ; " attempt to cross to me, and 1 will plunge this bonny heir o' Clennel into the flood below." " Oh, gracious! gracious!" cried Andrew, and his resolu- tion and courage forsook him ; " ye monster ! — ye bar- barian 1 — oh, what shall I do now!" " Go back whence you came," said the gipsy, or follow me another step and the child dies." " Oh, ye butcher I — ye murderer !" continued the other — and he tore his hair in agony — " hae ye nae mercy ?" "Sic mercy as your maister had," returned the Faa, " when he burned our dwellings about the earso' the aged and infirm, and o' my helpless bairns ! Ye shall find in mo THE FAA'S REVENGE. ft? the mercy o' the fasting wolf, o' the tiger when it laps blood!" Andrew perceived that to rescue the child was now im- possible, and with a heavy heart he returned to his master's house, in which there was no sound save that of lamenta- tion. For many weeks, yea months, the laird of Clennel, his friends and his servants, sought anxiously throughout every part of the country to obtain tidings of his child, but their search was vain. It was long ere his lady was ex- pected to recover the shock, and the affliction sat heavy on his soul, while in his misery he vowed revenge upon all of the gipsy race. But neither Willie Faa nor any of his tribe were again seen upon his estates, or heard of in their neighbourhood. Four years were passed from the time that their son was stolen from them, and an infant daughter smiled upon the knee of Lady Clennel ; and oft as it smiled in her face, and stretched its little hands towards her, she would burst into tears, as the smile and the infantine fondness of her little daughter reminded her of her lost Henry. They had had other children, but they had died while but a few weeks old. For two years there had been a maiden in the household named Susan, and to her care, when the child was not in her own arms, Lady Clennel intrusted her infant daughter; for every one loved Susan, because of her affectionate na- ture and docile manners — she was, moreover, an orphan, and they pitied while they loved her. But one evening, when Lady Clennel desired that her daughter might be brought her in order that she might present her to a com- pany who had come to visit them (an excusable, though not always a pleasant vanity in mothers), neither Susan nor the child were to be found. "Wild fears seized the bosom of the already bereaved mother, and her husband felt his 1105 I \ 38 TALES OF THE BORDERS. heart throb within liini. They sought the woods, the hills, the cottages around ; they wandered by the sides of the rivers and the mountain burns, but no one had seen, no trace could be discovered of either the girl or the child. I will not, because I cannot, describe the overwhelming misery of the afflicted parents. Lady Clennel spent her days in tears and her nights in dreams of her children, and her husband sank into a settled melancholy, while his hatred of the Faa race became more implacable, and he burst into frequent exclamations of vengeance against them. More than fifteen years had passed, and though the poig- nancy of their grief had abated, yet their sadness was not removed, for they had been able to hear nothing that could throw light upon the fate of their children. About this period, sheep were again missed from the flocks, and, in one night, the hen-roosts were emptied. There needed no other proof that a Faa gang was again in the neighbour- hood. Now, Northumberland at that period was still thickly covered with wood, and abounded with places where thieves might conceal themselves in security. Partly from a desire of vengeance, and partly from the hope of being able to extort from some of the tribe infor- mation respecting his children, Clennel armed his servants, and taking his hounds with him, set out in quest of the plunderers. For two days their search was unsuccessful, but on the third the dogs raised their savage cry, and rushed into a thicket in a deep glen amongst the mountains. Clennel and his followers hurried forward, and in a few minutes perceived the fires of the Faa encampment. The hounds had already alarmed the vagrant colony, they had sprung npon many of them and torn their flesh with their tusks ; but the Faas defended themselves against them with their poniards, and, before Clennel's approach, more than hall his hounds lay dead upon the ground, and his enemies fled, THE FAA'S REVENGE. 3ft Yet there was one poor girl amongst them, who had been attacked by a fierce hound, and whom no one attempted to rescue, as she strove to defend herself against it with her bare hands. Her screams for assistance rose louder and more loud ; and as Clennel and his followers drew near, and her companions fled, they turned round, and, with a fiendish laugh, cried — " Rue it now !" Maddened more keenly by the words, he was following on in pursuit, without rescuing the screaming girl from the teeth of the hound, or seeming to perceive her, when a woman, suddenly turning round from amongst the flying gypsies, exclaimed — "For your sake I — for Heaven's sake! Laird Clennel I save my bairn 1" He turned hastily aside, and, seizing the hound by the throat, tore it from the lacerated girl, who sank, bleed- ing, terrified, and exhausted, upon the ground. Her fea- tures were beautiful, and her yellow hair contrasted ill Kith the tawny hue of her countenance and the snowy whiteness of her bosom, which in the struggle had been revealed. The elder gipsy woman approached. She knelt by the side of the wounded girl. " my bairn ! " she exclaimed, " what has this day brought upon me ! — they have murdered you ! This is rueing, indeed ; and I rue too 1 " " Susan 1 " exclaimed Clennel, as he listened to her words, and his eyes had been for several seconds fixed upon her countenance. " Yes !— Susan ! — guilty Susan 1 " cried the gipsy. " Wretch ! " he exclaimed, " my child ! — where is my child? — is this" and he gazed on the poor girl, his voice failed him, and he burst into tears. "Yes! — yes!" replied -she bitterly, "it is her — there lies your daughter look upon her face." 40 TALES OF THE BORDERS. He needed, indeed, but to look upon her countenance- disfigured as it was, and dyed with weeds to give it a sallow hue — to behold in it every lineament of her mother's, lovely as when they first met his eye and entered his heart. He flung himself on the ground by her side, he raised her head, he kissed her cheek, he exclaimed, " My child ! — my child ! — my lost one ! I have destroyed thee ! " He bound up her lacerated arms, and applied a flask of wine, which he carried with him, to her lips, and he supported her on his knee, and again kissing her cheek, sobbed, " My child ! — my own ! " Andrew Smith also bent over her and said, " Oh, it is her ! there isna the smallest doubt o' that. I could swear to her among a thousand. She's her mother's very pic- ture.*' And, turning to Susan, he added, "O Susan, woman, but ye hae been a terrible hypocrite ! " Clennel having placed his daughter on horseback be- fore him, supporting her with his arm, Susan was set between two of his followers, and conducted to the Hall. Before the tidings were made known to Lady Clennel, the wounds of her daughter were carefully dressed, the dye that changed the colour of her countenance was removed, and her gipsy garb was exchanged for more seemly apparel. Clennel anxiously entered the apartment of his lady, to reveal to her the tale of joy ; but when he entered, he wist not how to introduce it. He knew that excess of sudden joy was not less dangerous than excess of grief, and his countenance was troubled, though its expression was less sad than it had been for many years. " Eleanor," he at length began, " cheer up." " Why, I am not sadder than usual, dear," replied she, in her wonted gentle manner; "and to be more cheerful would ill become one who has endured my sorrows." THE FAA'S REVENGE. 41 " True, true," said he, " but our affliction may not be so severe as we have thought — there may be hope— there may be joy for us yet." " What mean ye, husband ? " inquired she, eagerly ; "have ye heard aught — aught of my children? — you have I — you have !— your countenance speaks it." "Yes, dear Eleanor," returned he, "I have heard of our daughter." " And she lives ?— she lives ?— tell me that she lives ! " " Yes, she lives." "And I shall see her — I shall embrace my child again?" " Yes, love, yes," replied he, and burst into tears. " When — oh, when ? " she exclaimed, " can you take me to her now?" "Be calm, my sweet one. You shall see our child —our long-lost child. You shall see her now — she is here." " Here 1— my child!" she exclaimed, and sank back upon her seat. Words would fail to paint the tender interview— the mother's joy — the daughter's wonder — the long, the pas- sionate embrace— the tears of all — the looks — the words— the moments of unutterable feeling. I shall next notice the confession of Susan. Clennel promised her forgiveness if she would confess the whole truth ; and he doubted not, that from her he would also obtain tidings of his son, and learn where he might find him, if he yet lived. I shall give her story in her own words. " When I came amongst you," she began, " I said that 1 was an orphan, and I told ye truly, so far as I knetv myself. I have been reared amongst the people ye call gipsies from infancy. They fed me before I could provide for myself. I have wandered with them through many lands. They taught me many things ; and, while young, sent me as a %$ TALES OF THE BORDERS. servant into families, that I might gather information to assist them in upholding their mysteries of fortune-telling, I dared not to disobey them— they kept me as their slave —and I knew that they would destroy my life for an act of disobedience. I was in London when ye cruelly burned down the bit town between the Keyheugh and Clovencrag. That night would have been your last, but Elspeth Faa vowed more cruel vengeance than death on you and yours. After our king had carried away your son, I was ordered from London to assist in the plot o' revenge. I at length succeeded in getting into your family, and the rest ye know. When ye were a' busy wi 1 your company, I slipped into the woods wi' the bairn in my arms, where others were ready to meet us ; and long before ye missed us, we were miles across the hills, and frae that day to this your daughter has passed as mine." "But tell me all, woman," cried Clennel, "as you hope for either pardon or protection— where is my son, my little Harry? Does he live? — where shall I find him?" " As I live," replied Susan, " I cannot tell, j'here are but two know concerning him — and that is the king and his wife Elspeth; and there is but one way of discover- ing anything respecting him, which is by crossing Elspeth's loof, that she may betray her husband : and she would do it for revenge's sake, for an ill husband has he been to her, and in her old days he has discarded her for another." "And where may she be found?" inquired Clennel, earnestly. "That," added Susan, "is a question I cannot answer. She was with the people in the glen to-day, and was first to raise the laugh when your dog fastened its teeth in the I h of your ain bairn. But she may be tar to seek and id to find now — for she is wi' those that travel fast and far, ,»nd that will not see her hindmost." l)( «w was the disappointment of the laird when he found THE FAA6 REVENGE. 4*5 he could obtain no tidings of his son. But, at the inter- cession of his daughter (whose untutored mind her fond mother had begun to instruct), Susan was freely pardoned, promised protection from her tribe, and again admitted as one of the household. I might describe the anxious care of the fond mother, as, clay by day, she sat by her new-found and lovely daughters side, teaching her, and telling her of a hundred things of which she had never heard before, while her father snt gazing and listening near them, rejoicing over both. But the ray of sunshine which had penetrated the house of Clennel was not destined to be of long duration. At that period a fearful cloud overhung the whole land, and the fury of civil war seemed about to burst forth. The threatening storm did explode; a bigoted king over- stepped his prerogative, set at nought the rights and the liberties of the subject, and an indignant people stained their hands with blood. A political convulsion shook the empire to its centre. Families and individuals became involved in the general catastrophe; and the house of Clennel did not escape. In common with the majority of the English gentry of that period, Clennel was a stanch loyalist, and if not exactly a lover of the king, or an ardent admirer of his acts, yet one who would fight for the crown though it should (as it was expressed about the time) " hang by a bush." When, therefore, the parliament declared war against the king, and the name of Cromwell spread awe throughout the country, and when some said that a prophet and deliverer had risen amongst them, and others an ambitious hypocrite and a tyrant, Clennel armed a body of his dependants, and hastened to the assistance of his sovereign, leaving his wife and his newly-found daughter with the promise of a speedy return. Tt is unnecessary to describe all that he did or encoun- tered during the civil wars. He bad been a zealous partizan 44 TALES OF THE BORDERS. of the first Charles, and he fought for the fortunes of his son to the last. He was present at the battle of Worcester, which Cromwell calls his " crowning mercy," in the Sep- tember of 1651, where the already dispirited royalists were finally routed; and he fought by the side of the king until the streets were heaped with dead; and when Charles tied, he, with others, accompanied him to the borders of Staffordshire. Having bid the young prince an affectionate farewell, Clennel turned back, with the intention of proceeding on his journey, on the following day, to Northumberland, though he was aware, that, from the part which he had taken in the royal cause, even his person was in danger. Yet the desire again to behold his wife and daughter over- came his fears, and the thought of meeting them in some degree consoled him for the fate of his prince, and the result of the struggle in which he had been engaged. But he had not proceeded far when he was met by two men dressed as soldiers of the Parliamentary army — the one a veteran with grey hairs, and the other a youth. The shades of night had set in; but the latter he instantly recog- nized as a young soldier whom he had that day wounded in the streets of Worcester. "Stand!" said the old man, as they met him; and the younger drew his sword. "If 1 stand!" exclaimed Clennel, "it shall not be when an old man and a boy command me." And, following their example, he unsheathed his sword. "Boy!" exclaimed the youth; " Avhom call ye boy ? — think ye, because ye wounded me this morn, that fortune shall aye sit on your arm ? — yield or try." They made several thrusts at each other, and the old man, as an indifferent spectator, stood looking on. But the youth, by a dexterous blow, shivered the sword in Clennel's hand, and left him at his mercy. THE faa's revenge. 45 "Now yield ye," he exclaimed; "the chance is mine now — in the morning it was thine." " Ye seem a fair foe," replied Clennel, " and loath am 1 to yield, but that I am weaponless." " Despatch him at once 1" growled the old man. " If he spilled your blood in the morning, there can be no harm in spilling his the night — and especially after giein' him a fair chance." " Father," returned the youth, " would ye have me to kill a man in cold blood ?" " Let him submit to be bound then, hands and eyes, or I will," cried the senior. The younger obeyed, and Clennel, finding himself dis- armed, submitted to his fate; and his hands were bound, and his eyes tied up, so that he knew not where they led him. After wandering many miles, and having lain upon what appeared the cold earth for a lodging, he was aroused from a comfortless and troubled sleep, by a person tearing the bandage from his eyes, and ordering him to prepare for his trial. He started to his feet. He looked around, and be- held that he stood in the midst of a gipsy encampment. He was not a man given to fear, but a sickness came over his heart when he thought of his wife and daughter, and that, knowing the character of the people in whose power he was, he should never behold them again. The males of the Faa tribe began to assemble in a sort o( half circle in the area of the encampment, and in the midst of them, towering over the heads of all, he immediately dis- tinguished the tall figure of Willie Faa, in whom he also discovered the grey-haired Parliamentary soldier of the previous night. But the youth with whom he had twice contended and once wounded, and by whom he had been made prisoner, he was unable to single out amongst them. He was rudely dragged before them, and Willie Faa cripd — "Ken ye the culprit?" 4R TALES OF THE BORDERS. "Clennel o' Northumberland! — our enemy!" exclaimed twenty voices. "Yes," continued Willie, "Clennel our enemy — the burner o' our humble habitations — that left the auld, the sick, the infirm, and the helpless, and the infants o' our kindred, to perish in the flaming ruins. Had we burned his house, the punishment would have been death; and shall we do less to him than he would do to us?" "No! no!" they exclaimed with one voice. " But," added Willie, " though he would have disgraced us wi T a gallows, as he has been a soldier, I propose that he hae the honour o' a soldier's death, and that Harry Faa be appointed to shoot him." "All! all! all!" was the cry. "Hi: shall die with the setting sun," said Willie, and again they cried, "Agreed!" Such was the form of trial which Clennel underwent, when he was again rudely dragged away, and placed in a tent round which four strong Faas kept guard. He had not heen alone an hour, when his judge, the Faa king, entered, and addressed him — " Now, Laird Clennel, say ye that I haena lived to see day about wi' ye ? When ye turned me frae beneath your roof, when the drift was fierce and the wind howled in the moors, was it not tauld to ye that ye would rue it! — but ye mocked the admonition and the threat, and, after that, cruelly burned us out o' house and ha'. When T came hame, I saw my auld mother, that was within three years o' a lumder, coming ower the reeking ruins, without a wa' to shelter her, and crooning curses on the doer o' the black deed. There were my youngest bairns, too, crouching by their granny's side, starving wi' hunger as weel as wi' cauld, for ye had burned a', and haudin' their bits o' hands before the burnin' ruins o' the house that they were born in, to warm them! That night 1 vowed vengeance on you; and even on that night I would have executed it, but 1 wag THE FAAS REVENG1L 47 prevented ; and glad am I now that K \va9 prevented, tor my vengeance has been complete — or a' but complete. Wi' my ain hand I snatched your son and heir from his mother's side, and a terrible chase I had for it; but revenge lent me baith strength and speed. And when ye had anither bairn that was like to live, I forced a lassie, that some o' our folk had stolen when an infant, to bring it to us. Ye have got your daughter back again, but no before she has cost yo mony a sad heart andmony asaut tear; and that was somb revenge. But the substance o' my satisfaction and revenge lies in what I hae to tell ye. Ye die this night as the sun gaes down ; and, hearken to me now — the young soldier whom ye wounded on the streets o' Worcester, and who last night made you prisoner, was your son — your heir— your lost son! Hal ha!— Clennel, am I revenged?" " My son !" screamed the prisoner — " monster, what is it that ye say? Strike me dead, noAv I am in your power — but torment me not!" "Ha! ha! ha!" again laughed the grey-haired savage— " man, ye are about to die, and ye know not ye are born. Ye have not heard half I have to tell. I heard that ye had joined the standard o' King Charles. I, a king in my ain right, care for neither your king nor parliament; but I resolved to wear, for a time, the cloth o' old Noll, and to make your son do the same, that I might hae an oppor- tunity o' meeting you as an enemy, and seeing hm strike you to the heart. That satisfaction I had not ; but I had its equivalent. Yesterday, I saw you shed his blood on the streets o' Worcester, and in the evening he gave you a prisoner into my hands that desired you." "Grey-haired monster!" exclaimed Clennel. "have ye no feeling — no heart? Speak ye to torment me, or tell me traly, have I seen my son?" "Patience, man!" said the Faa, with a smile of sardonic triumph — " my story is but half finished. It was the blood o' your son ye shed ypsferday at Worcester — it was your 48 TALES OF THE BORDERS. son who disarmed ye, and gave ye into my power; and, best o' a' ! — now, hear me ! hear me ! lose not a word ! — it is the hand o' your son that this night, at sunset, shall send you to eternity! Now, tell me, Clennel, am I no revenged? Do ye no rue it ? " "Wretch! wretch!" cried the miserable parent, "in mercy strike me dead. If I have raised my sword against my son, let that suffice ye! — but spare, oh, spare my child from being an involuntary parricide ! " "Hush, fool!" said the Faa; "I have waited for this consummation o' my revenge for twenty years, and think ye that I will be deprived o' it now by a few whining words ? Remember, sunset ! " he added, and left the tent. Evening came, and the disk of the sun began to disap- pear behind the western hills. Men and women, the old and the young, amongst the Faas, came out from their encampment to behold the death of their enemy. Clennel was brought forth between two, his hands fastened to his sides, and a bandage round his mouth, to prevent him making himself known to his executioner. A rope was also brought round his body, and he was tied to the trunk ot an eld ash tree. The women of the tribe began a sort of yell or coronach; and their king, stepping forward, and smiling savagely in the face of his victim, cried aloud — "Harry Faa! stand forth and perform the duty youi tribe have .imposed on you." A young man, reluctantly, and with a slow and trembling step, issued from one of the tents. He carried a musket in his hand, and placed himself in front of the prisoner, at about twenty yards from him. " Make ready ! " cried Willie Faa, in a voice like thunder. And the youth, though his hands shook, levelled the musket at his victim. But, at that moment, one who, to appearance, seemed a maniac, sprang from a clump of whins behind the a*h tree the faa's revenge. 49 A-here the prisoner was bound, and, throwing herself before him, she cried — "Hold! — would you murder your own father? Harry Clennel! — would you murder your father? Mind ye not when ye was stolen frae your mother's side, as ye gathered wild flowers in the wood ? " It was Elspeth Faa, The musket dropped from the hands of the intended executioner — a thousand recollections, that he had often fancied dreams, rushed across his memory. He again seized the musket, he rushed forward to his father, but, ere he reached, Elspeth had cut the cords that bound the laird, and placed a dagger in his hand for his defence, and, with extended arms, he flew to meet the youth, crying — " My son! — my son!" The old Faa king shook with rage and disappointment, and his first impulse was to poniard his wife — but he feared to do so; for although he had injured her, and had not seen her for years, her influence was greater with the tribe than his. " Now, Willie," cried she, addressing him, " wha rues it now ? Fareweel for ance and a' — and the bairn I brought up will find a shelter for my auld head." It were vam to tell how Clennel and his son wept on each other's neck, and how they exchanged forgiveness. But such was the influence of Elspeth, that they departed fr»m the midst of the Faas unmolested, and she accompanied them. Imagination must picture the scene when the long- lost son flung himself upon the bosom of his mother, and pressed his sister's hand in his. Clennel Hall rang with the sounds of joy for many days ; and, ere they were ended, Andrew Smith placed a ring upon the finger of Susan, and they became one flesh — she a respectable woman. And old Elspeth lived to the age of ninety and seven years beneath its roof. a 60 TALES OF TliE S^RDEK& KATti KENNEDY; 0)4, THE MAID OF INNERKEPPLE. Innerkepple was, some three hundred years ago, as com plete a fortification as could be seen along the Borders — presenting its bastions, its turrets and donjon, and all the appurtenances of a military strength, in the face of a Border riever, with that solemn air of defiance that be- longs to the style of the old castles. Many a blow of a mangonel it had received; and Scotch and English en- gines of war had, with equal force and address, poured into its old grey ribs their destructive bolts ; every wound was an acquisition of glory ; and, unless where a breach demanded a repair for the sake of security, the scars on the old warrior weie allowed to remain as a proof of his prowess. Indeed, these very wounds appearing on the walls had their names — being christened after the leaders of the sieges that had- been in vain directed against it; and, among the number, the kings of England might have been seen indicated by the futile instruments of vengeance they had flung into the rough ribs of old Innerkepple. But let us proceed. The proprietor, good Walter Ken- nedy, better known by the appellative of Innerkepple, was not unlike the old strength which he inhabited ; being an old, rough, burly baron, on whose face Time bad succeeded in making many impressions, notwithstanding of all the opposing energies of a soul that gloried, in all manner of ways, of cheating the old greybeard of his rights and clearing off his scores. As a good spirit is said to be like good old wine, getting softer and more balmy KATE KENNEDY. 51 as it increases in age, old Innerkepple proved, by his good humour and jovial manners, the sterling qualities of his heart, which seemed, as he progressed in years, to swell in proportion as that organ in others shrivelled and de- creased. He saw nothing in age but the necessity it imposes of having more frequent recourse to its great enemy, the grape ; and that power he delighted to bow to, as he bent his head to empty the flagon which his forebear, Kenneth, got from the first King James, as a reward for his services against the house of Albany. Yet the good humour of the old baron was not that of the toper, which, produced by the bowl, would not exist but for its inspiring draught ; the feeling of happiness and universal good-will lay at the bottom of the heart itself, and was only swelled into a state of glorious ebullition by the charm of the magic of the vine branch — the true Mercurial caduceus, the only true magic wand upon earth. Though the spirit of antiquarianism is seldom associated with the swelling affections of the heart that is dedicated to Moinus, old Innerkepple had, notwithstanding, been able to combine the two qualities or powers. Sitting in his old wainscotted hall, over a goblet of spiced Tokay, there were three old subjects he loved to speculate upon; and these were — his old castle, with its chronicled wounds, where the Genius of War sat alongside of the " auld carle" Time, in grim companionship ; secondly, the family tree of the Innerkepples — with himself, a good old branch, kept green by good humour and Tokay, at the further verge ; and a small green twig, as slender as a lily stalk, issuing from the old branch— no other than the daughter of Inner- kepple, the fair Kate Kennedy, a buxom damsel, of goodly proportions, and as merry, with the aid of health and young sparkling blood, as the old baron was with the spiced wine of Tokay ; and, in the third place, there was the true 62 TALES OF THE BORDERS, legitimate study of the antiquary, the ancient wine itself, the mortal years of which he counted with an eye as bright as Cocker's over a triumphant solution. As this last subject grew upon him, he became inspired, like the old poet of Teos, and the rafters of Innerkepple rang to the sound of his voice, tuned to the air of " The Guidwife o' Tullybody," and fraught with the deeds, active and passive, of the barons of Innerkepple and their castle. The fair Katherine Kennedy inherited her father's good humour, and, rnaugre all the polishing and freezing influ- ences of high birth, retained her inborn freedom of thought and action, heedless whether the contortion of the buccce in a broad laugh were consistent with the placidity oi beauty, or the scream of the heart-excited risibility were in accordance with the formula of high breeding. Buxom in her person, and gay in her manners, she formed the most enchanting baggage of all the care-killing damsels of her day — the most exquisite ronion that ever chased Me- lancholy from her yellow throne on the face ol Hypochon- dria, or threw the cracker of her persiflage into the midst of the crew of blue devils that bind down care-worn mor- tals by the bonds of ennui. She was no antiquary, even in the limited sense of her father's study of the science of cobwebs ; being rather given to neoterics, or the science which teaches the qualities of things of to-day or yester- day. Age in all things she hated with a very good femi- nine spirit of detestation ; and, following up her prin- ciples, she arrived at the conclusion that youth and beauty were two of the very best qualities that could be possessed by a lover. Her father's impassioned praises of the old branches of the tree of the Innerkepples— comprehending the brave Ludovick, who fell at Homildon, and the me- morable Walter, who sold his life at the price of a score oi fat Englishmen at the red Flodden — produced only her best and loudest laugh, as she figured to herself the folly KATE KENNEDY. 53 of preferring the rugged trunk to the green branches that suspend at their points the red-cheeked apple full of sweetness and juice. Neither cared the hilarious damso] much for the reverend turrets of Innerkepple. Her father's description, full of good humour as it was, of the various perils they had passed, and the service they had done their country, seemed to her, as she stood on the old walls, listening to the narrative, like the croak of the old corbies that sat on the pinnacles ; and her laugh came again full of glee through the loopholes, or echoed from the battered curtain or recesses of the ballium. That such a person as merry old Innerkepple should have a bitter and relentless foe in the proprietor of the old strength called Otterstone, in the neighbourhood, is one of the most instructive facts connected with the system of war and pillage that prevailed on the Borders, principally during the reign of Henry VIII. of England and James V. of Scotland, wh.-n the spirit of religion furnished a cause of aggression that could not have been affiWed by the pugnacious temperaments of the victims of atUok. Mag- nus Fotheringham of Otterstone had had a deadly feud with Kenneth Kennedy, the father of the good old Inner- kepple, and ever since had nourished against his neigh- bour a deadly spite, which he had taken many means of gratifying. His opponent had acted merely on the de- fensive ; but his plea had been so well vindicated by hii retainers, who loved him with the affection of children, that the splenetic aggressor had been twice repulsed with great slaughter. Most readily would the jovial baron, who had never given any cause of offence, have seized upon the demon of Enmity, and, obtorto collo, forced the fiend into the smoking flagon of spiced wine, while he held out the hand of friendship to his hereditary foe ; but such was Otterstone's inveteracy, that he would not meet him but with arms in his hands, so that all the endeavours oi 54 TALES OP THE BORDERS. the warm-hearted and jolly Innerkepple to overcome the hostility of his neighbour, were looked upon as secret modes of wishing to entrap him, and take vengeance on him for his repeated attacks upon the old castle. Some short time previous to the period about which we shall become more interested, Innerkepple, with twenty rangers, was riding the marches of his property, when he was set upon by his enemy, who had nearly twice that number of retainers. Taking up with great spirit the plea of their lord, the men who were attacked rallied round the old chief, and fought for him like lions, drowning (perhaps purposely) in the noise of the battle the cries of Inner- kepple, who roared, at the top of his voice — "Otterstone, man — hear me! — A pint o' my auld Canary will do baith you and me mair guid than a' that bluid o' your men and mine. Stop the fecht, man. I hae nae feud against you, an' I'm no answerable for the wrangs o' thy father Kenneth." These peaceful words were lost amidst the sounds of the battle, and Otterstone construed the contortions of the peacemaker into indications of revenge, and his bawling was set down as his mode of inspiriting his followers. The tight accordingly progressed, old Innerkepple at intervals holding up a white handkerchief as a sign of peace ; but which, having been used by him in stopping the wounds of one of his men, was received with its blood-marks as a signal of revenge, both by his men and those of the ag- gressor. The strife accordingly increased, and all was soon mixed up in the confusion of the melde. " Has feud ran awa wi' yer senses, Otterstone ? " again roared the good old baron. " I'll gie yer son, wha's at St. Omers, the hand o' my dochter Kate. Do you hear me, man ? If you will mix the bluids o' oor twa houses, let it be dune by Ilaly Kirk." His word ft never reached Otterstone; but his own men. KATE KENNEDY. 55 who adored and idolized their beautiful young mistress, whose unvaried cheerfulness and kindness had won their hearts, heard the proposition of their master with astonish- ment and dissatisfaction. They were still sorely pressed by their enemy, who, seeing the stained handkerchief in the hands of Innerkepple, were roused to stronger efforts. At this moment an extraordinary vision met their eyes. A detachment of retainers from the castle came forward in the most regular warlike array, having at their head their young mistress, armed with a helmet and a light jerkin, and bearing in her hand a sword of suitable proportions. A loud shout from the worsted combatants expressed their satisfaction and surprise, and in a moment the assistant corps joined their friends, and commenced to fight. The unusual vision relaxed for a moment the energies of Otter- Btone's men ; but a cry from their chief, that they would that day be ten times vanquished if they were defeated by a female leader, again inspired them, and instigated them to the fight. " Press forward, brave vassals of Innerkepple ! " cried Katherine. " Your foes have no fair damsel to inspire them ; and w r ho shall resist those whose arms are nerved in defence of an old chief and a young mistress ? He who kills the greatest number of Otterstone's men shall have the privilege of demanding a woman's guerdon from Katherine Kennedy. If this be not enough to make ye fight like lions, ye deserve to be hung in chains on the towers of Otterstone." Smiling as she uttered her strange speech, she hurried to her father, who was still making all the efforts in his power to bring about a parley. He had got within a few yards of Otterstone, and it required all the energies of Katherine to keep him back and defend him from insidi- ous blows — an office she executed with great agility, by keeping her light sword whirling round her head, and 56 TALES OP THE BORDERS inflicting wounds— not perhaps of great depth — on those who were ungallant and temerarious enough to approach her parent. " See, Otterstone, man," cried the laird, still intent on peace, and sorry for the deadly work that was going on around him. " Is she no fit to mak heirs to Otterstone ? Up wi' yer helm, Kate, and show him yer fair face. Ha I man, stop this bluidy work, and let us mend a' by a carousal. Deil's in the heart and stamack o' the man that prefers warring to wassailing ! " " He does not hear you, father," cried Kate. " We must defend ourselves. On, brave followers! Ye know your guerdon. Gallant knights have kneeled for it and been refused it. You are to fight for it, and to receive it. Hurrah for Innerkepple ! " And she swung her light fal- chion round her head, while the war-cry of the family, "Festina lente!" arose in answer to her inspiriting appeal, and the men rushed forward with new ardour on their foes. "You are as bluid-thirsty as he is, Kate," cried the baron. " What mean ye, woman ? Haste ye up to Otter- stone, and fling yer arms round his neck, and greet a guid greet, according to the fashion o' womankind. Awa! haste ye, and say, mairower, that ye'll be the wife o' his son, and join the twa baronies that are gaping for ane anither. Quick, woman ; tears are mere water — thin aneuch, Gude kens ! — but thae men's bluid is thicker than my vintage o' the year '90." " Katherine Kennedy never yet wept either to friend or foe, unless in the wild glee of her frolics," replied the maiden. " By the bones of Camilla ! I thought I was only fit for sewing battle scenes on satin, and laughing as I killed a knight with my needle ; but I find I have the Innerkepple blood in my veins, and my cheek is glowing like a blood -red rose. Take care of yourself, good father, KATE KENNEDY, 57 and leave the affair to me. A single glance of my eye has more power in it than the command of the proudest baron of the Borders. On, good hearts ! " And she again rode among the men, and inspired them with her voice and looks. The effect of the silvery tones of the voice of Katherine on the hearts of her father's retainers was electric ; they fought like lions, and it soon became apparent to Otter- stone that a woman is a more dangerous enemy than a man. The cry, " For the fair maid of Innerkepple ! " resounded among the combatants, and soon exhibited greater virtue than the war-cry of the house. Against men actuated by the chivalrous feelings that naturally arose out of the defence of a beautiful woman, all resis- tance was vain ; the ranks of Otterstone's men were broken, and this advantage having been seized by their opponents, whose energies were rising every moment, as the sound of Katherine's voice saluted their ears, a route ensued, and the usual consequences of that last resource of the vanquished — flight — were soon apparent in the wounded victims, who fell ingloriously with wounds on their backs. The pursuers were inclined to continue the pursuit even to the walls of Otterstone, but Katherine called them back. "To slay the flying," said she, Avith a laugh, as the asual hilarity of her spirits returned upon her, " is what I call effeminate warfare. When men flee, women pur- sue ; and what get they for their pains more than the wench got from Theseus, whom she hunted for his heart, and got, as our hunters do, the kick of his heel ? Away_ and carry in our disabled, that I may, with woman's art, cure the wounds that have been received in defence of a woman." The men obeyed with alacrity, and Innerkepple himself stared in amazement at his daughter, who had always before fifc TALES OF THE BORDERS. appeared to him as a wild romp, fit only for killing men with her beauty, or tormenting them with the elfin tricks or bewitching waggeries of her restless salient spirit. "I'll hae ye in the wainscotted ha', Kate," said the father, as he entered his private chamber, leaning on the arm of his datighter, "painted wi' helm, habergeon, and halberd, and placed alongside o' Lewie o' Homildon and Watt o' Flodden." "I care not, father," replied Katherine, "if you give the painter instructions to paint me laughing at those famous progenitors of our house, who were foolish enough to give their lives for that glory I can purchase for nothing, and get the lives of my enemies to boot; but I must go and minister to the gallant men who have been wounded." "Minister first to your father, Kate," replied Innerkepple, with a knowing look. " And to your father's daughter, you would add," replied she, with a smile. "A bridal and a battle lack wine." And, hastening to a cupboard, she took out and placed on the table a flagon and two cups, the latter of which she filled. "Rest to the souls of the men I have slain 1" said she, laughing, as she lifted the wine cup to her head, while her father was performing the same act. " What! did ye kill ony o' Otterstone's men?" said Inner- kepple. "Every time I lifted up my visor," replied she, "I scattered death around me. Hal hal what fools men are! Their bodies are tenantless; we women are the souls that live outside of them, and take up our residence within their clayey precincts only when we have an object to serve. The tourney has taught me the power of our sex; and there I have thrown my spirit into the man I hated, to gratify my humour by seeing him, poor caitiff! as he caught my hazel eye, writhe and wring, and contort himself into nil the attitudes of Proteus." KATE KENNEDY. &9 "Wicked imp!" said Innerkepple, laughing. "And when he had sufficiently twisted himseli"," con- tinued she, "I have, with a grave face given the same hazel eye to his opponent, and set his body in motion in the same way. The serpent-charmer is nothing to a woman. By this art, I to-day gained the victory ; and I'll stake my auburn toupee against thy grey wig, that I beat, in the same way, the boldest baron of the Borders." "By the faith o' Innerkepple, ye're no blate, Kate!" said the old baron, still laughing; "but come, let us see our wounded men" — taking his daughter's arm. "Leave their wounds to me, father," said she. "The sting of the tarantula is cured by an old song. We women are the true leeches ; doctors are quacks and medicasters to us. We kill and cure like the Delphic sword, which makes wounds and heals them by alternate strokes." "Ever at your quips, roisterer," said Innerkepple, as they arrived at the court. The wounded men had been brought in, and were con- signed to the care of one of the retainers, skilled in medi- cine, Katherine's medicaments — her looks and tones — being reserved for a balsamic application, after the wounds were cicatrized. The other retainers were, meanwhile, busy in consultation, as might have been seen by their congregating into parties, talking low, and throwing looks at Innerkepple and his fair daughter, as they stood on the steps of the inner door of the castle. "The guerdon! the guerdon!" at last said one of the vassals, advancing and throwing himself at the feet of Kate. "Ha! ha! I forgot," replied she laughing; " Dut turn up thy face — art thou the man?" "So say my companions, fair leddy," replied lie. "I brocht doon wi' this arm five o' Otterstone's men." "With that arm!" replied she, "and what spirit nerved the dead lumber, thtnkest thou?" 60 TALES OF THE BORDERS, "Dootless yours, fair leclcly," answered he, smiling know- ingly; "but, though the spirit was borrowed, I'm no the less entitled to my reward." "A good stickler for the rights of your sex," answered she, keeping up the humour; "but what guerdon demandest thou?" "That whilk knights hae sued in vain for at your fair feet," answered the man, smiling, as he uttered nearly the words she had used at the battle. "Caught in my own snare," replied she, laughing loudly. "Ah, Kate, Kate I" said the baron, joining in the humour, "hoo mony gallant barons, and knights, and gentlemen hae ye tormented by thae fair lips o' yours, which carry in their cunnin' words a defence o' themsels sae weel contrived that nane daur approach them! Ye're caught at last. Stand to yer richts, man. A kiss was promised ye, and by the honour o' Innerkepple, a kiss ye'll hae, if I shordd haud her bead by a grip o' her bonny auburn locks." "Hold! hold!" cried Katherine ; "this matter dependeth on the answer to a question. Art thou married, sirrah?" The man hesitated, fearful of being caught by his clever adversary "Have a care o' yoursel, Gregory," said Innerkepple, "ye're on dangerous ground." "What if I am or am not?" said the man, cautiously, turning up his eye into the face of the wicked querist. "If thou art not," said she, "then woidd a kiss of so fair a damsel be to thee beyond the value of a croft of the best land o' the barony o' Innerkepple; but if thou art, then woidd the guerdon be as nothing to the kiss of thy wife, and as the weight of a feather in the scale against an oxen- gate of good land." • "I'm no married," replied the man; "but, an't please yer leddyship, I'll take the oxengate." " Audacious varlet 1" cried Kate, rejoicing in the adroit- KATE KENNEDY. 61 ness she exhibited ; " wouldst thou prefer a piece of earth to a kiss of Kate Kennedy — a boon which the gayest knights of the Borders have sued for in vain! But 'tis well — thou hast refused the guerdon. Ha! ha! Men of Innerkepple, ye are witnesses to the fact. This man hath spurned my guerdon, and sought dull earth for my rosy lips." " We are witnesses," cried the retainers ; and the court- yard rang with the laugh which the cleverness of their fair mistress had elicited from those who envied Gregory of his privilege. " Kate, Kate !" said the old baron, joining in the laugh, "will ever mortal be able to seize what are sae weel guarded? I believe ye will be able to argue yer husband oot o' his richts o' proving whether thae little traitors be made of mortal flesh or ripe cherries. But wine is better than women's lips ; and since Kate has sae cleverly got quit o' her obligation, Til mak amends by gieing ye a surro- galum." Several measures of good old wine were served out to the men by the hands of Katharine, who rejoiced in the contra- diction of refusing one thing to give a better. Her health, and that of Innerkepple, were drunk with loud shonts of approbation ; and the wassail was kept up till a late hour of the night. Meanwhile, Otterstone was struggling with his disap- pointment, and nourishing a deep spirit of revenge. The shame of his defeat, accomplished by a girl, was insuffer- able ; and the gnawing pain of the loss of honour and men, in a cause where he had calculated securely on crushing his supposed enemy, affected him so severely, that he sent, it was reported, for his son, who had lived from his infancy at St. Omers, to come over to administer to him consolation. When Innerkepple heard of these things, he marvelled greatly at the stubbornness of nls neighbour, whom he wished, above all things, to drag, uolenle volente, into a deep fi2 TALES OF THE BORDERS. wassail in the old wainscotted hall of his castle, whereby he might drown, with reason itself, all their hereditary grudges, and transform a foe into a friend. These feelings were also participated in by the warlike Kate, who acknowledged that she did not, on that memorable day, fight for anything on earth that she knew of, but the safety of her father, and the sheer glory of victory. She entertained the best possible feelings towards Otterstone, though she admitted, with a laugh, that if his men had not that day run for their lives, she would have fought till they and their lord lay all dead upon the field, and the glory of Otterstone was extinguished for ever. A considerable period that passed in quietness, seemed to indicate that the anger of the vanquished baron had escaped by the valves appointed by nature for freeing the liver of its redundant bile. Meanwhile, Innerkepple's universal love of mankind increased, as his friendship for the juice of the grape grew stronger and stronger, and his potations waxed deeper and deeper ; so that he was represented, all over the Borders, as being the most jovial baron of his time. The fame of Kate also went abroad like fire-flaughts ; but no one knew what to make of her — whether to set her down as a beautiful virago, or as a merry imp of sportive devilry, who fought her father's enemy with the same good-will she felt towards the lovers whom she delighted with her beauty and gaiety, and tormented by her cruel waggeries and wiles. This apparent quietness, and the consequent freedom from all danger, induced the old baron to comply with a request made to him by King James, to lend him forty of his lul lowers, to aid in suppressing some disturbances caused Dy a number of outlawed reivers at that time ravaging the Borders. Katherine gave her consent to the measure ; out she wisely exacted the condition that the men should not be removed to a greater distance from the castle than KATE KENNEDY. 6? ten miles. When James' emissary asked her why she ad- jected this condition to her father's agreement, she answered, with that waggish mystery in which she often loved to indulge, that she had such a universal love for his — the emissary's — sex, that she could not suffer ths idea of her gallant men being further removed from her than the dis- tance on which she had condescended. A question for ex planation only produced another wicked qnodlibet; so that the royal messenger was obliged to be contented with a reason that sounded in his ears very like a contempt of royal authority — a circumstance for which she cared no more than she did for the mute expression of admiration of her beauty, that her quick eye detected on the face of the deputy. The men having been detached from the castle for the service of the king, there remained only a small number, not more than sufficient for occupying the more important stations on the walls of the strength. There was, however, no cause for alarm; and old Innerkepple continued to specu- late over his spiced Tokay, on his three grand subjects ol antiquarian research ; while Katherine followed her various occupations of listening to and laughing at his reveries, sewing battle scenes on satin, and killing her knights with her needle, in as many grotesque ways as her inventive fancy coidd devise. One day the sound of a horn cut right through the middle a long pull of Canary in the act of being perfected by the old baron's powers of swallow ; and, in a short time, the warder came in and said that a wine merchant, with sumpter mules and panniers, was at the end of the drawbridge, and had expressed a strong desire to submit his commodity to the test of such a famous judge of the spirit of the grape as the baron of Innerkepple, whose name had gone, forth as transcending that of all modern wine-drinkers. "A wine merchant!" ejaculated Innerkepple. smacking \ TALES OF THE BORDERS. his "dps after his interrupted draught of vintage '90. " What species o' sma' potation does he deal in? Ha! ha! It suits my humour to see the quack's een reel, as he finds his tongue and palate glued thegither wi' what I ca' wine, and gets them loosed again by his ain coloured water. Show him in, George." "Whar is my leddy, yer Honour ?" said the seneschal, looking bluntly. "Will she consent to the drawbridge bein' raised at a time when the castle's nearly empty?" " She has just gane into the green parlour in the west tower," said the baron. "But I'll tak Kate in my ain hands. She likes fun as weel as her auld father, and will laugh to see this quack beaten wi' his ain bowls." The seneschal withdrew, though reluctantly, and casting 1 lis eyes about for the indispensable Katherine ; but she was not within his reach, and he felt himself compelled, by the impatience of the old baron, to admit the merchant. The creaking hinges of the bridge resounded through the castle mid the merchant and his mules were seen by Katherine, looking through a loophole, slowly making their way into the castle. It was too late for her now to consider of the propriety of the permission to enter ; so she leant her chin on her hand, and quietly scanned the stranger, as he crossed •the bridge, driving his mules before him with a large stick, which he brought down with a loud thwack on their backs — accompanying his act with a loud "Whoop, ho!" and occasionally throwing his eyes over the walls as he proceeded. "Whom have we here?" said she, as she communed with herself, and nodded her head, still apparent through the loophole. "By'r Lady! neither Gascon nor Fleming, or my eyes are no better than my father's, when he looks at intiques through the red medium of his vintage of '90. Perchance, a lover come to run away with Kate Kennedy. Ifcy! the thought tickles my wild wits, and sends me on KATE KENNEDV. 65 the wings of fancy into the regions of romance. Yet I have not read that the catching and carrying off of Tartars hath anything to do with the themes of romantic love-errantry. I'm witty at the expense of this poor packman; but, seri- ously, Katherine Kennedy must carry off her lover. True to the difference that opposes me to the rest of my sex, I could not love a man whom I did not vanquish and abduct, as a riever does the chattels of the farmer." Continuing her gaze, as she laughed at her own strange thoughts, she saw the merchant bind his mules to a ring fixed in the inside of the wall, and take out of his panniers a vessel, with which he proceeded in the direction of the door that led to the hall. When the merchant had disap* peared, she saw one of the retainers of the castle examining intently the mules and their panniers. He looked up and caught her eye; and placing his finger on his forehead, made a sign for her to come down. She obeyed with her usual alacrity, and in a moment was at the side of the re- tainer, who, slipping gently under the shade of the castle, so as to be out of the view of those within the hall, com- municated to the ear of Katherine some intelligence of an important nature. The man looked grave ; Kate snapped her fingers; the fire of her eyes glanced from the balls like the sparks of struck flint, and the expression of her coun- tenance indicated that she had formed a purpose which she gloried in executing. "Hark ye, Gregory," said she; "I am still your debtor, but I require again your services." And, looking carefully around her, she whispered some words into the ear of the man ; and, upon receiving his nod of intelligence and assent, sprung up the steps that led to the hall. The wine merchant was, as she entered, sitting at the oaken table, opposite to the old baron, who was holding up in his hand a species of glass jug, and looking through it with that peculiar expression which is only to be found Vol. i. 5 66 TALES OF THE BORDERS. in the face of a luxurious wine-toper in the act of passing sentence. " Wha, in God's name, are ye, man ? " cried the baron, under the cover of whose speech Kate slipped cleverly up to the window, and sat down, with her cheek resting on her hand, in apparent listlessness, but eyeing intently the stranger. " I could have wad the picture o' my ancestor, Watt o' Flodden, or King Henry's turret, in the east wing o' Innerkepple, wi' its twenty wounds, mair precious than goold, that there wasna a cup o' vintage '90 in Scotland except what I had mysel. Whar got ye't, man ? Are ye the Devil? Hae ye brocht it frae my ain cellars? Speak, Satan ! " "Vy, mon cher Innerkepple," replied the merchant, "did I not know that you were one grand biberon — I mean drinker of vin ? It is known all over the marches — I mean the Bordures. Aha! no one Frenchman could cheat the famous Innerkepple ; so I brought the best that was in all my celliers. Is it not grand and magnifique?" " Grand an' magnifique, man ! " replied Innerkepple, as he sipped the wine with the gravity of a judge. " It's mair than a' that, man, if my tongue coidd coin a word to express its ain sense o' what it is at this moment enjoying. But the organ's stupified wi' sheer delight, and forgets its very mither's tongue ; an' nae wonder, for my very een, that didna taste it, reel and get drunk wi' the sight." And the delighted baron took another pull of the goblet. " Aha! Innerkepple, you are von of the grandest biberons I have ever seen in all this contree," said the merchant. " It is one great pleasir to trafique vit von so learned in the science of bon gout. That grand smack of your lips woidd tempt me to ruin myself, and drink mine own commodity." " Hae ye a stock o' the treasure ? " said the baron ; " I canna ru>Dose it.'" KATE KENNEDY. 6? " Just five barrils in ray celliers at Berwick," answered the merchant, " containing quatre hundred pints de Paris in each one of them." " I could walk on my bare feet to Berwick to see it and taste it," said the baron ; " but what clatter o' a horse's feet is that in the court, Kate ? " " Ha ! sure it is my mules," said the Frenchman, start- ing to his feet in alarm. " Oh ! keep your seat, Monsieur Merchant," cried Kate, laughing and looking out of the window. " Can a lady not despatch her servitor to Selkirk for a pair of sandals, that should this day have been on my feet in place of in Gilbert Skinner's hands, without raising folks from their wine ? " The Frenchman was satisfied, and retook his seat ; but the baron looked at Kate, as if at a loss to know what freak had now come into her inventive head. The letting down of the drawbridge, and the sound of the horse's feet passing along the sounding wood, verified her statement, but carried no conviction to the mind of Innerkepple. He had long ceased, however, the vain effort to understand the workings of his daughters mind, and on the present occasion he was occupied about too important a subject to be interested in the vagaries of a madcap wench. "By the Virgin! " she said again, "my jennet will lose her own sandals in going for mine, if Gregory thus strikes the rowels into her sides." Covering, by these words, the rapid departure of the messenger, she turned her eyes to continue the study of the merchant, whom she watched with feline assiduity. The conversation was again resumed. " Five barrels, said ye, Monsieur ? " resumed Innerkep- ple. " Let me see— that, wi' what I hae mysel, may see me out ; but it will be a guid heir-loom to Kate's husband. What is the price ? " 6d TALES OF THE BORDERS. " One merk the gallon of four pints de Paris," answered the merchant. (" Yet I see no marks of Otterstone about him," mut- tered Kate to herself. " How beautiful he is, maugre his disguise ! Had he come on a message of love, in place of war, I would have taken him prisoner, and bound him with the rays of light that come from my languishing eyes.") " That's dear, man," said Innerkepple. " But ye're a cunning rogue ; if I keep drinking at this rate, the price will sink as the flavour rises, and ye'll catch me, as men do gudgeons, by the tongue." " Aha ! mon cher Innerkepple," said the merchant, " you have von excellent humour of fun about ye. If I vere not un pauvre merchand, I would have one grand plaisir in get- ting mouille — I mean drunk — vit you." (" Ha ! my treacherous Adonis, art on that tack, with a foul wind in thy fair face ? " was Kate's mental ejacula- tion. " If thou nearest thy haven, I am a worse pilot than Palinurus.") " Wi' wine like that before ane," responded the baron, " the topers alongside o' ye may be Frenchmen or Dutch- men, warriors or warlocks, wraiths or wassailers, merchants or mahouns — a's alike. It will put a soul into a ghaist, a yearning heart into a gowl, and a spirit o' nobility in the breast o' ane wha never quartered arms but wi' the fair anes o' flesh an' bluid that belang to his wife. I'll be oblivious o' a' warldly things before Kate's sandals come frae Selkirk ; but yer price, man, I fear, will stick to me to the end." "I cannot make one deduction," said the merchant, " but I vill give to the men in the base-court one jolly debauch of very good vin, vich is in my hampers." (" The kaim of chanticleer is in the wind's eye," mut- tered Katherine. "Tlum pointest nobly for the direction KATE KENNEDY, 69 of treachery; but my sandals will be back from Selkirk long before I am obliged to march with thee to the prison of Otterstone.") " Weel, mak it a merk," said Innerkepple, " for five pints, an' a bouse to my retainers, wha are as muckle be- loved by me as if they were my bairns ; an' I will close wi' ye." " Veil, that is one covenant inter nous" said the mer- chant ; " but I cannot return to Berwick until clemain — I mean the morrow ; and we vill have the long night for one jolly carousal. I vill go sans delai, and give the poor fellows, in the meantime, one leetle tasting of the grand cheer." (" Then I am too long here," muttered Kate. " Alex- ander told his men that the Persian stream was poisonous, to prevent them from stopping to drink, whereby thev would have fallen into the hands of the enemy. One not less than he — ha! hal — will save her men, by telling them there is treachery in the cup.") She descended instantly to the base-court, and, passing from one guard to another, she whispered in their ears certain instructions, which, by the nodding of their heads, they seemed to understand, while those she had not time to visit received from their neighbours the communication at second-hand, and thus, in a short space of time, she pre- pared the whole retainers for the part they were destined to play. She had scarcely finished this part of her opera- tions, and got out of the court, when the wine merchant made his appearance on the steps leading to the hall. He nodded pleasantly to the men, and, proceeding to his mules, took out of one of the panniers a large vessel filled with wine. This he laid on the flagstones of the base- court, and alongside of it he placed a large cup. He then called out to the retainers to approach, and seemed pleased with the readiness with which they complied with his request 70 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Mine very good fellows," said he, " I have sold your master, Innerkepple, one grand quantity of vine ; and he says I am under one obligation to treat you vit a hamper, for the sake of the grand affection he bears to you. You may drink as much as ever you vill please ; and ven this is brought to one termination, I will supply you vit more." " We're a' under a suitable obligation to ye, sir," replied the oldest of the retainers, a sly, pawky Scotchman — " and winna fail to do credit to the present ye've sae nobly pre- sented to us ; but do ye no hear Innerkepple callin' for ye frae the ha' ? Awa, sir, to the guid baron, and leave us to our carouse." " Ay," said another ; " we'll inform ye when this is finished." " Finished ! " said a third ; " we'll be a' on oor backs before we see the end o't." ; 'Ahal excellent jolly troupl" cried the merchant, delighted with this company. The voice of Katherine, who appeared on the steps leading to the hall, now arrested their attention. " My father is impatient for thee, good merchant," said she. "Ma chere leddy," replied he, "I will be there a pre- sent." And, looking up to see that she had again disap- peared — " Drink, my jolly mates," he continued. " It i? the grand matiere, the bon stuff, the excellent good liqueur. Aha ! you will be so merry, and you know you have the consent of Innerkepple." "We'll be a' as drunk as bats," said he who spoke first, with a sly leer. " The Deil tak him wha has the beddin' o' us!" said another. "So say I," added half-a-dozen of voices. "Then I am the Deil's property," said the warder, " un- KATE KENNEDY. 71 less I am saved by the power <>' the wine; and, by my faith, I'll no spare't." " Aha ! very good ! excellent joke I " ciied the delighted merchant. " Drink, and shame the Diable, as we say in France. Wine comes from the gods, and is the grand poison of Beelzebub.'' And, after enjoying deep potations, the merchant re- turned to the hall, amidst the laughter and pretended applause of the men. The moment he had disappeared, Katherine got carried to the spot a measure filled with wine and water; and, having emptied in another vessel the contents of the merchant's hamper, the thin and inno- cuous potation was poured in to supply its place. The men assisted in the operation; and, all being finished, they began to carouse with great glee and jollity. " I said, my leddy, to the merchant, that we would be a' as drunk as bats," said one of the humorists; "and sure this is a fair beginning ; fur wha could stand drink o' this fearfu' strength ? " " The Deil tak him wha has the beddin' o' us I " said the other, laughing, as he drank off a glass of the thin mixture. " Then I am the Deil's property," said the warder, " un- less I am saved by the power o' this strong drink." And thus the men, encouraged by the smiles of Kate, who was, with great activity, conducting the ceremonies, seemed to be getting boisterous on the strength of the merchant's wine. Their jokes raised real laughter; and the noise of their mirth went up and entered into the hall, falling like incense on the heart of the merchant. Katherine, meanwhile, again betook herself to her station at the hall window, using assiduously both her eyes and ears; the former being directed to a dark fir plantation that stood to the left of the castle, and the latter occupied by the conversations of her father and the merchant. 72 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " My men, 1 ' said Innerkepple," seem to be following the example o' their master. They are gettin' noisy. I hope, Monsieur, ye were moderate in yer present. A castle- fu' o' drunk men is as bad as a headfu' o' intoxicated notions." (" Hurrah for the French merchant ! Long life to him ■ May he continue as strong as his liquor ! ") "Aha! the jolly good felloAvs are feeling the sting of the spirit," said the merchant, with sparkling eyes. " Ungratefu' dogs ! " rejoined Innerkepple ; " I treat them as if they were my sons, and hear hoo they praise a stranger for a bellyfu' o' wine ! My beer never produced sae muckle froth o' flattery. But this wine o' yours, Mon- sieur, drowns a 1 my indignation." (" I/ong life to Innerkepple and the fair Katherine ! " "Now you are getting the grand adulation," said th Frenchman. " Ha ! they are a jovial troup of good chaps, and deserve one grand potation ; but I gave them only one leetle hamper, for fear they should get rnouille? " Very considerate, Monsieur, very prudent and kind," said the baron ; " for twa-thirds o' my men are fechtin for Jamie, and we hae a kittle neebor in Otterstone, whase son I hear has come hame frae St. Omers. By-^the-by, saw ye the callant in France ? They say he's sair ashamed o' the defeat o' his father by the generalship o' my dochter Kate." " Ha ! did ma chert leddy combattre Otterstone ? ejaculated the Frenchman, laughing. " Very good ! ha ! ha ! ha ! I did not know that, ven I sold him one quan- tity of vin yesterday ; but I assure you, mon cher Inner- kepple, he is not at all your enemy, and his son did praise ma chere leddy as the most magnificent vench in all the contr£e." ("Excellently sustained," muttered Katherine to herself. " How I do love the roll of that dark eye, and the curl d KATE KENNEDY. 73 that lip covered with the black moustache ! Can so much beauty conceal a deadly purpose ? But the ' magnificent vench ' shall earn yet a better title to the soubriquet out of thy discomfiture, fair, deceitful, sweet devil.") "I only wish I had Otterstone whar you are, man," said Innerkepple, " wi' the liquor as sweet an' my bile nae bitterer. I would conquer him in better style than did my dochter, though, I confess, she manoeuvred him beauti- fully." (" Perdition to the faes o' Innerkepple ! and, chief o 1 them, the fause Otterstone, the leddy-licked loon ! ") " Helas ! The master and the men have the very differ- ent creeds," said the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders ; " but my vin is making the bon companions choleric. Ha/ ha!" (" It is— it is ! " muttered Katherine, as she strained her eyes to catch the signal of a white handkerchief, that floated on the top of one of the trees in the fir- wood.) She now abruptly left the hall, and proceeded to the place in the court occupied by those who were wassailing on the coloured water she had brewed for them with her fair hands. They were busily occupied by the manifesta- tions of their mirth, which was not altogether simulated. A cessation of the noise evinced the effect of her presence among those who deified her. " Up with the merry strain, my jolly revellers I " said she, smiling, and immediately " Bertram the Archer," in loud notes, rung in the ballium : — " And Bertram held aloft the horn, Filled wi' the bluid-red wyne , And three times has he loudly sworn His luve he winna tyne. •' My Anne sits on yon eastern tower, An' greets baith day and night, An' sorrows for her laver lost, An' right turned into might. 74 TALES OF THE BORDERS. M ' Then hie ye all, my merry men, To yonder lordly ha' ! An if they winna ope the gate, We"ll scale the burly wa'.' M * Hurra ! ' then shouted Bertram's men, And loudly they hae sworn, That they will right their gallant knigh Before the opening morn."* Under the cover of the noise of the song, which was sung with bacchanalian glee, Katherine communicak d her farther instructions to the man who had assumed the principal direction ; and, retreating quickly, lest the wine merchant should come out and surprise her, she left the revellers to continue their work. She was soon again at her post at the window. The boon companions within the hall were still busy with their conversation and their wine ; and by this time the shades of evening had begun to darken the view from the castle, and envelop the towers in gloom ; the rooks had retired to rest, the owls had taken up the screech note which pains the sensitive ear of night, and the bats were beginning to flap their leathern wings on the rough sides of the old walls. The sounds of the revellers in the court-yard began gradually to die away, and the strains of " Bertram the Archer" were limited to a weak repetition of the last lines, somewhat curtailed of their legitimate syllables : — " And we will right our gallant knight Before the opening morn." These indications of the effect of the wine increased, till, by-and-by, all seemed to be muffled up in silence. The circumstance seemed to be noticed at once by the wine merchant; but he took no notice of it to Innerkepple whom he still continued to ply with the rich vintage * Pinkerton ^ives only one verse of " Bertram the Archer." but In those days men did not require to be antiquaries. KATE KENNEDY. 75 Kate's senses were all on the alert, and she watched every scene of the acting drama, set agoing by her own master mind. A noise was now heard at the door of the hall, as if some one wished to got in, but could not effect an opening. " Who's there ? " cried Kate, as she proceeded to open the door. " It's me, your Leddyship's Honour," answered George, the seneschal, as he staggered, apparently in the last stage of drunkenness, into the hall. "What means this ?" cried Innerkepple, rising up, and not very well able to stand himself. " The warder o' my castle in that condition, an' a' our lives dependin' on his prudence!" " Your Honour's maist forgiving pardon," said the warder. "lam come here, maist lordly Innerkepple" — hiccup — " to inform your Highness that a' the men o' the castle are lying in the base-court like swine. I am the only sober man in the hale menyie" — hie — hie. "But whar's the ferly ? The strength o' the Frenchman's wine would have floored the strongest hensure o' the Borders " — hiccup — " an' I would hae been like the rest, if I hadna been the keeper o' the keys o' Innerkepple." (" As well as Roscius, George," muttered Kate, as she, with a smile, contemplated the actor.) " George, George, man," said the baron, " ye're just as bad as the rest. You've been ower guid to thern, Mon- sieur ; but this mooliness, as ye ca' it, has a' its dangers in thae times, when castles are surprised an' t;ien like sleepin' mawkins in bushes o' broom. Awa to yer bed ahint the gratin', man, an' sleep aff the wine, as fast as it is possible for a drunk man to do." George bowed, and staggered out of the hall, to betake himself to his conch. " Aha 1 this is one sad misadventure," said the merchant 76 TALES OF THE BORDERS " I did not know there vas half so much strength in this vin. Let us see the jolly topers, mon noble Innerkepple. It is one grand vision to a vendeur of good vin to see the biberons lying on the ground, all mouille. Helas 1 I was very wrong ; but mon noble baron will forgive the grand fault of liberality." The merchant rose, and, giving his arm to Innerkepple, who had some difficulty in steadying himself, proceeded towards the court, where they saw verified the report of the warder. The men were lying about the yard, appar- ently in a state of perfect insensibility. The wine measure was empty and overturned ; several drinking horns lay scattered around ; and everything betokened a deep de- bauch. " This maun hae been potent liquor," said the baron, taking up one of the cups, in which a few drops remained, and drinking it. " Ha ! man, puir gear after a'. A man micht drink three gallons o't, and dance to the tune o' Gilquhisker after he has finished. What's the meaning o' this?" " Aha 1 your tongue is mouille, mon noble Innerkepple," said the merchant. " It may be sae," replied the baron ; " but it wasna made mooly, as ye denominate it, by drink like that. I canna understand it, Monsieur." As he stood musing on the strange circumstance, he caught, by the light of a torch, the eye of Kate at the window, and felt his bewilderment increased by a leer in that dark bewitching orb, whose language appeared to him often — and never more so than at present — like Greek. His attention was next claimed by the merchant, who proposed that the men should be allowed to sleep out their inebriety where they lay. This proposition was reasonable ; and it would, besides, operate as a proper punishment for their exceeding the limits of that prudence which their duty to KATE KENNEDY. 77 their master required them to observe. The baron agreed to it, and, seeking again the support of the Frenchman's arm, he returned to the hall. The night was now fast closing in. An old female domestic had placed lamps in the hall, and some supper was served up to the baron and the merchant. Kate re- tired, as she said, to her couch ; but it may be surmised that an antechamber received her fair person, where she had something else to do than to sleep. The loud snoring of the men in the court-yard was heard distinctly, mixing with the screams of the owls that perched on the turrets. The two biberons sat down to partake of the supper, and prepare their stomachs, as Innerkepple said, for another bouse of the grand liquor. The conduct of the two carousers now assumed aspects very different from each other. The baron was gradually getting more easy and comfortable, while the merchant displayed an extreme restlessness and anxiety. The praises of his wine fell dead upon his ear, and the jokes of the good Innerkepple seemed to have become vapid and tiresome to him. " That's a grand chorus in the court-yard, Monsieur," said the baron. " Singing, snoring, groaning, are the three successive acts o' the wassailers. They would have been better engaged eating their supper. Yah! I'm gettin' sleepy, Monsieur." " Helas ! helas!" ejaculated the merchant. " You prick my memory, mon noble Innerkepple. My poor mules ! They have got no souper. Ah! cruel master that I am to forget the pauvre animals that have got no language to tell their wants." (" So, so — the time approaches," ejaculated Kate, men- tally, as she watched behind the door.) " Pardon me, mon cher baron," he continued, " I vill go and give them one leetle feed, and return to you a present. I have got beans in my hampers." 78 TAi,ES OF THE BORU^KS. " Humanity needs nae pardon, man," replied the baron, nodding with sleep. " Awa and feed the puir creatures ; but tak care an' no tramp on an' kill ony o' my brave men in yer effort to save the lives o 1 yer mules." " Never fear," said the other, taking from his pocket a miall lantern, which he lighted. " Travellers stand in grand need of this machine," he continued. u I will re- turn on the instant." He now left the baron to his sleep, and crept stealthily along the passage to the door leading to the court. He was followed, unseen, by Katherine, who watched every motion. He felt some difficulty in avoiding the men, who still lay on the ground; but with careful steps he reached the wall, and suddenly sprung on the parapet. "Prepare!" whispered Katherine into the ears of the prostrate xetainers; "the time approaches." While thus engaged, she kept her eye upon the dark shadow of the merchant, and saw with surprise a blue light flash up from the top of the wall, and throw its ominous glare on the surrounding objects. A scream of the birds on the castle walls announced their wonder at the strange vision, and Katherine concluded that the merchant had thus produced his signal from some phos- phorescent mixture, which he had ignited by the aid of the lantern. The light was followed instantly by a shrill blast of a horn. With a bound he reached the floor of the court, and, hastening to the warder's post, threw off the guard of the wheel, and, with all the art and rapidity of a seneschal, prepared for letting down the bridge. All was still as death ; there seemed to be no interruption to his proceed- ings ; but he started as he saw the rays of a lamp thrown from a loophole over his head, upon that part of the moat which the bridge covered. He had gone too far to recede, the creaking of the hinges grated, and down came the bridge with a hollow sound. A rush was now hoard as of KATE KENNEDY. 7 C J a body of men pressing forward to take possession of the passage; and tramp, tramp came the sounds of the march- ing invaders over the hollow-sounding wood. All was still silent within the castle, and the sound of the procession con- tinued. In an instant, a dense, dark body issued from the fir-wood, and rushed with heavy impetuous force on the rear of the. corps that were passing into the castle; and, simultaneously with that movement, the whole body of the men within the castle pressed forward to the end of the bridge, and met the front of the intruders, who were thus hedged in by two forces that had taken them by surprise, in both front and rear. " Caught in our own snare ! " cried the voice of old Otterstone. " Disarm them," sounded shrilly from the lips of Kathe- rine Kennedy. And a scuffle of wrestling men sent its fearful, death- like sound through the dark ballium. The strife was short and comparatively silent. The men who had rushed from the wood, and who were no other than the absent retain- ers of Innerkepple, coming from behind, and those within the strength meeting them in front, produced such an alarm in the enclosed troops, that the arms were taken from their hands as if they had been struck with palsy. Every two men seized their prisoner, while some hold- ing burning torches came running forward, to show the revengeful baron the full extent of his shame. Ranged along the court, the spectacle presented by the prisoners was striking and grotesque. Their eyes sought in surprise the form of a female, who, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other, stood in front of them, as the genius of their misfortune. The hall door was now opened, where the old baron Ftill sat sound asleep in his chair, unconscious of all these proceedings. The prisoners were led into the spacious 80 TALES OF THE BORDERS. apartment, and ranged along the sides in long ranks. Innerkepple rubbed his eyes, stared, rubbed them again, and seemed lost in perfect bewilderment. All was con- ducted in dumb show. The proud and revengeful Otter- stone was placed alongside of the good baron, his enemy ; and Kate smiled as she contemplated the strange looks which the two rivals threw upon each other. " Eight happy am I," said Katherine, coming forward in the midst of the assembly, " to meet my good friends, the noble Otterstone and his men, in my father's hall, under the auspices of a healing friendship. Father, I offer thee the hand of Otterstone. Otterstone, I offer thee the hand of Innerkepple. Ye have long been separated by strife and war, though, on the one side, there was always a good feeling of generous kindliness, opposed to a bitterness that had no cause, and a revenge that knew no excuse. Born nobles and neighbours, educated civilized men, and bap- tized Christians, why should ye be foes? but, above all, why should the one strike with the sword of war the hand that has held out to him the wine-cup ? My father has ever been thy friend, noble Otterstone, and thou hast ever been his foe. How is this ? Ah ! I know it. Thou wert ignorant, noble guest, of my good father's generous and friendly feelings, and I have taken this opportunity of introducing you to each other, that ye may mutually come to the knowledge of each other's better qualities and in- tentions," " What, in the name o' heaven, means a' this, Kate ? * ejaculated Innerkepple, in still unsubdued amazement. " Am I dreamin', or am I betrayed ? Whar is the wine merchant? Hoo cam ye here, Otterstone? Am I a prisoner in my ain castle, and my ain men and dochter laughing at my misfortune ? But ye spoke o' friendship, Kate. Is it possible, Otterstone, ye hae repented o' yer ill will, and come to mak amends for past grievances?" KATE KF.NyEPY. 81 " Thou hast heard him, Otterstone," said Kate. " Wilt thou still refuse the hand?" The chief hesitated ; but the good-humoured looks of Innerkepple melted him, and he held out the right hand of good-fellowship to the old baron, who seized it cordially, and shook it heartily. " Now," said Kate, " we must seal this friendship with a cup of wine. Bring in the wine merchant." The Frenchman was produced by the warder, along with the remaining hampers of the wine that had been left in the court-yard. As may have been already surmised, he was no other than the son of old Otterstone. Surprised and confounded by all these proceedings, he stood in the midst of the company, looking first at his father, and then at Innerkepple, without forgetting Kate, who stood like a majestic queen, enjoying the triumph of her spirit and ingenuity. Above all things, he wondered at the smile of good humour in the face of his father ; and his surprise knew no bounds when he saw every one around as well pleased as if they had been convened for the ends of friendship. " Hector," said >ld Otterstone, looking at his son, " the game is up. This maiden has outwitted us, and we are caught in our own snare. Off with thy disguise, and show this noble damsel that thou art worthy of her best smiles." Hector obeyed, and took off his wig, and the clumsy habiliments that covered his armour, and stood in the midst of the assembly, a young man of exquisite beauty. " The wine merchant, Hector Fotheringham ! " cried Innerkepple. " Ah, Kate, Kate ! is this the way ye bring yer lovers to Innerkepple ha'? — in the shape o' a wine merchant— the only form o' the Deevd I wad like to see on this earth ? Ha ! ye baggage, weel do ye ken hoo to get at the heart o' your faither. But whar was the use o' 82 TALES OF THE RORDERS. secresy, woman ? And you, Hector, man, I needed nae bribe o' Tokay to be friendly to the lover o' my dochter. A fine youth — a fine youth. Surely, surely, this man was made for my dochter Kate." " And thy daughter Kate was made for him," cried Otterstone. The retainers of both houses shouted applause, and the hall rang with the noise. The wine, which was intended for deception and treachery, was circulated freely, and opened the hearts of the company. Inncrkepple was ready again for his Tokay, and, lifting a large goblet to his head — " To the union o' the twa hooses !" cried he. " And 1 wish I had twenty dochters, and Otterstone as mony sons, that they micht a' be married thegither ; but, on this con- dition, that the bridegrooms shoidd a' come in the shape o' wine merchants." " Hurra, hurra!" shouted the retainers. The night was spent in good humour and revelry. All was restored; and. in a short time, the two houses were united by the marriage of Hector Fotheringham and Katherine Kennedy. RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON * CHAPTER I. " Of Ferguson, the bauld and 9lee." — Burns. I HAVE, I believe, as little of the egotist in my composition as most men; nor would I deem the story of my life, though by no means unvaried by incident, of interest enough tc repay the trouble of either writing or perusing it, were it the story of my own life only; but, though an obscure man myself, I have been singularly fortunate in my friends. The party-coloured tissue of my recollections is strangely inter- woven, if I may so speak, with pieces of the domestic his- tory of men whose names have become as familiar to our ears as that of our country itself; and I have been induced to struggle with the delicacy which renders one unwilling to speak much of one's self, and to overcome the dread of exertion natural to a period of life greatly advanced, through a desire of preserving to my countrymen a few notices, which would otherwise be lost to them, of two of jheir greatest favourites. I could once reckon among my dearest and most familiar friends, Robert Burns and Robert Ferguson. It is now rather more than sixty years since I studied * The perusal of this paper, written at an early period by the lamented Hugh Miller, cannot fail to suggest some reflections on the fate of the authol himself and that of the poet he describes. It would be simply fanciful to draw from his choice of subject, and the sympathy he manifests for the victim of Insanity, any conclusion of a felt affinity of mental type on his part. We would presently get into the obscure subject of presentiments. It is true that Hugh Miller wrote poetry, and was thus subject to the Nemesis; but we insist for na aiore than a case of coincidence, leaving to psychologists to settle the question ot the alleged connection between certain poetical types of mind and eventual madness — cases of which are so plentifully recorded in Germany. — Ed. 84 TALES OF THE BORDERS. for a few weeks at the University of St. Andrew's. I was the son of very poor parents, who resided in a seaport town on the western coast of Scotland. My father was a house-carpenter, a quiet, serious man, of industrious habits and great simplicity of character, but miserably depressed in his circumstances, through a sickly habit of body : my mother was a warm-hearted, excellent woman, endowed with no ordinary share of shrewd good sense and sound feeling, and indefatigable in her exertions for my father and the family. I was taught to read at a very early age, by an old woman in the neighbourhood — such a person as Shenstone describes in his "Schoolmistress;" and, being naturally of a reflective turn, I had begun, long ere I had attained my tenth year, to derive almost my sole amuse- ment from books. I read incessantly ; and after exhausting the shelves of all the neighbours, and reading every variety of work that fell in my way — from " The Pilgrim's Progress" of Bunyan, and the Gospel Sonnets of Erskine, to a treatise on fortification by Vauban, and the "History of the Heavens" by the Abbe Pluche — I would have pined away for lack of my accustomed exercise, had not a benevolent baronet in the neighbourhood, for whom my father occasionally wrought, taken a fancy to me, and thrown open to my perusal a large and well-selected library. Nor did his kindness terminate until, after having secured to me all of learning that the parish school afforded, he had settled me, now in my seventeenth year, at the University. Youth is the season of warm friendships and romantic wishes and hopes. We say of the child, m its first attempts to totter along the wall, or when it has first learned to rise beside its mother's knee, that it is yet too weak to stand alone; and we may employ the same language in describ- ing a young and ardent mind. It is, like the child, too weak to stand alone, and anxiously seeks out some kindred mind on which to lean. I had had my intimates at school, RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 85 who, though of no very superior cast, had served me, if I may so speak, as resting-places, when wearied with my studies, or when I had exhausted my lighter reading; and now, at St. Andrew's, where I knew no one, I began to experience the unhappinoss of an unsatisfied sociality. My schoolfellows were mostly stiff, illiterate lads, who, with a little bad Latin and worse Greek, plumed themselves mightily on their scholarship; and I had little induce- ment to form any intimacies among them ; for, of ah men, the ignorant scholar is the least amusing. Among the students of the upper classes, however, there was at least one individual with whom I longed to be acquainted. He was apparently much about my own age, rather below than above the middle size, and rather delicately than robustly formed; but I have rarely seen a more elegant figure or more interesting face. His features were small, and there was what might perhaps be deemed a too feminine delicacy in the whole contour; but there was a broad and very high expansion of forehead, which, even in those days, when we were acquainted with only the phrenology taught by Plato, might be regarded as the index of a capacious and power- ful mind; and the brilliant light of his large black eyes, seemed to give earnest of its activity. "Who, in the name of wonder, is that?" I inquired of a class-fellow, as this interesting-looking young man passed me for the first time. "A clever, but very unsettled fellow from Edinburgh," replied the lad; "a capital linguist, for he gained our first bursary three years ago; but our Professor says he is cer- tain he will never do any good. He cares nothing for the company of scholars like himself; and employs himself— though he excels, I believe, in English composition — in writing vulgar Scotch rhymes, like Allan Ramsay. His name is Robert Ferguson." I felt, from this moment, a strong desire to rank among 86 TALES OF THE BOItDERS. the friends of one who cared nothing for the company of such men as my class-fellow, and who, though acquainted with the literature of England and Rome, could dwell with interest on the simple poetry of his native country. There is no place in the neighbourhood of St. Andrew's where a leisure hour may be spent more agreeably than among the ruins of the Cathedral. I was not slow in dis- covering the eligibilities of the spot; and it soon became one of my favourite haunts. One evening, a few weeks after I had entered on my course at college, I had seated myself among the ruins in a little ivied nook fronting the setting sun, and was deeply engaged with the melancholy Jaques in the forest of Ardennes, when, on hearing a light footstep, I looked up, and saw the Edinburgh student whose appear- ance had so interested me, not four yards away. He was busied with his pencil and his tablets, and muttering, as he went, in a half audible voice, what, from the inflection of the tones, seemed to be verse. On seeing me, he started, and apologizing, in a few hurried but courteous words, for what he termed the involuntary intrusion, would have passed; but, on my rising and stepping up to him, he stood. " I am afraid, Mr. Ferguson," I said, " 'tis I who owe you an apology; the ruins have long been yours, and I am but au intruder. But you must pardon me ; I have often heard of them in the west, where they are hallowed, even more than they are here, from their connection with the history of some of our noblest Reformers ; and, besides, I .?ee no place in the neighbourhood where Shakspeare can be read to more advantage." " Ah," said he, taking the volume out of my hand, " a reader of Shakspeare and an admirer of Knox. I question whether the heresiarch and the poet had much in common." " Nay, now, Mr. Ferguson," 1 replied, " you are too true a Scot to question tliat. They had much, very much in Recollections o* Ferguson. 87 common. Knox was no rude Jack Cade, but a great and powerful-nimded man ; decidedly as much so as any of the nobler conceptions of the dramatist — his Caesars, Brutuses, or Othellos. Buchanan could have told you that he had even much of the spirit of the poet in him, and wanted only the art ; and just remember how Milton speaks of him in his " Areopagitica." Had the poet of " Paradise Lost" thought regarding him as it has become fashionable to think and speak now, he would hardly have apostrophized him as — Knox, the reformer of a nation — a great man ani- mated by the spirit of God." " Pardon me," said the young man, "I am little acquainted with the prose writings of Milton ; and have, indeed, picked up most of my opinions of Knox at second-hand. But I have read his meiry account of the murder of Beaton, and found nothing to alter my preconceived notions of him, from either the matter or manner of the narrative. Now that T think of it, however, my opinion of Bacon would be no very ade- quate one, were it formed solely from the extract of his history of Henry VII., given by Kaimes in his late publica- tion. — Will you not extend your walk ? " We quitted the ruins together, and went sauntering along the shore. There was a rich sunset glow on the water, and the hills that rise on the opposite side of the Frith stretched their undulating line of azure under a gorgeous canopy of crimson and gold. My companion pointed to the scene: — "These glorious clouds," he said, "are but wreaths of vapour ; and these lovely hills, accumulations of earth and stone. And it is thus with all the past — with the past of our own little histories, that borrows so much of its golden beauty from the medium through which we survey it — with the past, too, of all history. There is poetry in the remote — the bleak hill seems a darker firmament, and the chill wreath of vapour a river of fire. And you, sir, seem to have contemplated the history of our stern Reformers 88 TALES OF THE BORl>EKS. through this poetical medium, till you forget that the poetry was not in them, but in that through which you surveyed them." " Ah, Mr. Ferguson," I replied, " you must permit me to make a distinction. I acquiesce fully in the justice of your remark ; the analogy, too, is nice and striking, but I would fain carry it a little further. Every eye can see the beauty of the remote; but there is a beauty in the near — an interest, at least — which every eye cannot see. Each of the thousand little plants that spring up at our feet, has an interest and beauty to the botanist ; the mineralogist would find some- thing to engage him in every little stone. And it is thus with the poetry of life — all have a sense of it in the remote and the distant; but it is only the men who stand high in the art — its men of profound science — that can discover it in the near. The mediocre poet shares but the commoner gift, and so he seeks his themes in ages or countries far removed from his own; while the man of nobler powers, knowing that all nature is instinct with poetry, seeks and finds it in the men and scenes in his immediate neighbour- hood. As to our Reformers" " Pardon me," said the young poet ; " the remark strikes me, and, ere we lose it in something else, I must furnish you with an illustration. There is an acquaintance of mine, a lad much about my own age, greatly addicted to the study of poetry. He has been making verses all his life-long; he began ere he had learned to write them even ; and his judgment has been gradually overgrowing his earlier com- positions, as you see the advancing tide rising on the beach and obliterating the prints on the sand. Now, I have observed, that, in all his earlier compositions, he went far from home ; he coidd not attempt a pastoral without first transporting himself to the vales of Arcady; or an ode to Pity or Hope, without losing the warm living sentiment in th<' dead, cold, personifications of the Greek. The Hope RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 89 jiid Pity he addressed were, not the undying attendants of human nature, but the shadowy spectres of a remote age. Now, however, I feel that a change has come over me. I seek for poetry among the fields and cottages of my own land. I— a— a — the friend ol' whom I speak But I interrupted your remark on the Reformers." " Nay," I replied, " if you go on so, I would much rathei listen than speak. I only meant to say that the Knoxes and Melvilles of our country have been robbed of the admiration and sympathy of many a kindred spirit, by the strangely erroneous notions that have been abroad regard- ing them for at least the last two ages. Knox, I am con- vinced, would have been as great as Jeremy Taylor, had he not been greater." We sauntered along the shore till the evening had dark- ened into night, lost in an agreeable interchange of thought. "Ah !" at length exclaimed my companion, "I had almost forgotten my engagement, Mr. Lindsay; but it must not part us. You are a stranger here, and I must introduce you to some of my acquaintance. There are a few of us — choice spirits, of course — who meet every Saturday evening at John Hoggs ; and I must just bring you to see them. There may be much less wit than mirth among us; but you will find us all sober when at the gayest; and old John wi]J be quite a study for you." 90 TALES OF THE BORDER& CHAPTER II, " Say, ye red gowns that aften here Hae toasted cakes to Katie's beer, Gin e'er thir days hae had their peer, Sae blythe, sae daft ' Ye'U ne'er again in life's career Sit half sae saft." Elegy on John Hogg. We returned to town ; and, after threading a few of the narrower lanes, entered by a low door into a long dark room, dimly lighted by a fire. A tall thin woman was employed in skinning a bundle of dried fish at a table in a corner. "Where's the guidman, Kate?" said my companion, changing the sweet pure English in which he had hitherto spoken for his mother tongue. " John's ben in the spence," replied the woman " Little Andrew, the wratch, has been makin' a totum wi' his faither's ae razor, an' the puir man's trying to shave himsel yonder, an' girnan like a sheep's head on the tangs." "Oh, the wratch! the ill-deedie wratch I" said John, stalking into the room in a towering passion, his face covered with suds and scratches — " I might as weel shave mysel wi' a mussel shillet. Rob Ferguson, man, is that you!" "Wearie warld, John," said the poet, "for a oor philosophy." "Philosophy! — it's but a snare, Rob — just vanity an' vexation o' speerit, as Solomon says. An' isna it clear heterodox besides? Ye study an' study till your brains gang about like a whirligig; an' then, like bairns in a boat that see the land sailin', ye think it's the solid yearth that's turnin' roun'. An' this ye ca' philosophy; as if David RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 91 hadna tauld us that the warld sits coshly on the waters, an' canna be moved." " Hoot, John," rejoined my companion, " it's no me, but Jamie Brown, that differs wi' you on these matters. I'm a Hoggonian, ye ken. The auld Jews were, doubtless, gran' Christians, an' wherefore no guid philosophers too ? But it was cruel o' you to unkennel me this mornin' afore six, an' I up sae lang at my studies the nicht afore." " Ah, Kob, Rob !" said John — " studying in Tarn Dun's kirk. Ye'll be a minister, like a' the lave." "Mendin' fast, John," rejoined the poet. " I was in your kirk on Sabbath last, hearing worthy Mr. Corkindale ; whatever else he may hae to fear, he's in nae danger o' ' thinking his ain thoughts,'' honest man." "In oor kirk !" said John; "ye're dune, then, wi' pre centin' in yer ain — an' troth nae wonder. What could hae possessed ye to gie up the puir chield's name i' the prayer, an' him sittin' at yer lug?" I was unacquainted with the circumstance to which he alluded, and requested an explanation. "Oh, ye see," said John, "Rob, amang a' the ither gifts that he misguides, has the gift o' a sweet voice; an' naething else would ser' some o' oor Professors than to hae him for their precentor. They micht as weel hae thocht o' an organ — it wad be just as devout; but the soun's everything now, laddie, ye ken, an' the heart naething. Weel, Rob, as ye may think, was less than pleased wi' the job, an' tauld them he could whistle better than sing ; but it wasna that they wanted, and sae it behoved him to tak his seat in the box. An' lest the folk should no be pleased wi' ae key to ae tune, he gied them, for the first twa or three days, a hale bunch to each ; an' there was never sic singing in St. Andrew's afore. Weel, but for a' that it behoved him still to precent , though he has got rid o' it at last — for what did he do twa Sabbaths agone, but out up drucken Tarn Moffat's name in the prayer 92 TALES OF THE BORDERS. — the very chield that was sittin' at his elbow, though the minister couMna see him. An' when the puir stibbler was prayin' for the reprobate as weel's he could, ae half o' the kirk was needcessitated to come oot, that they micht keep decent, an 1 the ither half to swallow their pocket napkins. But what think ye" " Hoot, John, now, leave oot the moral,'' said the poet " Here's a' the lads." Half a dozen young students entered as he spoke ; and, after a hearty greeting, and when he had introduced me to them one by one, as a choice fellow of immense reading, the door was barred, and we sat down to half a dozen of home brewed, and a huge platter of dried fish. There was much mirth and no little humour. Ferguson sat at the head of the table, and old John Hogg at the foot. I thought of Eastcheap, and the revels of Prince Henry ; but our Falstaff was an old Scotch Seceder, and our Prince a gifted young fellow, who owed all his influence over his fellows to the force of his genius alone. "Prithee, Hal," I said, " let us drink to Sir John." 11 Why, yes," said the poet, " with all my heart. Not quite so fine a feUow, though, 'bating his Scotch honesty. Half Sir John's genius would have served for an epic poet — half his courage for a hero." " His courage !" exclaimed one of the lads. " Yes, Willie, his courage, man. Do you think a coward could have run away with half the coolness ? With a tithe of the courage necessary for such a retreat, a man would have stood and fought till he died. Sir John must have been a fine fellow in his youth." " In mony a droll way may a man fa' on the drap drink,'' remarked John ; " an' meikle ill, dootless, does it do in takin' affthe edge o' the speerit — the inair if the edge be a fine razor edge, an' no the edge o' a whittle. I mind about fifty years ago, when I was a slip o' a callant," RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 93 " Losh, John!" exclaimed one of the lais, " hae ye been feehtin wi' the cats? sic a scrapit face !" " Wheesht," said Ferguson ; " we owe the illustration to that, but dinna interrupt the story." " Fifty years ago, when I was a slip o' a callant," con- tinued John, " unco curious, an' fond o' kennin everything, as callants will be," " Hoot, John," said one of the students, interrupting him, " can ye no cut short, man? Rob promised last Saturday to gie us, • Fie, let us a' to the bridal,' an' ye see the ale an' the nicht's baith wearin' dune." " The song, Rob, the song!" exclaimed half a dozen voices at once ; and John's story was lost in the clamour. ''Nay, now," said the good-natured poet, " that's less than kind ; the auld man's stories are aye worth the hear- ing, an' he can relish the auld-warld fisher-sang wi' the best o' ye. But we maun hae the story yet." He struck up the old Scotch ditty, " Fie let us a' to the bridal," which he sung with great power and brilliancy ; for his voice was & richly modulated one, and there was a fulness of meaning imparted to the words which wonder- fully heightened the effect. " How strange it is," he re- marked to me when he had finished, " that our English neighbours deny us humour ! The songs of no country equal our Scotch ones in that quality. Are you acquainted with ' The Guidwife of Auchtermuchty ? ' " " Well," I replied; "but so are not the English. It strikes me that, with the exception of Smollet's novels, all our Scotch humour is locked up in our native tongue. No man can employ in works of humour any language of which he is not a thorough master ; and few of our Scotch writers, with all their elegance, have attained the necessary com- mand of that colloquial English which Addison and Swift employed when they were merry." " A braw redd delivery," said John, addressing me. "Are ye gaun to be a minister tae ?" 94 TALES OP THE BORDERS " Not quite sure yet," I replied. "Ah," rejoined the old man, " 'twas better for the Kirk when the minister just made himsel ready for it, an' then waited till he kent whether it wanted him. There's young Rob Ferguson beside you," — " Setting oot for the Kirk," said the young poet, inter- rupting him, " an' yet drinkin' ale on Saturday at e'en wi' old John Hogg." " Weel, weel, laddie, it's easier for the best o' us to find fault wi' ithers than to mend oorsels. Ye have the head, onyhow ; but Jamie Brown tells me it's a doctor ye're gaun to be, after a'." " Nonsense, John Hogg — I wonder how a man o' your standing" " Nonsense, I grant you," said one of the students ; '' but true enough for a' that, Bob. Ye see, John, Bob an' I were at the King's Muirs last Saturday, an ca'ed at the pendicle, in the passing, for a cup o' whey ; when the guidwife tellt us there was ane o' the callants, who had broken into the milk-house twa nichts afore, lyin' ill o' a surfeit. 'Danger- ous case,' said Bob ; ' but let me see him ; I have studied to small purpose if I know nothing o' medicine, my good woman.' Weel, the woman was just glad enough to bring him to the bedside ; an' no wonder — ye never saw a wiser phiz in yoiir lives — Dr. Dumpie's was naething till't ; an', after he had sucked the head o' his stick for ten minutes, an' fand the loon's pulse, an' asked mair questions than the guidwife liked to answer, he prescribed. But, losh ! sic a prescription I A day's fasting an' twa ladles o' nettle kail was the gist o't ; but then there went mair Latin to the taU o' that, than oor neebor the Doctor ever had to lose." But I dwell too long on the conversation of this evening. I feel, however, a deep interest in recalling it to memory. The education of Ferguson was of a twofold character — he studied in the schools and amonsr the people ; but it was RECOLLECTIONS OP FERGUSON. 95 in the latter tract alone that he acquired the materials of all his better poetry ; and I feel as if, for at least one brief evening, I was admitted to the privileges of a class-fellow, and sat with him on the same form. The company broke up a little after ten ; and I did not again hear of John Hogg till I read his elegy, about four years after, among the poems of my friend. It is by no means one of the happiest pieces in the volume, nor, it strikes me, highly characteristic ; but I have often perused it with an interest very independent of its merits. CHAPTER III. " But he is weak — both man and boy Has been an idler in the land." — Woudswofth. f was attempting to listen, on the evening of the follow- ing Sunday, to a dull, listless discourse — one of the dis- courses so common at this period, in which there was fine writing without genius, and fine religion without Chris- tianity — when a person who had just taken his place beside me, tapped me on the shoulder, and thrust a letter into my hand. It was my newly-acquired friend of the previous evening ; and we shook hands heartily under the pew. "That letter has just been handed me by an acquaintance from your part of the country," he whispered ; " I trust it contains nothing unpleasant." I raised it to the light, and on ascertaining that it was sealed and edged with black, rose and quitted the church, followed by my friend. It intimated, in two brief lines, that my patron, the baronet, had been killed by a fall frou his horse a few evenings before ; and that, dying intestate the allowance which had hitherto enabled me to prosecute 96 TALES OP THE BORDERS. my studies necessarily dropped. I crumpled up the paper in my hand. "You have learned something very unpleasant," said Ferguson. "Pardon me— I have no wish to intrude ; but, if at all agreeable, I would fain spend the evening with you." My heart filled, and grasping his hand, I briefly inti- mated the purport of the communication, and we walked out together in the direction of the ruins. " It is, perhaps, as hard, Mr. Ferguson," I said, " to fall from one's hopes as from the place to which they pointed. I was ambitious — too ambitious, it may be — to rise from that level on which man acts the part of a machine, and tasks merely his body, to that higher level on which he performs the proper part of a rational creature, and em- ploys only his mind. But that ambition need influence me no longer. My poor mother, too — I had trusted to be of use to her." " Ah, my friend," said Ferguson, " I can tell you of a case quite as hopeless as your own — perhaps more so. But it will make you deem my sympathy the result of mere selfishness. In scarce any respect do our circumstances differ. We had reached the ruins . the evening was calm and mild as when I had walked out on the preceding one ; but the hour was earlier, and the sun hung higher over the hill. A newly-formed grave occupied the level spot in front of the little ivied corner. " Let us seat ourselves here," said my companion, "and I will tell you a story — I am afraid a rather tame one ; for there is nothing of adventure in it, and nothing of incident; but it may at least show you that I am not unfitted to be your friend. It is now nearly two years since I lost my father. He was no common man — common neither in intellect nor in sentiment; but though he once fondly hoped RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. \)7 it should be otherwise — for in early youth he indulged in all the dreams of the poet — he now fills a grave as name- less as the one before us. He was a native of Aberdeen- shire ; but held, latterly, an inferior situation in the office of the British Linen Company in Edinburgh, where I was born. Ever since I remember him, he had awakened too fully to the realities of life, and they pressed too hard on his spirits, to leave him space for the indulgence of his earlier fancies ; but he could dream for his children, though not for himself; or, as I should perhaps rather say, his children fell heir to all his more juvenile hopes of fortune, and influence, and space in the world's eye ; — and, for him- self, he indulged in hopes of a later growth and firmer tex- ture, which pointed from the present scene of things to the future. I have an only brother, my senior by several years, a lad of much energy, both physical and mental ; in brief, one of those mixtures of reflection and activity which seem best formed for rising in the world. My father deemed him most fitted for commerce, and had influence enough to get him introduced into the counting-house of a respectable Edinburgh merchant. Iwas always of a graver turn — in part, perhaps, the effect of less robust health — and me he intended for the Church. I have been a dreamer, Mr. Lindsay, from my earliest years — prone to melancholy, and fond of books and of solitude ; and the peculiarities of this temperament the sanguine old man, though no mean judge of character, had mistaken for a serious and reflective disposition. You are acquainted with literature, and know something, from books at least, of the lives of literary men. Judge, then, of his prospect of usefulness in any profession, who has lived, ever since he knew himself, among the poets. My hopes, from my earliest years, have been hopes of celebrity as a writer — not of wealth, or of influence, or of accomplish- ing any of the thousand aims which furnish the great bulk of mankind with motives. You will laugh at me. There Vol. I 7 98 TALES OF THE BORDERS. is something so emphatically shadowy and unreal in the object of this ambition, that even the full attainment of it provokes a smile. For who does not know How vain that second life in others' breath, The estate which wits inherit after death ! ' And what can be more fraught with the ludicrous than r. union of this shadowy ambition with mediocre parts and attainments ! But I digress. " It is now rather more than three years since I entered the classes here. I competed for a bursary, and was fortu- nate enough to secure one. Believe me, Mr. Lindsay, I am little ambitious of the fame of mere scholarship, and yet 1 cannot express to you the triumph of that day. I had seen my poor father labouring, far, far beyond his strength, for my brother and myself— closely engaged during the day with his duties in the bank, and copying at night in a lawyer's office. I had seen, with a throbbing heart, his tall wasted frame becoming tremulous and bent, and the grey hair thinning on his temples ; and I now felt that I could ease him of at least part of the burden. In the excite- ment of the moment, I could hope that I was destined to rise in the world — to gain a name in it, and something more. You know how a slight success grows in importance when we can deem it the earnest of future good fortune. I met, too, with a kind and influential friend in one of the pro- fessors, the late Dr. Wilkie. Alas! good, benevolent man! you may see his tomb yonder beside the wall ; and, on my return from St. Andrew's, at the close of the session, I found my father on his deathbed. My brother Henry — who had been unfortunate, and, I am afraid, something worse — had quitted the counting-house and entered aboard of a man-of-war as a common sailor; and the poor old man, whose heart had been bound up in him, never held up his head aftrr. RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 99 " On the evening of my father's funeral,! could have lain flown and died. I never before felt how thoroughly I am unfitted for the world — how totally I want strength. My lather, I have said, had intended me for the Church ; and, m my progress onward from class to class, and from school to college, I had thought but little of each particular step, as it engaged me for the time, and nothing of the ultimate ob- jects to which it led. All my more -vigorous aspirations were directed to a remote future and an unsubstantial shadow. But I had witnessed, beside my father's bed, what had led me seriously to reflect on the ostensible aim for which I lived and studied ; and the more carefully I weighed my- self in the balance, the more did I find myself a wanting. You have heard of Mr. Brown of the Secession, the author of the " Dictionary of the Bible." He was an old acquaint- ance of my father's ; and, on hearing of his illness, had come all the way from Haddington to see him. I felt, for the first time, as kneeling beside his bed, I heard my father's breathings becoming every moment shorter and more difficult, and listened to the prayers of the clergyman, that I had no business in the Church. And thus I still continue to feel. Twere an easy matter to produce such things as pass for sermons among us, and to go respectably enough through the mere routine of the profession ; but I cannot help feeling that, though I might do all this and more, my duty, as a clergyman, would be still left undone. I want singleness of aim — I want earnestness of heart. 1 cannot teach men effectually how to live well ; I cannot show them, with aught of confidence, how they may die safe. I cannot enter the Church without acting the part of a hypocrite ; and the miserable part of the hypocrite it shall never be mine to act. Heaven help me ! I am too little a practical moralist myself to attempt teaching morals to others. "But I must conclude my story, if storv it mav be called' 100 TALES OF THE BORDERS. • -I saw my poor .vioLaer and my little sister deprived, by my father's death, of their sole stay, and strove to exert myself in their bohalf. In the daytime I copied in a lawyer's office; my nights were spent among the poets. You will deem it the very madness of vanity, Mr. Lindsay ; but I could not live without my dreams of literary eminence. I felt that life would be a blank waste without them; and I feel so still. Do not laugh at my weakness, when I say I would rather live in the memory of my country than enjoy her fairest lands — that I dread a nameless grave many times more than the grave itself. But, I am afraid, the life of the literary aspirant is rarely a happy one; and T, alas! am one of the weakest of the class. It is of importance that the means of living be not disjoined from the end for which we live; and I feel that, in my case, the disunion is complete. The wants and evils of life are around me; but the energies through which those should be provided for, and these warded off, are otherwise employed. I am like a man pressing onward through a hot and bloody fight, his breast open to every blow, and tremblingly alive to the sense of injury and the feeling of pain, but totally unprepared either to attack or defend. And then those miserable depressions of spirits to which all men who draw largely on their imagination are so subject; and that wavering irregu- larity of effort which seems so unavoidably the effect of pursuing a distant and doubtful aim, and which proves so hostile to the formation of every better habit — alas! to a steady morality itself. But I weary you, Mr. Lindsay; besides, my story is told. I am groping onward, I know not whither; and, in a few months hence, when my last session shall have closed, I shall be exactly where you are at present." He ceased speaking, and there was a pause of several minutes. I felt soothed and gratified. There was a sweet melancholy music in the tones of his voice, that sunk to my RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 101 very heart; and the confidence he reposed in me flattered my pride. "How was it," I at length said, "that you were the gayest in the party of last night?" "I do not know that I can better answer you," he replied, " than by telling you a singular dream which I had about the time of my father's death. I dreamed that I had suddenly quitted the world, and was journeying, by a long and dreary passage, to the place of final punishment. A blue, dismal light glimmered along the lower wall of the vault; and, from the darkness above, where there flickered a thousand undefined shapes — things without form or out- line — I coidd hear deeply-drawn sighs, and long hollow groans and convulsive sobbings, and the prolonged moan- ings of an unceasing anguish. I was aware, however, though I knew not how, that these were but the expressions of a lesser misery, and that the seats of severer torment were still before me. I went on and on, and the vault widened, and the light increased, and the sounds changed. There were loud laughters and low mutterings, in the tone of ridicule ; and shouts of triumph and exultation ; and, in brief, all the thousand mingled tones of a gay and joyous revel. Can these, I exclaimed, be the sounds of misery when at the deepest ? ' Bethink thee,' said a shadowy form beside me — ' bethink thee if it be not so on earth.' And as I remembered that it was so, and bethought me of the mad revels of shipwrecked seamen and of plague-stricken cities, I awoke. But on this subject you must spare me." "Forgive me," I said; "to-morrow I leave college, and not with the less reluctance (hat I must part from you. But I shall yet find you occupying a place among the literati of our country, and shall remember, with pride, that you were my friend." He sighed deeply. "My hopes rise and fall with my spirits," he said; "and to-night I am melancholy. Do you ever go to buffets with yourself, Mr. Lindsay? Do you 102 TALES OF THE BORDERS. ever mock, in your sadder moods, the hopes which render you happiest when you are gay? Ah ! 'tis bitter warfare when a man contends with Hope! — when he sees her, with little aid from the personifying influence, as a thing distinct from himself— a lying spirit that comes to flatter and deceive him. It is thus I see her to-night. " See'st thou that grave? — does mortal know Aught of the dust that lies below? Tis foul, 'tis damp, 'tis void of form — A bed where winds the loathsome worm; A little heap, mouldering and brown, Like that on flowerless meadow thrown By mossy stream, when ,vinter reigns O'er leafless woods and wasted plains : And yet that brown, damp, formless heap Once glowed with feelings keen and deep; Once eyed the light, once heard each sound Of earth, air, wave, that murmurs round. But now, ah ! now, the name it bore, Sex, age, or form, is known no more. This, this alone, Hope! I know, That once the dust that lies below, Was, like myself, of human race, And made this world its dwelling-place. Ah I this, when death has swept away The myriads of life's present day, Though bright the visions raised by thee, Will all my fame, my history be! " We quitted the ruins and returned to town. "Have you yet formed," inquired my companion, "any plan for the future?" "I quit St. Andrew's," I replied, "tomorrow morning. I have an uncle, the master of a West Indiaman, now in the Clyde. Some years ago I had a fancy for the life of a snilor, which has evaporated, however, with many of my other boyish fancies and predilections ; but I am strong and active, and it strikes me there is less competition on RECOLLECTIONS <>F FERGUSON. 103 sea at present than on land. A man of tolerable steadiness and intelligence has a better chance of rising as a sailor than as a mechanic. I shall set out, therefore, with my »ncle on his first voyage." CHAPTER iV\ At first, I thought the swankie didna ill— Again I glowr'd, to hear him better still; Bauld, slee, an' sweet, his lines mair glorious gre-w, Glow'd round the heart, an' glanc'd the soul out through." Alexander Wilson. I had seen both the Indies and traversed the wide Pacific, ore I again set foot on the Eastern coast of Scotland. My uncle, the shipmaster, was dead, and I was still a common sailor; but I was light-hearted and skilful in my profession, and as much inclined to hope as ever. Besides, I had begun to doubt, and there cannot be a more consoling doubt when one is unfortunate, whether a man may not enjoy as much happiness in the lower walks of life as in the upper. In one of my later voyages, the vessel in which I sailed had lain for several weeks at Boston in North America — then a scene of those fierce and angry contentions which eventu- ally separated the colonies from the mother country; and when in this place, I had become acquainted, by the merest accident in the world, with the brother of my friend the poet. I was passing through one of the meaner lanes, when I saw my old college friend, as I thought, looking out at me from the window of a crazy wooden building — a sort of fencing academy, much frequented, I was told, by the Federalists of Boston. I crossed the lane in two huge strides. 104 TALES OF THE BORDERS. "Mr. Ferguson," I said — "Mr. Ferguson," for he was withdrawing his head, "do you not remember me?" "Not quite sure," he replied; "I have met with many sailors in my time; but I must just see." He had stepped down to the door ere I had discovered my mistake. He was a taller and stronger-looking man than my friend, and his senior apparently by six or eight years; but nothing could be more striking than the resem- blance which he bore to him, both in face and figure. 1 apologized. " But have you not a brother, a native of Edinburgh," I inquired, " who studied at St. Andrew's about four years ago ? — never before, certainly, did I see so remarkable a likeness." — " As that which I bear to Robert ?" he said. " Happy to hear it. Robert is a brother of whom a man may well be proud, and I am glad to resemble him in any way. But you must go in with me, and tell me all you know regard- ing him. He was a thin pale slip of a boy when I left Scotland — a mighty reader, and fond of sauntering into by-holes and corners ; I scarcely knew what to make of him ; but he has made much of himself. His name has been blown far and wide within the last two years." He showed me through a large waste apartment, fur- nished with a few deal seats, and with here and there a fencing foil leaning against the wall, into a sort of closet at the upper end, separated from the main room by a partition of undressed slabs. There was a charcoal stove in the one corner, and a truckle bed in the other; a few shelves laden with books ran along the wall ; there was a small chest raised on a stool immediately below the -window, to serve as a writing desk, and another stool standing beside it. A few cooking utensils scattered round the room, and a corner cupboard, completed the entire furniture of the place. RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 105 "There is a certain limited number born to be rich, Jack," paid my new companion, " and I just don't happen to be among them; but I have one stool for myself, you see, and, now that I have unshipped my desk, another for a visitor, and so get on well enough." I related briefly the story of my intimacy with his brother ; and we were soon on such terms as to be in a fair way of emptying a bottle of rum together. " You remind me of old times," said my new acquaint- ance. "I am weary of these illiterate, boisterous, longsided Americans, who talk only of politics and dollars. And yet there are first-rate men among them too. I met, some years since, with a Philadelphia printer, whom I cannot help regarding as one of the ablest, best-informed men I ever conversed with. But there is nothing like general knowledge among the average class; a mighty privilege of conceit, however." " They are just in that stage," I remarked, " in which it needs all the vigour of an able man to bring his mind into anything like cultivation. There must be many more facilities of improvement ere the mediocritist can develop himself. He is in the egg still in America, and must sleep there till the next age. — But when last heard you of yoxxr brother ?" " Why," he replied, " when all the world heard of him — with the last number of RuddimarCs Magazine. Where can you have been bottled up from literature of late ? Why, man, Robert stands first among our Scotch poets." "Ah! 'tis long since I have anticipated something like that for him," I said; "but, for the last two years, I have seen only two books, Shakspeare and 'The Spectator.' Pray, do show me some of the magazines." The magazines were produced ; and I heard, for the first time, in a foreign land and from the recitation of the poet's brother, some of the most national and mosthighly-finishpd 106 TALES OF THE BORDERS. of his productions. My eyes tilled and my heart wandered to Scotland and her cottage homes, as, shutting the book, he repeated to me, in a voice faltering with emotion, stanza after stanza of the " Farmer's Ingle." " Do you not see it? — do yon not see it all ?" exclaimed my companion ; " the wide smoky room, with the bright turf fire, the blackened rafters shining above, the straw- wrought settle below, the farmer and the farmer's wife, and auld grannie and the bairns. Never was there truer painting ; and, oh, how it works on a Scotch heart ! But hear this other piece." He read "Sandy and Willie." "Far, far ahead of Ramsay," I exclaimed. "More ima gination, more spirit, more intellect, and as much truth and nature. Robert has gained his end already. Hurra for poor old Scotland ! — these pieces must live for ever. But do repeat to me the ' Farmer's Ingle' once more." We read, one by one, all the poems in the magazine, dwelling on each stanza, and expatiating on every recol- lection of home which the images awakened. My com- panion was, like his brother, a kind, open-hearted man, of superior intellect ; much less prone to despondency, how- ever, and of a more equal temperament. Ere we parted, which was not until next morning, he had communicated to me all his plans for the future, and all his fondly cherished hopes of returning to Scotland with wealth enough to be of use to his friends. He seemed to be one of those universal geniuses who do a thousand things well, but want steadiness enough to turn any of them to good account. He showed me a treatise on the use of the sword, which he had just prepared for the press; and a series of letters on the stamp act, which had appeared, from time to time, in one of the Boston newspapers, and in which he had taken part with the Americans. " I make a good many dollars in these «tirring times." RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 10V he said. " All the Yankees seem to be of opinion that they will be best heard across the water when they have got arms in their hands, and have learned how to use them; and I know a little of both the sword and the musket. But the warlike spirit is frightfully thirsty, somehow, and consumes a world of rum ; and so I have not yet begun to make rich." He shared with me his supper and bed for the night ; and, after rising in the morning ere I awoke, and writing a long letter for Robert, which he gave me in the hope I might soon meet with him, he accompanied me to the vessel, then on the eve of sailing, and we parted, as it proved, for ever. I know nothing of his after life, or how or where it terminated ; but I have learned that, shortly before the death of his gifted brother, his circumstances enabled him to send his mother a small remittance for the use of the family. He was evidently one of the kind- hearted, improvident few, who can share a very little, and whose destiny it is to have only a very little to share. CHAPTER V. "0 Ferguson! thy glorious pnrts 111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! My curse upon your whunstane hearts, Ye Embrugh gentry ! The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes *i Tad stow'd his pantry !" Burns. I visited Edinburgh, for the first time, in the latter pan of the autumn of 1773, about two months after I had sailed from Boston. It was on a fine calm morning — one of those clear sunshiny mornings of October, when the gossa- 108 TALES OF THE BORDERS. mer goes sailing about in long cottony threads, so light and fleecy that they seem the skeleton remains of extinct cloudlets ; and when the distant hills, with their covering of grey frost rime, seem, through the clear cold atmosphere, as if chiselled in marble. The sun was rising over the town through a deep blood-coloured haze — the smoke of a thousand fires ; and the huge fantastic piles of masonry that stretched along the ridge, looked dim and spectral through the cloud, like the ghosts of an army of giants. 1 felt half a foot taller as I strode on towards the town. It was Edinburgh I was approaching — the scene of so many proud associations to a lover of Scotland ; and I was going to meet as an early friend one of the first of Scottish poets. I entered the town. There was a book stall in a corner of the street; and I turned aside for half a minute to glance my eye over the books. "Ferguson's Poems!" I exclaimed, taking up a little volume. " I was not aware they had appeared in a sepa- rate form. How do you sell this ? " " Just like a' the ither booksellers," said the man who kept the stall — " that's nane o' the buiks that come doun in a hurry — just for the marked selling price." I threw down che money. t; Could you tell me anything of the writer?" I said. (( T bave a letter for him from America." " Oh, that'll be frae his brither Henry, I'll wad; a clever chield tot* but ower fond o' the drap drink, maybe, like Rob himsel'. Baith o' them fine humane chields, though, without a grain o' pride. Rob takes a stan' wi' me some- times o' half an hour at a time, an' we clatter ower the buiks; an', if I'm no mista'en, yon's him just yonder — the thin, pale slip o' a lad wi' the broad brow. Ay, an' he's just comin' this way." " Anything new to-day, Thomas ? " said the young man, coming up to the stall. " I want a cheap second-hand RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 109 copy of Ramsay's 'Evergreen;' and, like a good man as you are, you must just try and find it for me." Though considerably altered — for he was taller and thinner than when at college, and his complexion had assumed a deep sallow hue — I recognised him at once, and presented him with the letter. u Ah 1 from brother Henry," said he, breaking it open, and glancing his eye over the contents. " What — old college chum, Mr. Lindsay!" he exclaimed, turning to me. "Yes, sure enough; how happy I am we should have met! Come this way — let us get out of the streets." We passed hurriedly through the Canongate and along the front of Holyrood-house, and were soon in the King's Park, which seemed this morning as if left to ourselves. "Dear me, and this is you yourself! — and we have again met, Mr. Lindsay ! " said Ferguson ; " I thought we were never to meet more. Nothing, for a long time, has made me half so glad. And so you have been a sailor for the last four years. Do let us sit down here in the warm sunshine, beside St. Anthony's Well, and tell me all your story, and how you happened to meet with brother Henry." We sat down, and I briefly related, at his bidding, all that had befallen me since we had parted at St. Andrew's, and how I was still a common sailor, but, in the main, perhaps, not less happy than many who commanded a fleet. " Ah, you have been a fortunate fellow," he said ; " you have seen much and enjoyed much; and I have been rust- ing in unhappiness at home. Would that I had gone tc sea along with you ! " " Nay, now, that won't do," I replied. " But you are merely taking Bacon's method of blunting the edge of envy. You have scarcely yet attained the years of ma tin -; manhood, and yet your name has gone abroad over the 110 TALES OK THE BORDERS whole length and Dreadth of the land, and over many other lands besides. I have cried over your poems three thousand miles away, and felt all the prouder of my coun- try for the sake of my friend. And yet you would fain persuade me that you wish the charm reversed, and that you were just such an obscure salt-water man as myself! " " You remember," said my companion, " the story of the half-man, half-marble prince of the Arabian tale. One part was a living creature, one part a stone ; but the parts were incorporated, and the mixture was misery. I am just such a poor unhappy creature as the enchanted prince of the story." " You surprise and distress me," I rejoined. " Have you not accomplished all you so fondly purposed — realized even your warmest wishes ? And this, too, in early life. Your most sanguine hopes pointed but to a name, which you yourself perhaps was never to hear, but which was to dwell on men's tongues when the grave had closed over you. And now the name is gained, and you live to enjoy it. I see the living part of your lot, and it seems instinct with happiness ; but in what does the dead, the stony part, consist ? " He shook his head, and looked up mournfully in my face ; there was a pause of a few seconds. " You, Mr. Lindsay," he at length replied, " you who are of an equable steady temperament, can know little, from expe- rience, of the unhappiness of the man who lives only in extremes, who is either madly gay or miserably depressed. Try and realize the feelings of one whose mind is like a broken harp — all the medium tones gone, and only the higher and lower left ; of one, too, whose circumstances seem of a piece with his mind, who can enjoy the exercise of his better powers, and yet can only live by the monoto- nous drudgery of copying page after page in a clerk's office; of one who is continually either groping his way RECOLLECTIONS OK FERGUSON. Ill amid a chill melancholy fog of nervous depression, or car- ried headlong, by a wild gaiety, to all which his better judgment would instruct him to avoid ; of one who, when he indulges most in the pride of superior intellect, cannot away with the thought that that intellect is on the eve of breaking up, and that he must yet rate infinitely lower in the scale of rationality than any of the nameless thousands who carry on the ordinary concerns of life around him." I was grieved and astonished, and knew not what to answer. " You are in a gloomy mood to-day," I at length said ; " you are immersed in one of the fogs you describe ; and all the surrounding objects take a tinge of darkness from the medium through which you survey them. Come, now, you must make an exertion, and shake off your melancholy. I have told you all my story, as I best could, and you must tell me all yours in return." " Well," he replied, " I shall, though it mayn't be the best way in the world of dissipating my melancholy. 1 think I must have told you, when at college, that I had a maternal uncle of considerable wealth, and, as the world goes, respectability, who resided in Aberdeenshire. He was placed on what one may term the table-land of so- ciety ; and my poor mother, whose recollections of him were limited to a period when there is warmth in the feel- ings of the most ordinary minds, had hoped that he would willingly exert his influence in my behalf. Much, doubt- less, depends on one's setting out in life ; and it would have been something to have been enabled to step into it from a level like that occupied by my relative. I paid him a visit shortly after leaving college, and met with apparent kindness. But I can see beyond the surface, Mr. Lindsay, and I soon saw that my uncle was entirely a dif- ferent man from the brother whom my mother remembered. He had risen, by a course of slow industry, from compara- tive poverty, and his feeling had worn out in the process. 112 TALES OF THE BORDERS. The character was case-hardened all over ; and the polish it bore — for I have rarely met a smoother man — seemed no improvement. He was, in brief, one of the class con- tent to dwell for ever in mere decencies, with consciences made up of the conventional moralities, who think by pre- cedent, bow to public opinion as their god, and estimate merit by its weight in guineas." " And so your visit," I said, " was a very brief one ? " " You distress me," he replied. " It should have been so ; but it was not. But what could I do ? Ever since my father's death I had been taught to consider this man as my natural guardian, and I was now unwilling to part with my last hope. But this is not all. Under much apparent activity, my friend, there is a substratum of apa- thetical indolence in my disposition: I move rapidly when in motion, but when at rest there is a dull inertness in the character, which th<> will, when unassisted by passion, is too feeble to overcome. Poor, weak creature that I am ! I had sitten down by my uncle's fireside, and felt unwilling to rise. Pity me, my friend — I deserve your pity — but, oh, do not despise me ! " " Forgive me, Mr. Ferguson," I said ; " I have given you pain — but surely most unwittingly," " I am ever a fool," he continued ; " but my story lags; and, surely, there is little in it on which it were pleasure to dwell. I sat at this man's table for six months, and saw, day after day, his manner towards me becoming more constrained and his politeness more cold ; and yet I staid on, till at last my clothes were worn threadbare, and he began to feel that the shabbiness of the nephew affected the respectability of the uncle. His friend the soap- boiler, and his friend the oil-merchant, and his friend the manager of the hemp manufactory, with their wives and daughters — all people of high standing in the world — occa- sionally honoured his table with their presence, and how ^.COLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 113 could he be other than ashamed of mine ? It vexes me that I cannot even yet be cool on the subject — it vexes me that a creature so sordid should have so much the power to move me — but I cannot, I cannot master my feelings. He — he told me — and with whom should the blame rest, but with the weak, spiritless thing who lingered on in mean, bitter dependence, to hear what he had to tell ? — he told me that all his friends were respect- able, and that my appearance was no longer that of a person whom he could wish to see at his table, or introduce to any one as his nephew. And I had staid to hear all this! " I can hardly tell you how I got home. I travelled, stage after stage, along the rough dusty roads, with a weak and feverish body, and almost despairing mind. On meet- ing with my mother, I could have laid my head on her bosom and cried like a child. I took to my bed in a high fever, and trusted that all my troubles were soon to ter- minate ; but, when the die was cast, it turned up life. I resumed my old miserable employments-- for what could I else ? — and, that I might be less unhappy in the prosecu- tion of them, my old amusements too. I copied during the day in a clerk's office that I might live, and wrote dur- ing the night that I might be known. And I have in part, perhaps, attained my object. I have pursued and caught hold of the shadow on which my heart had been so long set ; and if it prove empty, and untangible, and unsatisfac- tory, like every other shadow, the blame surely must rest with the pursuer, not with the thing pursued. I weary you, Mr. Lindsay ; but one word more. There are hours when the mind, weakened by exertion, or by the tearing monotony of an employment which tasks without exercis- ing it, can no longer exert its powers, and when, feeling that sociality is a law of our nature, we seek the society of our fellow-men. With a creature so much the sport of impulse as I am, it is of these hours of weakness that 114 TALES OF THE BORDERS conscience takes most note. God help me ! I have been told that life is short; but it stretches on, and on, and on before me ; and T know not how it is to be passed through." My spirits had so sunk during this singular conversa tion, that I had no heart to reply. " You are silent, Mr. Lindsay," said the poet ; " I have made you as melancholy as myself; but look around you, and say if ever you have seen a lovelier spot. See how richly the yellow sunshine slants along the green sides of Arthur's Seat, and how the thin blue smoke, that has come floating from the town, fills the bottom of yonder grassy dell, as if it were a little lake. Mark, too, how boldly the cliffs stand out along its sides, each with its little patch of shadow. And here, beside us, is St. Anthony's Well, so famous in song, coming gushing out to the sunshine, and then gliding away through the grass like a snake. Had the Deity purposed that man should be miserable, he would surely never have placed him in so fair a world. Perhaps much of our unhappiness originates in our mis- taking our proper scope, and thus setting out from the first with a false aim." " Unquestionably," I replied, " there is no man who has not some part to perform ; and, if it be a great and uncommon part, and the powers which fit him for it pro- portionably great and uncommon, nature would be in error could he slight it with impunity. See, there is a wild bee bending the flower beside you. Even that little creature has a capacity of happiness and misery : it de- rives its sense of pleasure from whatever runs in the line of its instincts, its experience of unhappiness from what- ever thwarts and opposes them ; and can it be supposed that so wise a law should regulate the instincts of only inferior creatures ? No, my friend, it is surely a law of our nature also." RECOLLECTIONS OP FERGUSON. 115 " A.nd have you not something else to infer ? " said the poet. " Yes," I replied, " that you are occupied differently from what the scope and constitution of your mind de- mand ; differently both in your hours of employment and of relaxation. But do take heart, you will yet find your proper place, and all shall be well." " Alas ! no, my friend," said he, rising from the sward. " I could once entertain such a hope ; but I cannot now. My mind is no longer what it was to me in my happier days, a sort of terra incognita, without bounds or limits. I can see over and beyond it, and have fallen from all my hopes regarding it. It is not so much the gloom of pre- sent circumstances that disheartens me, as a depressing knowledge of myself, an abiding conviction that I am a weak dreamer, unfitted for every occupation of life, and not less so for the greater employments of literature than for any of the others. I feel that I am a little man and a little poet, with barely vigour enough to make one half effort at a time, but wholly devoid of the sustaining will, that highest faculty of the highest order of minds, which can direct a thousand vigorous efforts to the accomplish- > ment of one important object. Would that I could ex- change my half celebrity — and it can never be other than a half celebrity — for a temper as equable and a fortitude as unshrinking as yours ! But I weary you with my com- plaints ; I am a very coward ; and you will deem me as selfish as I am weak." "We parted. The poet, sadly and unwillingly, went to copy deeds in the office of the commissary clerk, and I, almost reconciled to obscurity and hard labour, to assist in unloading a Baltic trader in the harbour of Leith. 116 TALES OF THE BORDERS. CHAPTER VI. " Speech without aim and without end employ."— Crabbe. After the lapse of nine months, I again returned to Edinburgh. During that period, I had been so shut out from literature and the world, that I had heard nothing of my friend the poet ; and it was with a beating heart I left the vessel, on my first leisure evening, to pay him a visit- It was about the middle of July ; the day had been close and sultry, and the heavens overcharged with grey pon- derous clouds ; and, as I passed hurriedly along the walk which leads from Leith to Edinburgh, I could hear the newly awakened thunder, bellowing far in the south, peal after peal, like the artillery of two hostile armies. I reached the door of the poet's humble domicile, and had raised my hand to the knocker, when I heard some one singing from within, in a voice by far the most touchingly mournful I had ever listened to. The tones struck on my heart ; and a frightful suspicion crossed my mind, as I set down the knocker, that the singer was no other than my friend. But in what wretched circumstances ! what fearful state of mind ! I shuddered as I listened, and heard the strain waxing louder and yet more mournful, and could dis- tinguish that the words were those of a simple old ballad : — " O Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, An' shake the green leaves aff the tree ? gentle death, when wilt thou come, An' tak a life that wearies me?" I coma listen no longer, but raised the latch and went in. The evening was gloomy, and the apartment ill lighted ; but I could see the singer, a spectral-looking figure, sitting on a bed in the corner, with the bedclothes wrapped round his shoulders, and a napkin deeply stained RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 117 with blood on his head. An elderly female, who stood beside him, was striving to soothe him, and busied from time to time in adjusting the clothes, which were ever and anon falling off, as he nodded his head in time to the music. A young girl of great beauty sat weeping at the bedfoot. " O dearest Robert," said the woman, " you will destroy your poor head ; and Margaret your sister, whom you used to love so much, will break her heart. Do lie down, dearest, and take a little rest. Your head is fearfully gashed, and if the bandages loose a second time, you will bleed to death. Do, dearest Robert, for your poor old mother, to whom you were always so kind and dutiful a son till now — for your poor old mother's sake, do he down." The song ceased tor a moment, and the tears came bursting from my eyes as the tune changed, and he again sang :— "O mitlier dear, make ye my bed, For my heart it's flichterin' sair ; An' oh, gin I've vexed ye, mitlier dear, I'll never vex ye mair. I've staid ar'out the lang dark nicht, I' the sleet an' the plashy rain ; But, mither dear, make ye my bed, • An' I'll ne'er gang out again." " Dearest, dearest Robert," continued the poor, heart- broken woman, " do he down ; for your poor old mother's sake, do he down." " No, no," he exclaimed, in a hurried voice, " not just now, mother, not just now. Here is my friend, Mr. Lindsay, come to see me — my tme friend, Mr. Lindsay, the sailor, who has sailed all round and round the world; and I have much, much to ask him. A chair, Margaret, for Mr. Lindsay. I must be a preacher like John Knox, you know — like the great John Knox, the reformer of a nation 118 TALES OF THE BORDERS. — -and Mr. Lindsay knows all about him. A chair, Mar- garet, for Mr. Lindsay." I am not ashamed to say it was with tears, and in a voice faltering with emotion, that I apologized to the poor woman for my intrusion at such a time. Were it other- wise, I might well conclude my heart had grown hard as a piece of the nether millstone. " I had known Robert at College," I said — " had loved and respected him ; and had now come to pay him a visit, after an absence of several months, wholly unprepared for finding him in his present condition." And it would seem that my tears pled for me, and proved to the poor afflicted woman and her daughter, by far the most efficient part of my apology. " All my friends have left me now, Mr. Lindsay," said the unfortunate poet — " they have all left me now ; they love this present world. We were all going down, down, down ; there was the roll of a river behind us ; it came bursting over the high rocks, roaring, rolling, foaming down upon us ; and though the fog was thick and dark below — far below, in the place to which we were going — 1 could see the red fire shining through — the red, hot, un- quenchable fire; and we were all going down, down, down. Mother, mother, tell Mr. Lindsay I am going to be put on my trials to-morrow. Careless creature that I am — life is short, and I have lost much time ; but I am going to be put on my trials to-morrow, and shall come forth a preachei of the word." The thunder which had hitherto been muttering at a distance- —each peal, however, nearer and louder than the preceding one — now began to roll overhead, and the lightning, as it passed the window, to illumine every object within. The hapless poet stretched out his thin wasted arm, as if addressing a congregation from the puipit: — RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 1 lb u There were the flashings of lightning," he said, " and the roll of thunder ; and the trumpet waxed louder and louder. And around the summit of the mountain were the foldings of thick clouds, and the shadow fell brown and dark over the wide expanse of the desert. And the wild beasts lay trembling in their dens. But, lo ! where the sun breaks tluough the opening of the cloud, there is the glitter of tents— the glitter of ten thousand tents that rise over the sandy waste, thick as waves of the sea. And there, there is the voice of the dance and of the revel, and the winding of horns and the clash of cymbals. Oh, sit nearer me, dearest mother, for the room is growing dark, dark ; and, oh, my poor head ! ' The lady sat on the castle wa", Look'd ower baith dale and down, And then she spied Gil-Morice head Come steering through the town.' Do, dearest mother, put your cool hand on my brow, and do hold it fast ere it part. How fearfully — oh, how fear- fully it aches !— and oh, how it thunders ! " He sunk backward on the pillow, apparently exhausted. "Gone, gone, gone," he muttered ; " my mind gone for ever. But God's will be done." I rose to leave the room ; for I could restram my feel- ings no longer. " Stay, Mr. Lindsay," said the poet, in a feeble voice ; " I hear the rain dashing on the pavement ; you must not go till it abates. Would that you could pray beside me ! — but, no — you are not like the dissolute companions who have now all left me, but you are not yet fitted for that ; and, alas ! I cannot pray for myself. Mother, mother, see that there be prayers at my lykewake ; for — ' Her lykewake, it was piously spent In social prayer and praise, Performed by judicious men, Who stricken were in days. 120 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 'And many a heavy, heavy heart Was in that mournful place; An J many a weary, weary thought On her who slept in peace.' They wall come all to my lykewake, mother, won't they : — yes, all, though they have left me now. Yes, and they will come far to see my grave. I was poor, very poor, you know, and they looked down upon me ; and I was no son or cousin of theirs, and so they could do nothing for me. Oh, but they might have looked less coldly I But they will all come to my grave, mother ; they will come all to my grave; and they will say — 'Would he were living now to know how kind we are!' But they will look as coldly as ever on the living poet beside them — yes, till they have broken his heart ; and then they will go to his grave too. O dearest mother, do lay your cool hand on my brow." He lay silent and exhausted, and, in a few minutes, 1 could hope, from the hardness of his breathing, that he had fallen asleep. " How long," I inquired of his sister, in a low whisper, " has Mr. Ferguson been so unwell, and what has injured his head?" " Alas!" said the girl, "my brother has been unsettled in mind for nearly the last six months. We first knew it one evening on his coming home from the country, where he had been for a few days with a friend. He burnt a large heap of papers that he had been employed on for weeks before — songs and poems that his friends say Avere the finest things he ever wrote; but he burnt them all, for he was going to be a preacher of the word, he said, and it did not become a preacher of the word to be a writer of light rhymes. And, O sir! his mind has been carried ever since ; but he has been always gentle and affectionate, and his sole delight has lain in reading the Bible. Good RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 12 1 Dr. Erskine, of the Greyfriars, often comes to our house, and sits with him for hours together; for there are times when his mind seems stronger than ever, and he says wonderful things, that seem to hover, the minister says, between the extravagance natural to his present sad con- dition, and the higher flights of a philosophic genius. And we had hoped that he was getting better; but, O sir, our hopes have had a sad ending. He went out, a few evenings ago, to call on an old acquaintance ; and, in descending a stair, missed footing, and fell to the bottom; and his head has been fearfully injured by the stones. He has been just as you have seen him ever since ; and, oh ! I much fear he cannot now recover. Alas ! my poor brother I — never, never was there a more affectionate heart." CHAPTER VII. " A lowly muse ! She sings of reptiles yet in song unknown." I returned to the vessel with a heavy heart ; and it was nearly three months from this time ere I again set foot in Edinburgh. Alas ! for my unfortunate friend I He was now an inmate of the asylum, and on the verge of dissolu- tion. I was thrown, by accident, shortly after my arrival at this time, into the company of one of his boon com- panions. I had gone into a tavern with a brother sailor — a shrewd, honest skipper, from the north country ; and, finding the place occupied by half a dozen young fellows, who were growing noisy over their liquor, I woidd have immediately gone out again, had I not caught, in the pass- mg, a few words regarding my friend. And so, drawing to a side-table, I sat down. " Believe me," said one of the topers, a dissolute-looking 122 TALES OF THE BORDERS. young man, " it's all over with Bob Ferguson — all over? and I knew it from the moment he grew religious. Had old Brown tried to convert me, I would have broken his face." " What Brown ? " inquired one of his companions. " Is that all you know ? " rejoined the other. " Why, John Brown of Haddington, the Seceder. Bob was at Haddington last year, at the election ; and, one morning, when in the horrors, after holding a rum night of it, who should he meet in the churchyard but old John Brown? — he writes, you know, a big book on the Bible. Well, he lectured Bob at a pretty rate, about election and the call, I suppose ; and the poor fellow has been mad ever since. Your health, Jamie. For my own part, I'm a freewill man, and detest all cant and humbug." "And what has come of Ferguson now?" asked one of the others. "Oh, mad, sir, mad," rejoined the toper— -- reading the Bible all day, and cooped up in the asylum yonder. 'Twas I who brought him to it. — But, lads, the glass has been standing for the last half-hour.— 'Twas I and Jack Robinson who brought him to it, as I say. He was getting wild ; and so we got a sedan for him, and trumped up a story of an invitation for tea from a lady, and he came with us as quietly as a lamb. But, if you could have heard the shriek he gave when the chair stopped, and he saw where we had brought him! I never heard anything half so horrible — it rung in my ears for a week after ; and then, how the mad people in the upper rooms howled and gibbered in reply, till the very roof echoed ! People say he is getting better ; but, when I last saw him, he was as religious as ever, and spoke so much about heaven, that it was uncomfortable to hear him. Great loss to his friends, after all the expense they have been at with his education." RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 123 " You seem to have been intimate with Mr. Ferguson," I said. " Oh, intimate with Bob I" he rejoined ; "we were hand Rnd glove, man. I have sat with him in Lucky Middle- mass's, almost every evening, for two years ; and I have given him hints for some of the best things in his book. Twas I who tumbled down the cage in the Meadows, and began breaking the lamps. ' Ye who oft finish care in Lethe's cup, ■\Yho love to swear and roar, and keep it up, List to a brother's voice, whose sole delight I3 sleep all day, and riot all the night.' There's spirit for you! But Bob was never sound at bot- tom ; and I have told him so. ' Bob,' I have said, ' Bob, you're but a hypocrite after aU, man — without half the spunk you pretend to. "Why don't you take a pattern by me, who fear nothing, and believe only the agreeable? But, poor fellow, he had weak nerves, and a church-going propensity that did him no good ; and you see the effects. 'Twas all nonsense, Tom, of his throwing the squib into the Glassite meeting-house. Between you and I, that was r\ cut far beyond him in his best days, poet as he was. Twas I who did it, man, and never was there a cleaner row in auld Reekie." " Heartless, contemptible puppy!" said my comrade, the sailor, as we left the room. " Your poor friend must be ill, indeed, if he be but half as insane as his quon^.im companion. But he cannot : there is no madness like that of the heart. What could have induced a man of genius to associate with a thing so thoroughly despicable?" " The same misery, Miller," I said, " that brings a man acquainted with strange bedfellows" 124 TAXES OF THE BOKDElih. CHAPTER VIII. " O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, By far my elder brother in the muses, With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! " — Burns. The asylum in which my unfortunate friend was confined, at this time the only one in Edinburgh, was situated in an angle of the city wall. It was a dismal-looking mansion, shut in on every side, by the neighbouring houses, from the view of the surrounding country; and so effectually covered up from the nearer street, by a large building in front, that it seemed possible enough to pass a lifetime in Edinburgh without coming to the knowledge of its exist- ence. I shuddered as I looked up to its blackened walls, thinly sprinkled with miserable-looking windows, barred with iron, and thought of it as a sort of burial-place of dead minds. But it was a Golgotha, which, with more than the horrors of the grave, had neither its rest nor its silence. I was startled, as I entered the cell of the hapless poet, by a shout of laughter from a neighbouring room, which was answered from a dark recess behind me, by a fearfully pro- longed shriek, and the clanking of chains. The mother and sister of Ferguson were sitting beside his pallet, on a sort of stone settle which stood out from the wall ; and the poet himself, weak and exhausted, and worn to a shadow, but apparently in his right mind, lay extended on the straw. He made an attempt to rise as I entered; but the effort was above his strength, and, again lying down, he extended his hand. " This is kind, Mr. Lindsay," he said ; " it is ill for me to be alone in these days; and yet I have few visitors, save my poor old mother and Margaret. But who cares for the unhappy V" RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON. 125 I sat down on the settle beside him, still retaining his hand. "I have been at sea, and in foreign countries," I said, " since I last saw you, Mr. Ferguson, and it was only this morning I returned; but believe me there are many, many of your countrymen who sympathize sincerely in your affliction, and take a warm interest in your recovery." He sighed deeply. " Ah," he replied, " I know too well the nature of that sympathy. You never find it at the bedside of the sufferer — it evaporates in a few barren expressions of idle pity; and yet, after all, it is but a paying the poet in kind. He calls so often on the world to sympa- thize over fictitious misfortune, that the feeling wears out, and becomes a mere mood of the imagination ; and, with this light, attenuated pity of his own weaving, it regards his own real sorrows. Dearest mother, the evening is damp and chill — do gather the bedclothes round me, and sit on my feet; they are so very cold and so dead, that they cannot be colder a week hence." " Kobert, why do you speak so ?" said the poor woman, as she gathered the clothes round him, and sat on his feet. 'You know you are coming home to-morrow." " To-morrow 1" he said — " if I see to-morrow, I shall have completed my twenty-fourth year — a small part, surely, oi the threescore and ten; but what matters it when 'tis past?' 1 " You were ever, my friend, of a melancholy tempera- ment," I said, " and too little disposed to hope. Indulge in brighter views of the future, and all shall yet be well." " I can now hope that it shall" he said. " Yes, all shall be well with me — and that very soon. But, oh, how this nature of ours shrinks from dissolution ! — yes, and all the lower natures too. You remember, mother, the poor star- ling that was killed in the room beside us ? Oh, how it struggled with its ruthless enemy, and filled the whole place with its shrieks of terror and agony. And yet, poor little thing ! it had been true, all life long, to the laws of 126 TALES OF THE BORDERS. its nature, and had no sins to account for, and no judge to meet. There is a shrinking of heart as I look before me, and yet I can hope that all shall yet be well with me— and that very soon. Would that I had been wise in time! Would that I had thought more and earlier of the things which pertain to my eternal peace ! more of a living soul, and less of a dying name ! But, oh, 'tis a glorious provi- sion, through which a way of return is opened up even at the eleventh hour ! " We sat round him in silence; an indescribable feeling oi awe pervaded my whole mind, and his sister was affected to tears. " Margaret," he said, in a feeble voice—" Margaret, you will find my Bible in yonder little recess; 'tis all I have to leave you; but keep it, dearest sister, and use it, and, in times of sorrow and suffering that come to all, you will know how to prize the legacy of your poor brother. Many, many books do well enough for life; but there is only one of any value when we come to die. "You have been a voyager of late, Mr. Lindsay," he continued, " and I have been a voyager too. I have been journeying in darkness and discomfort, amid strange un- earthly shapes of dread and horror, with no reason to direct and no will to govern. Oh, the unspeakable unhappiness of these wanderings !— these dreams of suspicion, and fear, and hatred, in which shadow and substance, the true and the false, were so wrought up and mingled together, that they formed but one fantastic and miserable whole. And, oh 1 the unutterable horror of every momentary return to a recollection of what I had been once, and a sense of what I had become I Oh, when I awoke amid the terrors of the night — when I txirned me on the rustling straw, and heard the wild wail and yet wilder laugh — when I heard and shuddered, and then felt the demon in all his might coming over me, till I laughed and wailed with the others— oh RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON 127 the misery! the utter misery! — But 'tis over, my friend — 'tis all over; a few, few tedious days, a few, few weary nights, and all my sufferings shall be over. 1 ' I had covered my face with my hands, but the tears came bursting through my fingers; the mother and sister of the poet sobbed aloud. " Why sorrow for me, sirs ?" he said ; " why grieve for me? I am well, quite well, and want for nothing. But 'tis cold; oh, 'tis very cold, and the blood seems freezing at my heart. Ah, but there is neither pain nor cold where I am going, and I trust it shall be well with my soul. Dearest, dearest mother, I always told you it would come to this at last." The keeper had entered to intimate to us that the hour for locking up the cells was already past, and we now rose to leave the place. I stretched out my hand to my unfor- tunate friend; he took it in silence, and his thin attenuated fingers felt cold within my grasp, like those of a corpse. His mother stooped down to embrace him. '• Oh, do not go yet, mother," he said — " do not go yet — do not leave me; but it must be so, and I only distress you. Pray for me, dearest mother, and, oh, forgive me ; I have been a grief and a burden to you all life-long; but I ever loved you, mother ; and, oh, you have been kind, kind and forgiving — and now your task is over. May God bless and reward you! Margaret, dearest Margaret, farewell!" We parted, and, as it proved, for ever. Robert Ferguson expired during the night; and when the keeper entered the cell next morning, to prepare him for quitting the asylum, all that remained of this most hapless of the chil- dren of genius, was a pallid and wasted corpse, that lay stiffening on the straw. I am now a very old man, and the feelings wear out; but I find that my heart is even yet susceptible of emotion, and that the source of tears is not yet dried up. 128 TALKS OF THE BORDERS. THE DISASTERS OP JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. Johnny Armstrong, the hero of our tale, was, and, foi aught we know to the contrary, still is, an inhabitant of the town of Carlisle. He was a stout, thickset, little man, with a round, good-humoured, ruddy countenance, and somewhere about fifty years of age at the period to which our story refers. Although possessed of a good deal of natural shrewdness, Johnny was, on the whole, rather a simple sort of person. His character, in short, was that of an honest, well-meaning, inoffensive man, but with parts that certainly did not shine with a very dazzling lustre. Johnny was, to business, an ironmonger, and had, by patient industry and upright dealing, acquired a small indepen- dency. He had stuck to the counter of his little dingy shop for upwards of twenty years, and used to boast that, during all that time, he had opened and shut his shop with his own hands every day, not even excepting one. The residt of this steadiness and attention to business was, as has been already said, a competency. Fortunately for Johnny, this propensity to stick fast— which he did like a limpet — was natural to him. It was a part of his constitution. He had no desire whatever to travel, or, rather, he had a positive dislike to it — a dislike, indeed, which was so great that, for an entire quarter of a century, he had never been three miles out of Carlisle. But when Johnny had waxed pretty rich, somewhat corpu- lent, and rather oldish, he was suddenly struck, one fine summer afternoon, as he stood at the door of his shop with his hands in his breeches pockets, (a favourite attitude,) with an amiable and ardent desire to see certain of his DISASTERS OF JOHXXY ARMSTRONG. 129 relations who lived at Brechin, in the north of Scotland; and — there is no accounting for these things — on that after- noon Johnny came to the extraordinary resolution of paying them a visit — of performing a journey of upwards of a hundred miles, even as the crow flies. It was a strange and a desperate resolution for a man of Johnny's peculiar temperament and habits ; but so it was. Travel he would, and travel he did. On the third day after the doughty determination just alluded to had been formed, Johnny, swathed in an ample brown greatcoat, with a red comforter about his neck, appeared in the stable yard of the inn where most of the stage coaches that passed through Car- lisle put up. Of these there were three : one for Dumfries, one for Glasgow, and one for Edinburgh — the latter being Johnny's coach ; for his route was by the metropolis. We had almost forgotten to say that Johnny, who was a widower, was accompanied on this occasion by his son, Johnny junior, an only child, whom it was his intention to take along with him. The boy was about fourteen years of age, and though, upon the whole, a shrewd enough lad for his time of life, did not promise to be a much brighter genius than his father. In fact he was rather lumpish. On arriving at the inn yard — it was about eight o'clock at night, and pretty dark, being the latter end of Septem- ber — Johnny Armstrong found the coach apparently about to start, the horses being all yoked ; but the vehicle happened, at the moment he entered the yard, to be in charge of an ostler — not of either the guard or driver, who had both gone out of the way for an instant. Desirous of securing a good seat for his son, Johnny Armstrong opened the coach door, thrust the lad in, and was about to follow himself, when he discovered that he had forgotten his watch. On making this discovery, he banged too the coach door without saying a word, and hurried home as fast as his little, thick, short legs would allow him, to recover his vol. I 130 TALES OP THE BORDERS. time-piece. On his return, which was in less than five minutes, Johnny himself stepped into the vehicle, which was now crowded with passengers, and, in a few seconds, was rattling away at a rapid rate towards Edinburgh. The night was pitch dark, not a star twinkled ; and it was not until Johnny arrived at his journey's end — that is, at Edin- burgh — that he discovered his son was not in the coach, and had never been there at all. We will not attempt to describe Johnny's amazement and distress of mind on making this most extraordinary and most alarming dis- covery. They were dreadful. In great agitation, he inquired at every one of the passengers if they had not seen his son, and one and all denied they ever had. The thing was mysterious and perfectly inexplicable. "I put the boy into the coach with my own hands," said Johnny Armstrong, in great perturbation, to the mard and half crying as he spoke. "Very odd," said the guard. " Very odd, indeed," said Johnny. "Are you sure it was our coach, Mr. Armstrong?" in- quired the guard. The emphasis on the word our was startling. It evi- dently meant more than met the ear ; and Johnny felt that it did so, and he was startled accordingly. " Your coach ?" he replied, but now with some hesitation of manner. " It surely was. What other coach could it be?" " Why, it may have been the Glasgow coach," said the guard ; " and I rather think it must have been. You have made a mistake, sir, be assured, and put the boy into the wrong coach. We start from the same place, and at the same hour, five minutes or so in or over." The mention of this possibility, nay certainty — for Johnny had actually dispatched the boy to Glasgow — instantly struck him dumb. It relieved him, indeed, from DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 131 the misery arising from a dread of some temble accident having happened the lad, but threw him into great tribu- lation as to his fate in Glasgow, without money or friends But this being, after all, comparatively but a small affair, Johnny was now, what he had not been before, able to pay attention to minoi things. " Be sae guid," said Johnny to the guard, who was on the top of the coach, busy unloosing packages, " as haun me doun my trunk." " No trunk of yours here, sir," said the guard. " You'll have sent it away to Glasgow with the boy." " No, no," replied Johnny, sadly perplexed by this new misfortune. " I sent it wi' the lass to the inn half an hour before I gaed mysel." " Oh, then, in that case," said the guard, " ten to one it's away to Dumfries, and not to Glasgow." And truly such was the fact. The girl, a fresh-caught country lass, had thrown it on the first coach she found, saying her master would immediately follow— and that happened to be the Dumfries one. Here, then, was Johnny safely arrived himself, indeed, at Edinburgh ; but his son was gone to Glasgow, and his trunk to Dumfries — all with the greatest precision imaginable. Next day, Johnny Arm- strong, being extremely uneasy about his boy, started for Glasgow on board of one of the canal passage boats; while the lad, being equally uneasy about his father, and, more- over, ill at ease on sundry other accounts, did precisely the same thing with the difference of direction — that is, he started for Edinburgh by a similar conveyance ; and so well timed had each of their respective departures been, that, without knowing it, they passed each other exactly halfway between the two cities. On arriving at Glasgow, Johnny Armstrong could not, for a long while, discover any trace of his son ; but at length succeeded in tracking him to the canal boat — which led him rightly to conclude 132 TALES OF THE BORDERS. that he had proceeded to Edinburgh. On coming to this conclusion, Johnny again started for the metropolis, where he safely arrived about two hours after his son had left it for home, whither, finding no trace of his father in Edin- burgh, he had wisely directed his steps. Johnny Arm- strong, now greatly distressed about the object of his paternal solicitude, whom he vainly sought up and down the city, at last also bent his way homewards, thinking, what was true, that the boy might have gone home ; and there indeed he found him. Thus nearly a week had been spent, and that in almost constant travel, and Johnny found himself precisely at the point from which he had set out. However, in three days, after having, in the mean- time, recovered his trunk, he again set out on his travels to Brechin; for his courage was not in the least abated by what had happened ; but on this occasion tmaccompanied by his son, as he would not again run the risk of losing him, or of exposing himself to that distress of mind on his account, of which he had been before a victim. In the case of Johnny's second progress, there was "no mistake" whatever, of any kind — at least at starting. Both himself and his trunk arrived in perfect safety, and in due time, at Edinburgh. Johnny's next route was to steam it to Kirkaldy from Newhaven. The boat started at six a.m. ; and, having informed himself of this particular, he determined to be at the point of embarkation in good time. But he was rather late, and, on finding this, he ran every foot of the way from Edinburgh to the steam -boat, and was in a dreadful state of exhaustion when he reached it; but, by his exertions, he saved his distance, thereby exhibiting another proof that all is not lost that's in danger. An instant longer, however, and he would have been too late, for the vessel was just on the eve of starting. Johnny leapt on board, or rather was bundled on board; for Johnny, as DISASTERS OP JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 133 already hinted, was in what is called good bodily con- dition — rather extra, indeed — and was, moreover, waxing a little stiff about the joints; so that he could not get over the side of the boat so cleverly as he would have done some twenty years before. Over and above all this, he was quite exhausted with the race against time which he had just run. Seeing his distressed condition, and that the boat was on the point of sailing, two of the hands leapt on the pier, when the one seizing him by the waist- band of the breeches, and the other by the breast, they fairly pitched him into the vessel, throwing his trunk after him. As it was pouring rain, Johnny, on recovering his perpendicular, immediately descended into the cabin, and, in the next instant, the boat was ploughing her way through the deep. For two hours after he had embarked, it continued to rain without intermission; and for these two hours he remained snug below without gtirring. At the end of this period, however, it cleared up a little, and, in a short while thereafter, became perfectly fair Having discovered this he ascended to the deck, to see what was going on. The captain of the vessel was himself at the helm; he, therefore, sidled towards him, and, after making some remarks on the weather and the scenery, asked the captain, in the blandest and civilest tones imaginable, when he expected they would be at Kirkaldy. The man stared at Johnny with a look of astonishment, not unmingled with displeasure; but at length said — "Kirkaldy, sir! What do you mean by asking me that question? I don't know when you expect to be at Kirkaldy, but / don't expect to be there for a twelvemonth at least." "No! — od, that's queer I " quoth Johnny, amazed in his turn; but thinking, after a moment, that the captain meant to be facetious, he merely added — " I wad think, captain, that we wad be there much about the same time." 134 TALES OF THE BORDERS. "Ay, ay, may be; but, I say, none of your gammon, friend," said the latter, gruffly, and now getting really angry at what he conceived to be some attempt to play upon him, though he could not see the drift of the joke. " Mind your own business, friend, and I'll mind mine." This he said with an air that conveyed very plainly a nint that Johnny should take himself off, which, without saying any more, he accordingly did. Much perplexed by the captain's conduct, he now sauntered towards the fore part of the vessel, where he caught the engineer just as he was about to descend into the engine-room. Johnny tapped him gently on the shoulder, and the man, wiping his drip- ping face with a handful of tow, looked up to him, while Johnny, afraid to put the question, but anxious to know when he really would be at Kirkaldy, lowered himself down, by placing his hands on his knees, so as to bring his face on a level with the person he was addressing, ano\ in the mildest accents, and with a countenance beaming with gentleness, he popped the question in a low, soft whisper, as if to deprecate the man's wrath. On the fatal inquiry being made at him, the engineer, as the captain had done before him, stared at Johnny Armstrong, in amazement, for a second or two, then burst into a hoarse laugh, and, without vouchsafing any other reply, plunged down into his den. " What in a' the earth can be the meanin' o' this ? " quoth Johnny to himself, now ten times more perplexed than ever. " What can there be in my simple, natural, and reasonable question, to astonish folk sae muckle ? " This was an inquiry which Johnny might put to himself, but it was one which he could by no means answer. Being, however, an easy, good-natured man, and seeing how much offence in one instance, and subject for mirth in another, he had unwittingly given, by putting it, he resolved to make no further inquiries into the matter, but to await in DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 135 patience the arrival of the boat at her destination — an event which he had the sense to perceive would be neither for- warded nor retarded by his obtaining or being refused the information he had desired to be possessed of. The boat arrived in due time at the wished-for haven, and Johnny landed with the other passengers; the captain giving him a wipe, as he stepped on the plank that was to convey him ashore, about his Kirkaldy inquiries, by asking him, though now in perfect good humour, if he knew the precise length of that celebrated town; but Johnny merely smiled and passed on. On landing, Johnny Armstrong proceeded to what had the appearance of, and really was, a respectable inn. Here, as it was now pretty far in the day, he had some dinner, and afterwards treated himself to a tumbler of toddy and a peep at the papers. While thus comfortably enjoying him- self, the waiter having chanced to pop into the room, Johnny raised his eye from the paper he was reading, and, looking the lad in the face — " Can ye tell me, friend," he said, " when the coach for Dundee starts?" " There's no coach at all from this to Dundee, sir," replied the waiter. " No !" said Johnny, a little nonplused by this informa- tion. " That's odd." The waiter saw nothing odd in it. " I was told," continued Johnny, " that there were twa or three coaches daily from this to Dundee." " Oh, no, sir," said the lad, coolly, " you have been misinformed; but if you wish to go to Dundee, sir," he added — desirous of being as obliging as possible — " your best way is to go by steam from this to Newhaven, and from that cross over to Kirkaldy! II " At this fatal word, which seemed doomed to work Johnny much wo, the glass which he was about to raise to his lips fell on the floor, and went into a thousand pieces. 136 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Kirkaldy, laddie!" exclaimed Jolinny Armstrong, "with an expression of consternation in his face which it would require Cruikshank's art and skill to do justice to — "Gude hae a care o 1 me, is this no Kirkaldy ?" 11 Kirkaldy, sir I" replied the waiter, no less amazed than Johnny, though in his case it was at the absurdity of the inquiry — " oh, no, sir," Avith a smile — " this is Alloa ! ! ! " Alloa it was, to be sure ; for Johnny had taken the wrong boat, and that was all. On embarking, he had made no inquiries at those belonging to the vessel, and, of course, those in the vessel had put none to him — and this was the residt. He was comfortably planted at Alloa, instead of Kirkaldy, which all our readers know lies in a very different direction; and this denouement also explains the captain's displeasure with his passenger, and the engineer's mirth. At the moment this extraordinary eclaircissement took place between Johnny Armstrong and the waiter of the KingV Arms, there happened to be a ship captain in the room — for it was the public one ; and this person, who was a good- natured fellow, at once amused by, and pitying Johnny's dilemma, turned towards him, and inquired if it was his intention to go any further than Dundee. Johnny said that it was — he intended going to Brechin. "Oh, in that case," said the captain, "you had better just go with me. In an hour after this I sail for Montrose, which is within eight miles of Brechin, and I'll be very glad to give you a cast so far, and we shan't differ about the terms. Fine, smart little vessel mine, and, with a spank- ing breeze from the west or sou'-west, which we'll very likely catch about Queensferry, I'll land you in a jifFey within a trifle of your journey's end — a devilish sight cleverer, I warrant you, than your round-about way of steaming and coaching it, and at half the money too." Johnny Armstrong was all gratitude for this very op- portune piece of kindness, and gladly closed with the offer DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 137 --the captain and he taking a couple of additional tumblers each, on the head of it, to begin with. We say to begin with ; for it by no means ended with the quantity named. The captain was a jolly dog, and loved his liquor, and was, withal, so facetious a companion, that he prevailed on his new friend to swallow a great deal more than did him any good. To tell a truth, which, however, we would not have known at Carlisle, Johnny Armstrong, who had the char- acter of a sober man, got, on this occasion, into a rather discreditable condition, and, in this state, he was escorted by the captain — who stood liquor like a water-cask — to the vessel, and was once more embarked ; but it was now on board the Fifteen Sisters of Skatehaven. On getting him on board, the captain, seeing the state he was in, prudently bundled him down into the cabin, and thrust him into his own bed, where he immediately fell into a profound sleep that extended over twelve mortal hours. At the end of this period, however, Johnny awoke ; but it was not by any means of his own accord, for he was awakened by a variety of stimulants, or rousers, if we may be allowed to coin a word for the occasion, all operating at once. These w r ere, a tremendous uproar on the deck, a fearful rolling of the vessel, the roaring of wind, and the splashing, dashing, and gurling of waves ; and, to crown all, a feeling of deadly sickness. When he first opened his eyes, he could not conceive where he was, or what was the mean- ing of the furious motion that he felt, and of the tremendous sounds that he heard. A few minutes' cogitation with him- self, however, solved the mystery, and exposed to him his true position. In great alarm — for he thought the vessel was on the eve of going down — Johnny Armstrong rolled himself out of his bed, and crawled in his shirt up the cabin ladder. On gaining the summit, he found himself confronted by the captain, who, with a very serious face, was standing by the helm. 138 TALES OP THE BORDERS. " Are — are — are — we — near — Mon — trose, captain ?" in- quired Johnny, in a voice rendered so feeble by sickness and terror, that it was impossible to bear him a yard off, amidst the roaring of the winds and waves ; for we sup- pose we need not more explicitly state, that he was in the midst of a storm, and as pretty a one it was as the most devoted admirer of the picturesque could desire to see. " What ?" roared the captain, in a voice of thunder, al the same time stooping down to catch his feeble interroga- tory. Johnny repeated it ; but, ere he could obtain an answer, a raking wave, which came in at the stern, took him full on the breast as he stood on the companion lad- der, with his bust just above the level of the deck, sent him down, heels over head, into the cabin, and, in a twink- ling, buried him in a foot and a half of water on the floor, where he lay for some time at full length, sprawling and floundering amidst the wreck which the sudden and violent influx of water had occasioned. On recovering from the stunning effects of his descent — for he had, amongst other small matters, received a violent contusion on the head — Johnny for an instant imagined that he had somehow or other got to the bottom of the sea. Fmding, however, at length, that this was not precisely the case, he arose, though dripping with wet, yet not very like a sea god, and having denuded himself of his only garment, his shirt, crawled into his bed, where he now determined to await quietly and patiently the fate that might be intended for him ; and this fate, he had no doubt, was suffocation by drowning. "Very extraordinar this," said Johnny Armstrong to himself, as he lay musing in bed on the perilous situation into which he had so simply and innocently got — " very extraordinar, that I couldna get the length o' Brechin without a' this uproar, and confusion, and difficulty, and danger; this knocking about frae place to place, hali drooned and half murdered. Here have I been now for DISASTERS OF JOHNNT ARMSTRONG. 139 inair than a -week at it, and it's my opinion I'm no twenty mile nearer't yet than I was, for a' this kick up. Dear me," he went on soliloquizing, " I'm sure Brechin's no sic an out o' the way place. The road's straught, and the distance no great. Then, how, in the name o' wonder, is it that I canna mak' it out like ither folk, let me do as I like ?" Thus cogitated Johnny Armstrong as he lay on his bed of sickness, sorrow, and danger. But his cogitations could in no way mend the matter, nor, though they could, was he long permitted to indulge in them; for that mortal sickness under which he had been before suffering, but which the little incident of the visit from the wave, with its conse- quences, had temporarily banished, again returned with tenfold vigour, making him regardless of all sublunary things — even of life itself. In this state of supineness and suffering did Johnny lie for three entire days and nights — for so long did the storm continue with unabated fury — the vessel having, for some four-and-twenty hours pre- viously, been quite unmanageable, and driving at the mercy ot the winds and waves. A dreadful crash, how- ever, at length announced that some horrible crisis was at hand. The vessel had struck, and, in a few seconds more, she was in a thousand pieces, and her unfortunate crew, including Johnny Armstrong, were struggling in the waves. From this instant he lost all consciousness ; and, when he again awoke to life, he found himself lying on the sea-beach ; but how he had come there he never could telL nor could he at all conjecture by what accident his life had been saved, when all the rest in the ill-fated ves- sel had perished ; for Johnny was indeed the only person that had escaped. On coming to himself he started to his feet, and gazed around him, with a bewildered look, to see if any object would present itself that might help him to guess where he was. But his survey affording him no such aid to recognition, he began to move inland, in the 140 TALES OF THE BORDERS hope of meeting with somebody who could give him the information desired ; and in this he was not disappointed, that is, he did meet somebody ; but the appearance of that somebody surprised Johnny " pretty considerably." He had a high-crowned hat on, such as Johnny had never seen in his life before ; an enormous pair of breeches ; and a pipe a yard long in his mouth. His tout ensemble, in short, was exceeding strange in Johnny Armstrong's eyes. Nevertheless, he accosted him. "Can ye tell me, freen, how far I may be frae Brechin? ' he inquired. The stranger shook his head, but made no reply. " I'm sayin', freen," repeated Johnny, in a louder tone, thinking that his friend, as he called him, might possibly be dull of hearing, " can ye tell me if I'm onything neai Brechin?" The stranger again shook his head, but still said no- thing. Johnny was confounded. At length, however, after puffing away for some seconds with a suddenly-increased energy, he slowly withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and delivered himself of what sounded to Johnny's ears very much like this, spoken with great rapidity. " Futra butara rap a ruara dutera muttera purra murra footra den, Preekin, humph." Of this Johnny of course could make nothing, no more than the reader can, further than recognising in the word "Preekin" a resemblance to the name of the town he so anxiously inquired after ; and he was sorely perplexed thereat. Neither could he at all comprehend what sort of a being he had fallen in with. " I dinna understand a word o' what ye say, freen," at length said Johnny, staring hard at the stranger with open mouth. " Umph I " said the latter ; and he again withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and again sent a volley of his " dutera DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 141 mutteras " about Johnny's ears, to precisely the same pur- pose as before. Finding that it was of no use making any further at- tempt at conversation, Johnny passed on, not doubting that he had met either with a dummy or a madman. But what was Johnny's amazement when, shortly afterwards, meeting a woman, whose dress, in its own way, was equally odd and strange with that of the person he had just left, he was answered (that is, to his queries again about Brechin), in the same gibberish in which the former had responded to him. " What can be the meanin' o' this ? " said Johnny to himself, in great perplexity of mind, as he jogged on, after leaving the lady in the same unsatisfactory way as he had left the gentleman. " Whar in a' the earth can I hae got- ten to, that naebody I meet wi' can understan' a word o' plain English, or can speak themsels onything like an in- telligible language ? " He now began to think that he had probably got into the Highlands; but, although this supposition might ac- count for the strangeness of the language he had heard, it would not, he perceived, tally very well with the enor- mous breeches which the gentleman he had met with wore, and which he had seen from a distance others wear- ing, knowing, as he did very well, that the national dress of the Highlanders was the kilt, of which the trousers in question were the very antipodes. There was another circumstance, too, that appeared to Johnny at variance with his first conjecture, namely, that he might have got into the Highlands. Where he was there were no high lands, not an eminence the height of a mole-hill. On the contrary, the whole country, as far as his eye could reach, seemed one vast plain. Though greatly puzzled by these reflections, Johnny jogged on, and his progress at length brought him to a respectable-looking farm-house. li'2 TALES OP THE BORDERS. " 'Od," said Johnny, " I'll surely get a mouth fu' o sense frae somebody here, an' fin' out whar I am." In this Johnny certainly did succeed ; but not much to his comfort, as the sequel will show. The first person he addressed, on approaching the house, was a little girl, who, when he spoke, stared at him in the greatest amazement, then rushed screaming into the house. This proceeding brought out several young men and women, to whom Johnny now addressed himself; but the only answer he obtained was a stare of astonishment similar to the child's, and then a general burst of laughter. At length one of the girls went into the house and brought out a jolly-look- ing elderly man, who, from certain parts of his dress, seemed to be in the seafaring way. " Veil, mine freend, vat you vant ? " said this person, who spoke broken English — " vere you come from ? " " I cam last frae Alloa," said Johnny, " and I want to ken, sir, if I'm onything near to Brechin ? w " Preekin ! vere dat ? " " 'Od, I thocht everbody in Scotland kent that," said Johnny, smiling. " Ah ! maybe Scotlan', mine freend, but no Hollands," replied he of the broken English. " I dinna ken whether they ken't it in Holland or no," said Johnny; "that's a country I'm no in the least acquaint wi'; but I'm sure it's weel aneuch kent in Scotland." "Ah! maybe Scotlan', but no Hollands, my freend," repeated the man, smiling in his turn ; " but you vas in Hollands." " Never in my life," said Johnny, earnestly. " No, no," replied the man, impatiently, " you vas no in Hollands — but you vas in Hollands." Johnny could make nothing of this ; but it was soon cleared up by the person adding, " You vas in Hollands now — dis moment." DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 143 We will not even attempt to describe Johnny's amaze- ment, horror, and consternation, on this announcement being made to him, for we feel how vain it would be, and how far short any idea we could convey would be of the reality. " Holland ! " said Johnny. " Heaven hae a care o' me ! Ye surely dinna mean to say that I'm in Holland the noo ? " " To be sure I vas," said the Dutchman, smiling at Johnny's ludicrous perturbation. " Mine Got, did you not know you vas in Hollands ? Vere you come from, in all de vorlds, you not know dat ? " " I tell't ye already," replied Johnny, with a most rue- ful countenance, " that I cam last frae Alloa. But ye're surely no in earnest, freen," he added, in a desperate hope that it might, after all, be but a joke, " when ye say that I'm in Holland ? " " Ah ! sure earneest — no doubt — true," said the Dutch- man, now laughing outright at Johnny's perplexity. As in the former case, we presume we need not be more explicit in saying that Johnny had actually been wrecked on the coast of Holland. " Weel, weel," said the Brechin voyager, with an air expressive of more calmness and resignation than might have been expected, " this does cowe the gowan ! How, in Heaven's name, am I ever to fin' my way hame again ? Little did I think I was ever to be landed this way amang savages." Johnny Armstrong, it will be here observed, could have been no great reader — otherwise, he never would have applied the term savages to so decent, industrious, and civilized a people as the Dutch. The Dutchman, who was a kind, good-natured fellow — taking no offence wlltever at Johnny's unbecoming expression, because probably he did not understand it. and compassionating his situation— 144 TALES OP THE BOTlPEttS. now invited him into the house, where Johnny, having suc- ceeded in conveying to the whole household, through the medium of the speaker of broken English, the story of his misfortunes, was treated with much hospitality. With these kind people Johnny Armstrong remained for about a week — for they would not allow him to go sooner — when, having entirely recovered from the effects of his sea voyage and shipwreck, he proceeded to Rotterdam ; being accom- panied and assisted in all his movements by his benevolent host, Dunder Vander Dunder, of Slootzsloykin. On arriving at Rotterdam, a passage was engaged for Johnny on board one of the Leith packets, or regular traders, in which he was next day snugly deposited ; and, in an hour after, he was again braving the dangers of the ocean. For some time all went on well on this occasion with him, and he was beginning to feel comfortable, and even happy, from the prospect of being soon again in his native land, and from the superior accommodations of the vessel in which he was embarked — far surpassing, as they did, those of the unfortunate Sisters of Skatehaven. His present ship was, in truth, a remarkably fine one, and altogether seemed well adapted for encountering the elements. The weather, too, was moderate, and the wind fair ; so that a quick and pleasant passage was confidently anticipated by all on board, including Johnny Armstrong. All these agreeable circumstances combined, made him feel ex- tremely comfortable and happy; and, in the exuberance of his feelings, and from the exciting sense of having at length triumphed over his misfortunes — it might almost be said his fate — Johnny even began to joke and laugh with those whom he found willing to joke and laugh with him. It was while in this happy frame of mind, and as he stood luxuriously leaning over the bulwark of the vessel, that the captain suddenly espied a little, smart, cutter-looking craft, sailing exactly in the samp course with them- DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 145 selves, and evidently endeavouring to make up with them. "What can the folk be wantin'?" quoth Johnny Arm- strong, taking an interest in the approaching barge. His question was one which nobody could answer. In the meantime, the little vessel, moving with great velocity, was fast nearing them, when the captain, now convinced that those in her desired to have some communication with him, arrested his own vessel's way, and awaited their coming. In a very few minutes, the little cutter was alongside, and two men leapt from her to the deck of the packet, when one of them, approaching the captain, told him that they were messengers, that they had a Avarrant against John Jones, a native of Britain, for debt, and that they had reason to believe he was in the vesseL The captain said he did not believe he had any such p?ssenger on board, but informed them that they were perfectly at liberty to search the ship. During this conversation, the other officer kept his eye fixed on Johnny Armstrong, and when rejoined by his comrade, seemed to inform him — for their language was not understood — that there was some- thing about that person well worthy of his attention. They now both looked at Johnny, and appeared both con- vinced that he was a fit subject for further inquiry. Ac- cordingly one of them addressed him : — " Your name vas John Jones, mynheer ? " "No, sir," said Johnny; "my name's John Armstrong." " Ah, a small shange — dat is all. You vas John, and he vas John, and you be both John togidder ; so, you must come to de shore wid us." "Catch me there, lads," quoth Johnny. "The deil a shore I'll gang to, please Providence, but Leith shore. Na, na; I've had aneuch o' this wark, and I'm determined to bring't till an' end noo." " Donner and blitzen ! " shouted out one of the men. 10 146 TALES OF THE BORDERS. passioi*ateiy, " but you must go ! " — at the same time seiz- ing Johnny by the collar, and drawing a pistol from his bosom. In utter amazement at tlii extraordinary treatment, Johnny Armstrong imploringly called on the captain and the other passengers for protection; but, as none of them were in the least acquainted with him, and therefore did not know whether he was John Jones or not, they all declined interfering — the captain saying that it would be more than his ship and situation were worth to aid any one in resisting the laws of the country — that he could not, dare not do it. His appeals, therefore, to those around him being vain, he was eventually bundled into the cutter and conveyed on shore, placed in a temporary place of confinement for the night, and next day carried before a magistrate to be identified. To effect this, several witnesses were called, when one and all of them, after examining Johnny pretty narrowly, pronounced, to the great disappointment of the officers who had apprehended him, that he was not the man ! They, however, asserted that the resemblance between the real and supposed John Jones was very remarkable. On the discovery being made that tiie prisoner was not Jones, the magistrate apologized to Johnny in the most polite terms for the trouble he had been put to, and expressed great regret for the mistake of the officers ; but said that, as the witnesses had stated there was a strong resemblance — an unfortunate one, he must call it — between him and the real defaulter, and seeing, moreover, that they were both natives of Britain, the officers were perfectly justified in doing what they had done, however much the hardship of the case might be matter of regret. The magistrate having thus delivered himself, Johnny Armstrong was dismissed with great civi- lity, and wished, by all present, safe home to his own country-— a wish in which ho most heartily concurred, but DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 147 which seemed to lain more easily entertained than grati- fied. On regaining his liberty, the first thing he did -was to endeavour to find out when the next ship sailed for Scotland; he having, of course, lost that in which he had first embarked, and, to his great consternation and dismay, learned that there would be no vessel for a fortnight. This was sad intelligence to Johnny ; for, to add to his other distresses, his funds were now waxing low, and he felt that it would require the utmost economy to enable him to spin out the time and leave sufficient to pay his passage to his native land. This economy he could very easily have practised at home, for he had a natural ten- dency that way ; but he did not know how to set about it in a foreign country. His unhappiness and anxiety, there- fore, on this point were very great. In this dilemma, he bethought him of again seeking out and quartering on his friend Vander Dunder, of Slootzsloykin, till the vessel should sail ; but not having, of course, a word of Dutch, he could make no inquiries on the subject of his route, or indeed of anything regarding his friend at all. This idea, therefore, he ultimately abandoned, principally through a fear that he should, by some mistake, be de- spatched upon a wrong scent, a species of disaster to which he was now so sensitively alive, that he would neither turn to the right nor to the left without having made himself perfectly sure that he was about to take the right course ; and, as to conveyances of all kinds, of which he now entertained an especial suspicion, he had prudently deter- mined that he would know every particular about them and their destinations before he would put a foot in one of them, for he had found, from dear-bought experience, that if he did not take this precaution, the chance was that he would never reach the place he desired to get at, and might be whisked away to some unknown country, where he would never more be heard of. 148 TALES OF THE BORDERS. Under this wholesome terror, Johnny made no attempt to find out his friend Vander Dunder ; but chance effected, in part at least, what his limited knowledge of Dutch put it out of his power, with set purpose, to accomplish. On turning the corner of a street, who should he have the good fortune to meet with but Vander Dunder. The astonishment of the good Dutchman on seeing Johnny was great, so great, indeed, as to overcome the natural phlegm of his constitution. Holding up his hands in amaze- ment — " Mine Got, my freend I are you shipwrack agen ? " he exclaimed. " No, no," quoth Johnny — " bad aneuch, but no just sae bad as that." And he proceeded to inform his friend of the real state of the case. The good-natured Dutchman was shocked at the recital, and felt ten times more than ever for Johnny's unhappy situation and complicated misfortunes. When he had con- cluded his affecting story — "I tell you what you do, mine goot freend," said Vander Dunder — " you go vith me to Slootzsloykin, and you re- main vith me dere till your ship sail. You do dat, mine goot freend." " Wi' a' my heart," said Johnny, " and muckle obleeged to ye for yer kindness." " No, no — no obleege at all," replied the kind-hearted Dutchman, impatiently. " Yo do the same to me in your coontry if I was shipwrack and in misfortune, and put to trooble for an innocent thief." "Aweel, maybe I wad; but, nevertheless, its kind o' you to offer me the shelter o' yer roof," replied Johnny. Dunder Vander Dunder now took his friend into a tavern, and treated him to a glass of schnaps. Shortly thereafter the two embarked in a canal boat for Slootzsloy- kin, where they finally arrived in safety. Here Johnny DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 149 met with the same kind treatment as before ; and of that kindness there was no abatement during the whole fortnight of his sojourn. At the end of this period, Johnny Arm- strong once more set ont for Rotterdam, on the day previous to the sailing of the vessel in which he now hoped to reach his native land, without further molestation or interruption. And, certainly, everything had the appearance of going right on this occasion. The vessel, with Johnny on board, sailed at the appointed time, and, before embarking, he had read distinctly on the ticket — a large black board, with yellow letters, which was fastened to the shrouds — that she was bound for Leith, and was the identical vessel he had had in his eye. So far as this went, there could be no mistake whatever. There was, indeed, one little cir- cumstance that startled Johnny, but which he had not discovered till the vessel had been some time at sea. This was, that all the crew were Dutchmen, there not being a Scotchman amongst them. The circumstance did not, indeed, greatly alarm Johnny, but he certainly did think it a little odd ; for he naturally expected that, as she was a Leith vessel, her crew would be, for the most part, at any rate, natives of Britain. However, he made no remarks on the subject, thinking it, as it really was, a matter of perfect indifference whether they were Scotchmen or Dutchmen. There were two or three passengers in the vessel besides himself; but they were all foreigners too, so that he could hold no converse with any of them ; and thus debarred from intercourse with his fellow voyagers, he sat by himself, gazing from the deck of the vessel on the waste of waters with which he was surrounded, and musing on the strange series of mishaps of which he had so simply and innocently become the victim. It was while thus em- ployed — the vessel having been now a good many hours at sea, and at the moment scudding away before a fine fresh breeze — that the captain approached Johnny, and in very 150 TALES OF THE BORDERS. polite and civil terms, demanded his passage money. As he. spoke in Dutch, however, the latter did not understand him. The captain observing this, and now guessing what countryman he was, addressed him in very good English, and in that language repeated his demand. With this demand, Johnny instantly complied ; and, finding that he was a civil, good-natured fellow, began to open up a little conversation with him. His first remark was, that he hoped they would have good weather. The captain hoped so too. His second remark was, that they had a fine breeze. The captain agreed with him — said it was a delightful breeze — and added that, if it continued to blow as it then blew for four-and-twenty hours, he expected they would be all safe at Rouen! " At whar?" shouted out Johnny, looking aghast at the speaker. " At Eouen, to be sure," repeated the captain, wondering at Johnny's amazement. "Gude's mercy I" exclaimed Johnny, with dreadful energy, " are ye no gaun to Leith ? — is this no a Leith boat ?" " Oh, no," said the captain smiling ; " this is the Eouen packet. Were ye not aware of that, sir? You have got into a sad scrape, my friend, if you were not," he added, and now laughing outright at *he dismal expression of Johnny's countenance. " Heaven hae a care o' me 1" said Johnny despairingly. " Did I no read distinctly on the ticket that was fastened to yer shroods, that ye were bound for Leith ?" "Yes, yes," replied the captain, "you may have seen such a ticket as you speak of, and there was certainly such a ticket on our shrouds as you say, but it did not refer to this ship, but to the vessel outside of us. We allowed the board to be exhibited on our shrouds merely to accommodate our neighbour, as it could not be read from his — he being on the outside, and we next the quay. That, my friend, DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 151 is a piece of civility very commonly practised at seaports by one vessel to another, when similarly situated as we and they were. You will see it at all quays and wharfs." Johnny Armstrong groaned, but said nothing. At length, however, he muttered, in a tone of Christian-like resigna- tion — " The Lord's will be dune ! I see it's settled that I am never to get hame again ; but to be keepit gaun frae place to place ower the face o' the earth, like anither wanderin' Jew. Gude hae a care o' me, but this is awfu' 1 Its judg- ment like." It certainly was very remarkable, but not in the least mysterious. This new mistake of Johnny, like all the rest, was a perfectly simple occurrence; and, like them, too, arose as plainly and naturally out of circumstances as it was possible for any effect to do from a cause. But, however this may be, the captain — although he could not help laugh- ing at the awkward predicament of his passenger — really felt for him, seeing the distress he was in, and was so much influenced by this feeling as to offer to convey him back to Rotterdam, to which, he said, he would return in two days, free of any charge ; adding, with a smile, and with the kind intention of reconciling Johnny to what could not now be helped, that it was nothing, after all — that it would make a difference of only a few days — and that it would be always showing him a little more of the world. " Mony thanks to ye," said Johnny, perceiving and ap- preciating the friendly purpose of the captain ; " and I'll e'en tak advantage o' yer kind offer ; but as to seein' the world, by my faith, I've seen now about just as muckle o't as I want to see, and maybe a trifle mair — a hantle mail", at ony rate, than I ever expected to see." Then, in a solilo- quizing tone and manner — "God keep me, whar's Brechin noo ! A' that I wanted, and a' that I intended, was to get to that bit paltry place; and, instead o' that, here am I 152 TALES OF THE BORDERS. within a stane-cast o' the north pole, for aught I ken to the contrar, and, to a' appearances, no half dune wi't yet. Heaven kens whar I'll be sent niest! — maybe be landed on Owhyhee, or on some desert island, like another Robinson Crusoe. Na, it's certain, if things gang on muckle langer this way." Of the drift or scope of these remarks, or, at any rate, of the feelings that dictated them, the captain could make nothing, not knowing Johnny's precise circumstances; nor did he seek to have them explained, but contented himself with repeating his offer of conveying Johnny back to Rot- terdam, and renewing his well-meant efforts to reconcile him to his fate, in so far as his present voyage was con- cerned. In the meantime, the wind continued to blow in a manner perfectly satisfactory in every respect to all on board the Jung f ran of Rotterdam and Rouen; and, in about the space of time mentioned by the captain, the vessel reached her destination in safety. Johnny Armstrong, whose whole mind was absorbed by anxiety to reach that home which he yet seemed destined never again to see, took no interest whatever in the scenes presented to him in the part of the world he was now in. Indeed, he never left the vessel at all, for fear she would slip through his fingers; for, if he was afraid of accidents of this kind before, he was ten times more so now; and, with this fear upon him, that the packet might, by some chance or other, escape him, he determined to stick by her — never to lose sight of her for a moment, till she had conveyed him back to Rotterdam ; and his vigilance ultimately secured the end he had in view. The Jungfrau sailed from Rouen with Johnny on board, and, in due time, deposited him once more at Rotterdam. But what was Johnny's surprise, what Dunder Vander Dunder's amazement, when they again encountered one another, and that within ten minutes of the former's landing! The amazement of the latter, how- DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 153 ever, was, on this occasion, evidently mingled with a degree of suspicion of the perfect uprightness of Johnny's character. He began now to think, in short, that there had been more in the circumstance of Johnny's apprehension than he had been informed of. He did not like these frequent re- appearances ; he thought them very odd — and he did not hesitate to say so. "Mine Got! vat you here again for, man? Vat is de meaning of all dis, mine goot freend?" he exclaimed, with a somewhat dry and doubtful manner, quite at variance with the cordial tone of his former greetings. Johnny Armstrong explained to him, but seemingly without obtaining implicit credence for all he said. When he had done — "Tis veree odd," said Vander Dunder, coldly; "veree straunge. But, you really vant to go to Scotlan, dere is vessel going to sail for Leet now, and I vill see you on board mineself." It was very questionable whether Vander's civility, in this case, proceeded from a desire really to serve Johnny, or from a wish to get fairly rid of him. However this might be, Johnny readily accepted his offer, and at once accompanied him to the vessel he alluded to, which was, indeed, on the point of sailing. Vander, taking care that there should be no mistake in this case, conducted him down into the cabin, and waited on the quay till he saw the vessel fairly under weigh. Having brought the disasters of Johnny Armstrong to this point, we proceed now to finish what we assure our readers, is an " ower true tale." As we were strolling doAvn the pier of Leith, with a friend, one afternoon in the year 18 — , we saw a vessel making for the harbour. It was high water, and the scene altogether was a very pleasing and a very stirring one. But, amongst the various objects of interest tfeat. presented 1 54 TALES OF THE BORDERS. themselves, there was none that attracted so ranch of out attention as the stately vessel that, with outspread canvas, was rapidly nearing the pier. We asked a seaman who stood beside us, where she was from. He replied — "Rotterdam." On approaching the pier, the vessel shortened sail, and, by this process, enabled us deliberately to scan her decks from our elevated position, as she glided gently along with us. During this scrutiny, we observed amongst the pas- sengers a stout little man in a brown greatcoat, with a large red comforter about his neck, and his hat secured on his head — for it was blowing pretty hard — by a blue pocket- handkerchief, which was passed beneath his chin, and gave him, in a very particular manner, the peculiar air of a traveller or voyageur. There was nothing whatever in the appearance of the little man in the brown greatcoat which would have led any one to suppose, a priori, that there possibly could be anything remarkable or extraordinary in his history; but I was induced suddenly to change my opinion, or at least to take some interest in him, by my friend's exclaiming, in the utmost amazement, and, at the same time, pointing to him with the red comforter — " Gracious Heaven, if there is not Johnny Armstrong ! Or it is his ghost!" "No ghost at all, we warrant you," said we; " ghosts do not generally wear greatcoats and red comforters. But who in all the world is Johnny Armstrong?" 11 Johnny Armstrong," replied our friend, greatly excited, " is a person, a particular acquaintance if mine, who has been missing these six weeks ; and who -"Was supposed, by everybody who knew him, to have perished by some acci- dent or other, but of we at nature could never be ascertained, on his way to Brechin, where he had gone to visit some relations." We felt interested in Johnny, by this brief sketch of his mysterious story, and, not a little curious to know where on DISASTERS OP JOHNNT ARMSTRONG. 155 earth he could possibly have been all the time, we readily closed with our friend's proposal to ran round to the berth for which we saw the vessel was making, and to await his coming on shore. " But how, in all the world," said our friend, communing with himself during this interval, " has he got into a vessel from Rotterdam? He could not have been there, surely? It's impossible." As to this we could say nothing, not knowing at the time anything at all of Johnny's adventures; but of these we were not now long kept in ignorance. On his stepping on shore, our friend seized him joyously by the hand, and expressed great satisfaction at seeing him again. This satis- faction appeared to be mutual; for Johnny returned his friend's grasp with great cordiality and warmth. The first salutations over — " But where on all the earth, Mr. Armstrong," said our /Hend, "have you been for these three months back?" Johnny smiled, and said it was " ower lang a tale" to tell where we then were; but, as he meant to stop either in Leith or Edinburgh for the night, it being now pretty far in the evening, if my friend and I would adjourn with him to some respectable house, where he could get a night's quarters, he woidd give us the whole story of his adven- tures. With this proposal we readily closed; and on Johnny asking if we could point out such a liouse as he alluded to, we at once named the New Ship Tavern. Thither we iccordingly repaired; and, in less than two hours there- after, we were put, good reader, in possession, by Johnny himself, of that part of his sto?y to which the preceding pages have been devoted. What follows— for Johnny's misfortunes had not yet terminated — we learned afterwards from another quarter. On the next day — we mean the day succeeding the evening we spent with Johnny — the latter proceeded to 156 TALES OF THE BORDERS. Edinburgh, with the view of taking coach there for Carlisle. But, in making his way up Catherine Street, and when precisely opposite No. 12, Calton Street — we like to be particular — Johnny found himself suddenly accosted by one of his oldest and most intimate friends. This was a Mr. James Stevenson, a fellow-townsman and fellow-shop- keeper of his own. The astonishment of the latter, on meeting with Johnny, and, indeed, of finding him at all in the land of the living, was very great ; and he sufficiently expressed this feeling by the lively and highly excited manner in which he addressed him. Having put the usual queries, with that air of intense interest which they naturally excited, as to where Johnny had been, what he had been about, &c. &c, and having obtained a brief sketch of his adventures, with the promise of a fuller one afterwards, Mr. Stevenson, in reply, asked Johnny what course he was now steering. " Hame, to be sure," said Johnny, with a smile. " It's time noo, I think — I'm just sae far on my way to tak' oot a ticket for the coach." "Ye needna do that unless ye like," replied Johnny's friend. " Ye may save your siller, and no be abune an hour langer tarried, by takin' a seat wi' me in the gig I hae in wi' me. I'm sure ye're welcome, and I'll be blythe o' your company." "Hae ye a gig in wi' ye?" said Johnny, looking pleased by the intelligence. " 'Deed hae I, Mr. Armstrong, and ye'll just clink down beside me in't." I'll do that wi' great thankfu'ness," replied Johnny, " and muckle obleeged by the offer." The friends now walked away, arm in arm together; and in about two hours afterwards — Mr. Stevenson having, in the meantime, despatched what business he had to do in DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 157 the city— they were both seated in the gig, and birring it on merrily towards Carlisle. Neither Mr. Stevenson nor Johnny, however, were great whips— a deficiency which was by no means compensated for by the circumstance of their having a rather spirited horse, although blind of an eye. He was, in truth, a very troublesome animal; boggling and shying at everything that presented itself to his solitary optic. Notwithstanding this, the travellers got on very well for a time, and were whirling over the ground at a rapid rate, when an unlucky cart of hay came in their way at a narrow turn of the road How this simple occurrence should have operated so unfa- vourably as it did for them, we shall explain. A cart of hay is not a very alarming object to rational creatures like ourselves, but to the one-eyed horse of the travellers it appeared a very serious affair; for it had no sooner presented itself to his solitary organ of vision than he pricked up his ears, snorted furiously, and began to ex- hibit sundry other symptoms of disquietude. By dint, however, of some well-directed punishment from Jamie Stevenson's wliip, which Johnny increased by an energetic application of his stick, the restive animal was brought up to the waggon of hay ; but, for some time, the inducements just mentioned failed to prevail on him to pass it. At length, however, Johnny having added greatly to the vigour of his blows with his stick, and his neighbour to that of his strokes with the whip, the horse did pass the waggon, and that with a vengeance. Taking heart, or rather becoming desperate, he bolted past it with the rapidity of a cannon shot ; and not only this, but when he had cleared it, continued the velocity of his movements with unabated energy, to the great discomfort and no small terror of both Johnny and his companion, who now found themselves going at a rate which they had neither antici- pated nor desired. Indeed, this was so very great that 158 TALES OP THE BORDERS. both directly saw that something was wrong. Both saw, in short, what was, indeed, too true, that the horse had fairly run away with them; for he was now going like the wind, with fury and distraction in his looks. It was a shocking and most dreadfully alarming affair ; and so Johnny and his friend felt it to be, as might be distinctly seen by their horror-stricken feces. On discovering the predicament they were in, both the travellers — the one dropping his whip, and the other his stick — seized on the reins, and began pulling with all their might, in the desperate hope of checking the animal's speed by main force; Johnny, in his terror, exclaiming the while, distractedly — " Mair o't yet, mair o't yet! Lord have a care o' me, but this is awfu' ! This is waur than onything I hae met wi' yet. Waur than the Fifteen Sisters, Dutchmen, and a'. God be wi' us ! are my misfortunes never to hae an end, till they hae finished me outricht? Am I never to get safe to either ae place oranither? — either to hame or to Brechin? Surely ane o' them might be permitted to me. 0, Jamie, see hoo he's gaun ! He doesna seem to fin' us at his hurdies, nae mair than if we war a pair o' preencushions." This was true enough, The horse in his fury did not indeed seem to feel either them or the vehicle they were seated in, but pushed madly onwards, till he came to where the road divided itself into two distinct roads — the one being the right one, and the other, of course, the wrong — when, as if inspired by Johnny's evil genius, he at once took the latter, and in little more than twenty minutes, had him and his friend fully half as many miles out of their way. Now, however, the catastrophe was to be wound up. A milestone caught one of the wheels of the gig, canted it over, and threw Johnny sprawling on the road with a broken leg; his friend, although also thrown, escaping wholly unhurt. DISASTERS OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG. 159 " Aweel, here it's at last," said Johnny, sitting up in the mud amongst which he had been planted, and fully believ- ing that his injuries were fatal. " Here it's at last. I'm clean dune for noo, after a' my escapes. It may be noo plainly seen, I think," he went on, " that some evil spirit has had me in its power, for these six weeks past at ony rate, and has been gowfin' me ab-jnt the world like a fitba', to kill me wi' a gig at last." Luckily, Johnny's injuries did not prove so serious as he had feared they woidd do; and no less fortunate was it that the accident to which they were owing happened not far from a small country town in which there was a resident surgeon. To the latter place Johnny was immediately removed on a temporary bier, hastily constructed for the purpose by some labouring men who chanced to be near the spot where the accident happened, and there he lay for six entire weeks, when the surgeon above alluded to, and who had attended him all that time, intimated to him that he might now venture to return home. Delighted with the intelhgence, Johnny instantly acted on it, and next day entered Carlisle triumphantly in a post-chaise — not looking, nor really being, after all, much the worse for his unpre- cedented adventures, save and except a lameness in the injured limb, which ever after imparted to his movements the graceful up-and-down motion produced by that peculiar longitudinal proportion of the nether linibs, designated by the descriptive definition of " a short leg and a shorter." Having, with this last occurrence, concluded the story of Johnny's disasters, we have only to add that Johnny has never, to this good hour, got the length of Brechin — nor v.-iLL he says, ever again make the attempt. 160 TAXES OF THE BORDER8, THE PEOFESSOE'S TALES* THE MOUNTAIN STORM. Packman loquitur. — For several days the wind had been easterly, with an intense frost. At last, however, the weather subsided into a cairn and dense fog, under which, at mid-day, it was difficult to find one's way amidst those mountain tracks along which, in general, my route lay. The grass and heath were absolutely loaded with hoar-frost. My cheeks became encompassed by a powdered covering; my breath was intensely visible, and floated and lingered about my face with an oppressive and almost suffocating density. No sun, moon, or star had appeared for upAvards of forty-eight hours ; when, according to my preconcerted plan, I reached the farm town of Burnfoot. I was now in the centre of Queensberry Hills, the most notable sheep- pasturage in the south of Scotland. It was about three o'clock of the fifteenth day of January, when, under a cheer- ful welcome from the guidwife, I rested my pack (for, be it known, I belong to this class of peripatetic merchants) upon the meal ark, disengaged my arms from the leather straps by which the pack was suspended from my shoulders, and proceeded to fight my pipe at the blazing peat-fire. Ee- freshments, such as are best suited to the packman's drouth, * The author of these stories (to be continued), the well-known Professor Thomas Gillespie, was one of the principal writers in Blackwood during the " storm and stress " period of that magazine. As an author, his peculiarity con- sisted in vivid descriptions of scenery and incidents coming within the range of a very eccentric experience, all given with a versatility and abandon which he could not restrain, and which, being the reflex of a poetical enthusiasm, formed the charm of his writings. — Ed. THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 161 were soon and amply supplied, and I had thj happiness of seeing my old acouaintanc^s (Tor I visited Bnrnfoot twice a year, on my going and coming from Glasgow to Man- chester) drop in from their several avocations, one after another, and all truly rejoiced to behold my face, and still more delighted to inspect the treasure and the wonders of " the pack." At last the guidman himself suspended his plaid from the mid-door head, put off his shoes and leggings, assumed his slippers, along with his prescriptive seat at the head or upper end of the lang-settle. The guidwife, re- turning butt from bedding the youngest of some half-score of children, welcomed her husband with a look of the most genuine affection. She put a little creepie stool under his feet, felt that his clothes were not wet, scolded the dogs to a respectful distance, and inspired the peats into a double blaze. The oldest daughter, now " woman grown," sat combing the hoar-frost from her raven locks, and looking out from beneath beautifully arched and bushy eyebrows upon the interesting addition which had been made to the meal-ark. Some half-a-score of healthy lads and lasses occupied the bench ayont the fire, o'er-canopied by sheep- skins, aprons, stockings, and footless hose. The dogs, after various and somewhat noisy differences had been adjusted, fell into order and position around the hearth, enjoying the warmth, and licking, peacefully and carefully, the wet from their sides. The cat, by this time, had made a returning motion from the cupboard head, from which she had been watching the arrangements and movements beneath. As this appeared to "Help" to be an infringement of the terms of armistice and of the frontier laws, he sprang with eager- ness over the hearth. Pussy, finding it dangerous, under this sudden and somewhat unexpected movement, " dare terga" instantly drew up her whole body into an attitude not only of defence, but defiance ; curving herself into a bristling crescent, with the head of a dragon attached to it, ^ol i. 21 162 TALES OF THE BORDERS. and, with one horrid hiss and sputter, compelled Help first to hesitate and then to retreat. " Three paces back the youth retire*!, And saved himself from harm."' The guidwife, however, — who seemed not unaccustomed to such demonstrations, and who manifestly acted on the humane principle of assisting the weaker by assailing the stronger combatant — gave Help such demonstrations of her intentions, as at once reduced matters to the status quo ante bellum. (I have as good a right to scholarship as my brother packman, Plato, who carried oil to Egypt.) Thus peace and good order being restored, the treasures of my burden became an immediate and a universal subject of inquiry. I was compelled, nothing loath, to unstrap my various packages, and disclose to view all the varied trea- sures of the spindle and loom. Shawl? were spread out into enormous display, with central, and corner, and bor- der ornaments, the most amazing and the most fashionable ; waistcoat pieces of every stripe and figure, from the straight fine to the circle, of every hue and colouring which the rainbow exhibits, were unfolded in the presence and under the scrutinizing thumb of many purchasers. The guidwife herself half coaxed and half scolded a fine remnant of Flanders lace, of most tempting aspect, out of the guid- mau's reluctant pocket. The very dogs seemed anxious to be accommodated, and applied their noses to some unopened bales, with a knowing look of inquiry. Things were pro- ceeding in this manner, when the door opened, and there entered a young man of the most prepossessing appearance; in fact, what Burns terms a " strapping youth." I could observe that, at his entrance, the daughter's eye (of whom I have formerly made mention) immediately kindled into an expression of the. most universal kindness and benevo- lencp. Hitherto she had taken but a limited interest id THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 163 what was going on ; but now she became the most promi- nent figure in the group — whilst the mother dusted a chair for the welcome stranger with her apron, and the guidman welcomed him with a — " Come awa, Willie Wilson, an' tak a seat. The nicht's gay dark an' dreary. I wonder how ye cleared the Whit- stane Cleugh and the Side Scaur, man, on sic an eerie nicht." " Indeed," responded the stranger, casting a look, in the meantime, towards the guidman's buxom, and, indeed, lovely daughter — " indeed, it's an unco fearfu' nicht — sic a mist and sic a cauld I hae seldom if ever encountered; but I dinna ken hoo it was — I coulda rest at hame till I had tellt ye a' the news o' the last Langhom market." "Ay, ay," interrupted the guidwife; "the last Langhom market, man, is an auld tale noo, I trow. Na, na, yer mither's son camna here on sic a nicht, and at sic an hour, on sic an unmeaning errand" — finishing her sentence, how- ever, by a whisper into Willie's ear, which brought a deeper red into his cheek, and seemed to operate in a similar manner on the apparently deeply engaged daugh- ter. " But, Watty," continued my fair purchaser, " you must give me this Bible a Uttle cheaper — it's ower dear, man — heard ever onybody o' five white shillings gien for a Bible, and it only a New Testament, after a' ? — it's baith a sin an' a shame, Watty." After some suitable reluctance, I was on the point of re- ducing the price by a single sixpence, when Willie Wilson advanced towards the pack, and at once taking up the book and the conversation — " Ower dear, Jessie, my dear ! — it's the word o' God, ye ken — his ain precious word ; and I'll e'en mak ye a present o' the book at Watty's ain price. Ye ken ho maun live, as we a' do, by Ids trade." 164 TALES OP THE BORDERS. The money was instantly paid down from a purse pretty will filled ; for William Wiison was the son of a wealthy and much respected sheep-farmer in the neighbourhood, and had had his name once called in the kirk, along with that of " Janet Harkness of Burnfoot, both in this parish." " Hoot noo, bairns," rejoined the mother ; " ye're baith wrang — that Bible winna do ava. Ye maun hae a big ha' Bible to take the buik wi', and worship the God o' yer fathers nicht and morning, as they hae dune afore ye ; and Watty will bring ye ane frae Glasgow the next time he comes roun' ; and it will, maybe, be usefu', ye ken, in anither way." " Tout, mither, wi' yer nonsense," interrupted the con- scious bride ; " I never liked to gee my name and age marked and pointed out to onybody on oor muckle Bible ; sae just haud yer tongue, mither, and tak a present frae William and me" added she, blushing deeply, " o' that big printed Testament. The minister, ye ken, seldom meddles wi' the auld Bible, unless it be a bit o' the Psalms ; and yer een noo are no sae gleg as they were whan ye were mar- ried to my father there." The father, overcome by this well-timed and well-directed evidence of goodness, piety, and filial affection, rose from his seat on the long-settle, and, with tears in his eyes, pro- nounced a most fervent benediction over the shoulders of his child. " God in heaven, bless and preserve my dear Jessie 1" said he — his child's tears now falling fast and faster. " Oh, may the God of thy fathers make thee happy — thee and thine — him there and his ! — and when thy mother's grey h;iirs and mine are laid and hid in the dust, mayest thou have children, such as thy fond and dutiful self, to bless a: id comfort, to rejoice and support thy heart!" There was not, by this time, a dry eye in the family ; and, as a painful silence was on the point of succeeding thore, viewing the boats as they mustered for the herring hshing, he was shot at from behind one of the rocks, and severely wounded in the shoulder — the ball or slug-shot having lodged in the clavicle, and refusing, for some days, to be extracted. The hue-and-cry was immediately raised; but the guilty person was nowhere to be seen. He had escaped in a boat, or had hid himself in a crevice of the rock, or in some private and friendly house in the village. I'oor Thomas Laing was carried home to his distracted wife more dead than alive ; and Dr. Goodsir being called, disclosed that, in his present state, the lead could not be extracted. Poor Sarah was never a moment from her husband's side, who fevered, and became occasionally delirious — talking incoherently of murder and shipwreck, and Woodburn, and love, and marriage, and Sarah Black. All within his brain was one mad wheel of mixed and con- fused colours, such as children make when they wheel a stick, dyed white, black, and red, rapidly around. Sus- picion, from the first, fell upon the brother of the boy Rob Paterson, whom Laing had killed many years before. Revenge is the most enduring, perhaps, of all the passions, and rather feeds upon itself than decays. Like fame, " it acquires strength by time ; " and it was suspected that Dan Paterson, a reckless and a dissipated man, had done the deed. In confirmation of this supposition, Dan was no- where to be found, and it was strongly suspected that his wife and his son, who returned at midnight with the boat, had set Dan on shore somewhere on the coast, and that he had effected his escape. Death, for some time, seemed every day and hour nearer at hand ; but at last the symp- toms softened, the fever mitigated, the swelling subsided, and, after much careful and skilful surgery, most admir- ably conducted by Dr. Goodsir's son, the ball was extracted. 192 TALES OF THE BORDERS. The wound closed -without mortification ; and, in a week or two, Mr. Laing was not only out of danger, but out cf bed, and walking about, as he does to this hour, with his arm in a sling. It was about the period of his recover}-, that Dan Paterson was taken as he was skulking about in the west country, apparently looking out for a ship in which to sail to America. He was immediately brought back to Cellardykes, and lodged in Anstruther prison. Mr. Laing would willingly have forborne the prosecution ; but the law behoved to have its course. Dan was tried for "maiming with the intention of murder," and was con- demned to fourteen years' transportation. This happened in the year 1822, the year of the King's visit to Scotland. Mr. and Mrs. Laing actually waited upon his Majesty King George the Fourth, at the palace of Dalkeith, and, backed by the learned judge and counsel, obtained a commutation of the punishment, from banishment to imprisonment for a limited period. The great argument in his favour was the provocation he had received. Dan Paterson now inhabits a neat cottage in the village, and Mr. Laing has quite set him up with a boat of his own, ready rigged and fitted for use. He has entirely reformed, has become a member of a temperance society, and his wife and family are as happy as the day is long. Mr. and Mrs. Laing are supplied with the very best of fish, and stockings and mittens are manu- factured by the Patersons for the little Laings, particularly during boisterous weather, when fishing is out of the question. Thus has a wise Providence made even the wrath of man to praise him. The truth of the above narrative may be tested any day, by waiting upon the Rev. Mr. Dickson, or upon the parties themselves at Brae- head of Cellardykes. PRESCRIPTION. 193 PRESCRIPTION; OR, THE 29TH OF SEPTEMBER. The serene calmness and holy inspiration of some of onr cottage retreats in Scotland are often the envy of the town- poet or philosopher, who looks upon the sequestered spots as possessing all the beauty and repose of the beatific Beulah, where the feet of the pilgrim found repose, and his spirit rest. The desire arises out of that discontent which, less or more, is the inheritance of man in this sphere; it is the residuum of the worldly feelings which, like the clay that, in inspired hands, gave the power of sight to the blind, opens the eyes to immortality. The wish for retirement belongs to good, if it is not a part of the great principle that inclines us to look far away to purer regions for the rest which is never disturbed, and the joy that knows no abatement. Yet how vain are often our thoughts as we survey the white-washed hut in the valley, covered with honeysuckle and white roses ; the plot before the door ; the croonin dame on her tripod ; the lass with the lint-white locks, singing, in snatches of Nature's own lan- guage, her purest feelings, like the swelling of a mountain spring ! The heart is not still there, any more than in the crowded mart. The birds whistle, but they die too; the rose blooms, but it is eaten in the heart by the palmer worm; the sun shines, but there is a shade at his back. Alas for mortal aspirations — there is nothing here of one side. Like the two parties who fought for the truth of the two pleas — that the statue was white, or that it was black — we find, after all our labour lost, that one side is of the one colour, and the other of the opposite. These thoughts Vol. I 1 3 194 I'ALES OF THE BORDERS. arise in us at this moment, as Ave recollect the little cottage of Homestead, situated in a collateral valley on the Borders. We were born at a stone-cast from it ; and, even in the dream of age, see issuing from it, or entering it, a creature who might have stood for Wordsworth's Highland Girl — a slender, gracile thing, retiring and modest; as delicate in her feelings as in the hue of her complexion; her thoughts of her glen and waterfall only natural to her — all others, fearful even to herself, glenting forth through a flushed medium, which equally betrayed the workings of the blood in the transparent veins — a being of young life, elasticity, and sensitiveness, such as, like some modest flower, we find only in certain recesses of the valleys in mountain-lands. Such were you, Alice Scott, when you first darted across our path on the hills. We have said that we see you now through the dream of age; and, holding to the parallel, there is a change o'er the mood of our vision, for we see you again in a form like that of "The Ladye Geraldine" — your mountain russets off; the bandeau that bound the flying locks laid aside ; the irritability and flush of the young spirit abated; and, instead of these, the gown of silk, the coif of satin, and the slow and dignified step of conscious worth and superiority. And whence this change? The young female we have thus apostrophised, was the daughter of Adam Scott, a cottar, who occupied the small cottage of Homestead, under the proprietor of Whitecraigs — a fine property, lying to the south of the cottage; and the mansion of which is yet to be seen by the traveller who seeks the Tweed by the windings of the river Lyne. Old Adam died, and left his widow and daughter to the pro- tection of his superior, Mr. Hayston, who, recollecting the services and stanch qualities of his tenant, did not despise the charge. The small bield was allowed to the mother ■and daughter, rent free; and some assistance, in addition PRESCRIPTION. 195 to the produce of their hands, enabled them to live as thousands in this country live, whose capability of support- ing life might be deemed a problem difficult of solution by those whose only care is how to destroy God's gifts. Nature is as curious in her disposal of qualities as the great genius of chance or convention is of the distribution of means. Literature has worn out the characteristic and gloomy lines of the description of the fair and the good; and the impatience of the mind of the nineteenth century — a mind greedy of caricature, and regardless of written sentiment — may warn us from the portrayment of what people now like better to see than to read or hear of. Away, then, with the usual terms, and let old Dame Scott and her daughter be deemed as of those beings who have interested you in the quiet recesses of humble poverty, where Nature, as if in sport or satire, loves to play fan- tastic tricks. If you have no living models to go by, call up some of the pages of the thousand volumes that have been multiplied on a subject which has been more spoiled by poetical imagery, than benefited by sober observation. Within about five years of the death of the husband and father, old Hayston died, and left Whitecraigs to his only son, Hector, who was kind enough to continue the gift of the father to the inmates of Homestead; but he loaded them with a condition, unspoken, yet implied. The young laird and the pretty cottage maiden had foregathered often amidst the romantic scenes on the Lyne; and that which Nature probably intended as a guard and a mean of segrega- tion — the shrinking timidity of her own mountain child, when looked upon by the eye of, to her, aristocracy — only tended to an opposite effect. A poet has compared love to an Eastern bird, which loses all its beauty when it flies , and it is as true as it is a pretty conceit; but if there was any feathered creature whose wings, reflecting, from its monaul tints, the sun in greater splendour, when on the 196 TALES OF THE BORDERS. wing, it would supply as applicable and not less poetical an emblem of the object of the little god's heart-stirrings; and so it seemed to the young laird of Whitecraigs, that, as Alice Scott bounded away over the green hills, or down by the Lyne banks, at his approach, her flight added to the interest which she had already inspired when she had no means of escape. But, as the wildest doe may be caught and tamed, so was she, who was as a white one removed from the herd. The young man possessed attractions beside those of imputed wealth and station; and probably, though we mean not to be severe upon the sex, the process by which his affection had been increased was reversed in its effects upon her, to whom assiduous seeking was as the assiduous retreating had been to him. Yet all was, we believe, honourable in the intentions of young Hayston ; and, as for Alice, she was in the primeval condition of a total unconsciousness of evil. The " one blossom on earth's tree," as the poet has it, was by her yet unplucked, nor knew she how many thousands have had cause to sing — " I have plucked the one blossom that hangs on earth's tree ; I have lived — I have loved, and die." Her former timidity was the a priori proof of the strength of the feeling that followed, when the sensitiveness of fear gave way to confidence. Town loves are a thing of sorry account: the best of them are a mere preference of the one to the many; and he who is fortunate enough to out- shine his rivals, may pride himself in the possession of some superior recommendations which have achieved a triumph. Were he to look better to it, he might detect something, too, in the force of resources. At best, a few hundred pounds will turn the scale ; for he is by all that a better man ; and the trained eye of town beauties has a strange responsive twinkle in the glare of the one thing needful. In the remote and beautiful parts of a romantic country, PRESCRIPTION. 197 things are otherwise ordered: affection there, is as the mountain flower to the gallipot rose ; and it is a mockery to tell us that the difference is only perceptible to those who are weak enough to be romantic. A doughty "warrior would recognise and acknowledge the difference, and fight a great deal better too, after he had blubbered over a mountain or glen born love for a creature who would look upon him as the soul of the retreat, and hang on his breast in the outpourings of Nature's feelings. That young White- craigs appreciated the triumph he had secured, there can be no reason to doubt. He had been within the drying atmosphere of towns, and had sung and waltzed, probably, with a round hundred of creatures who understood the passion, much as Audrey understood poetry — deeming it honest enough, but yet a composition made up of the ele- ments of side glances, arias, smorzando-sighs, and quadrilles. With Alice Scott on his bosom, the quiet glen as their retreat, the green umbrageous woods their defence, its birds as their musicians, and the wimpling Lyne as the speaking Naiad, he forgot, if he did not despise, the scenes he had left. She flew from him now no longer. The fowler had succeeded to captivate, not intentionally to kill. Two years passed over in this intercourse. There was no secret about it. The dame was well apprised of their proceeding ; and the open frankness of the youth dispelled all the fears of wrong which the innocence of the daughter, undefended by experience, might have scarcely guaranteed to one who, at least, had heard something of the ways of the world. The income from Whitecraigs, somewhere about seven hundred a-year, was more than sufficient for the expenditure of the older Haystons; and Hector, at this time, did not seem inclined to alter the fine of life followed by his fathers. He had not spoken of marriage to the mother; but he had not hesitated to breathe into the ear ol Alice all that was necessary to lead her to the conclusion, 198 TALES OF THE BORDERS. to which her heart jumped, that she was to be the lady of the stately white mansion that, at one time, had appeared to her as a great temple where humble worshippers of the glen and the wood might not lay their sandals at the door- way. She had entered the vestibule only as an alms-seeker, and trembled to think she might have been observed throw- ing a side glance into the interior, where pier-glasses might have reflected the form of the russet-clad child of the valley and hill. The tale has been told a thousand times, and the world is not mended by it. The young master pressed her to his bosom, imprinted a kiss, and was away into the mazes of life in the metropolis, whither some affairs, left unsettled by his father, carried him. Six months passed away, and the rents of the succeeding term were collected by Mr. Pringle, the agent of the family, in Peebles. There was no word for poor Alice, though the small allowance was handed in by the agent, who, ignorant of the state of matters between the young couple, informed the mother that the master of Whitecraigs was on the eve of being married to a young lady of some wealth in the metropolis. The statement was heard by the daughter; and what henceforth but that of Thekla's song : — " The clouds are flying, the woods are sighing — The maiden is walking the grassy shore ; And as the wave breaks with might, with might, She singeth aloud through the darksome night ; But a tear is in her troubled eye." Alice Scott was changed; yet, who shall tell what that change was ? If the slow and even progress of the spirit may defy the eye of the metaphysician, who may describe its moods of disturbance? Poetry is familiar with these things, and we have fair rhymes to tell us of the wander- ings, and the lonely musings by mountain streams, and the eye that looks and sees not, and the wasting form, and the words that come like the sounds from deep caves ; yet, PRESCRIPTION. 199 after all, they tell us but little, and that little is but to tickle us with the resonance of spoken sentiment, leaving the sad truth as little understood as before. True it was, that Alice Scott did all these things, and more too : the charm of the hills and the water banks was gone : the light spirit that carried her along, as if borne on the winds, was quenched ; the songs by which she gladdened the ears oi her mother, as she plied her portable handwork on the green, was no more heard mingling its notes with the music of the Lyne; and the face that shone transparently, like painted alabaster, as if part of the light came from within, was as the poet says — " Like an April morn Clad in a wintry cloud." Nor did additional time seem to possess any power save that of increasing the pain of the heart-stroke. Most of the griefs of mortals have their appointed modes of alle- viation — some are complaining griefs, some are talkative, and some sorrows are sociable for selfishness. But the heart-wound of her who has only those scenes of nature which were associated with the image of the unkind one, to wear off the impressions of which, under other hues, they form a part, is a silent mourner. There is enough of a pain- ful eloquence around her, and her voice would be only the small whisper that is lost in the wailings of the storm in the glen. Yet painful as the language is, she courts it in silence, even while it mixes and blends with the poison which consumes her. It was in vain that her mother, who saw with a parental eye the malady which is the best understood by those of her class and age, urged her with kindness to betake herself to her household duties. She was seldom to be prevailed upon to remain within doors; the hill-side, or the bosom of the glen, or the back of the willows by the water-side, were her choice. Ordinary meal times were forgotten or unheeded, where 200 TALES OF THE BORDERS. Nature had renounced her cravings, or given all her energies to the heart. The next intelligence received at Homestead was that of the marriage of Hector Hayston, and his departure for France. The servants at Whitecraigs were discharged, as if there had been no expectation, for a long period, of the return of the young laird. The supply to the two females was increased, and paid by Mr. Pringle, who, now probably aware of the situation of Alice, delicately avoided any allu- sion to his employer. Report, however, was busy with her tales ; and the absence of the youth was attributed to the workings of conscience or of shame. There was little truth in the report. The object of his first affections might easily have been banished from Whitecraigs, and he who had been guilty of leaving her may be supposed capable of removing her from scenes which could only add to her sorrow. A true solution of his conduct might have been found in the fact, that Hayston was now following his pleasures in the society of his wife's friends — a gay and lavish circle — and did not wish to detract from his enjoyment by adding banishment and destitution to a wrong now irremediable. Little more was heard of him for some time, with the ex- ception of a floating report, that he had borrowed, through his agent, the sum of ten thousand pounds from a Mr. Colville, a neighbouring proprietor, and pledged to him Whitecraigs in security. The circumstance interested greatly the neighbouring proprietors, who shook their heads in significant augury of the probable fate of their young neighbour in the whirlpool of continental life. Yet the allowance to Dame Scott at the next term was regularly paid; and if there was a tear in her eye, as she looked, first at the money, and then at the thin, pallid creature who sat silent at the window, it was not that she dreaded its discontinuance from the result of the extravagance of the giver. The effect of the act of payment of the money PRESCRIPTION. 201 had, on a former occasion, been noticed by Pringle on the conduct of Alice : it was on this occasion repeated. She rose from her seat, looked steadfastly for a moment at the gift as it lay on the table, placed her hand on her forehead, and flitted out of the room. The eye of the agent followed her from the window: her step was hurried, without an object of impulse. She might go— but whither? probably she knew not herself; yet on she sped till she was lost among the trees on the edge of the glen. Thus longer time passed, but there seemed no change to Alice, save in the continual decrease of the frame, under the pressure of a mind that communed with the past, and only looked to the future as containing some day that would witness the termination of her sorrows. The anglers on the Lyne became familiar with her figure, for they had seen it on the heights, with her garments floating in the breeze, and had come up to her as she sat by the water- side, but they passed on. At the worst she could be but one whose spirit was not settled enough to admit of her according with the ways of honest maidens ; and they might regret that the beauty that still lurked amidst the ravages of the disease of the heart, had not been turned to better account. It is thus that one part of mankind sur- veys another : they form their theory of a condition whose secret nature is only known to its possessor ; draw their moral from false premises, formed as a compliment to their own conduct and situation, and pass on to their pleasure. Yet there occurred an important exception to these remarks : — One day Alice had taken up her seat on the banks of a small pond in front of the house of Whitecraigs. She sat opposite to the front of the dwelling, and seemed to survey its closed windows and deserted appearance, with the long grass growing up through the gravel of the walks — the broken pailings and decayed out-houses ; a scene that 202 TALES OF THE BORDERS. might be supposed to harmonize with the feelings of a mind broken and desolate, There might seem even a consan- guinity in the causes of the condition of both. The scene might have suited the genius of a Danby. There was no living creature to disturb the silence. The house of faded white, among the dark trees, cheerless and forsaken ; the face of Alice Scott emaciated and pale, with the lustre of the loch, shining in the sun, reflected on it, directed towards the habitation of which she should have been mistress; her eyes, which had forgotten the relief of tears, fixed on the scene so pregnant with unavailing reminiscences — with these we would aid the artist. But the charm was gone, as a voice sounded behind her. She started, and, according to her custom, would have fled as the hare that remembers the snare ; but she was detained. A man, advanced in years, poorly clad, with hair well smitten with snow tints, and a staff in his hand, stood beside her, holding her by the skirt of the gown. " I am weary," said he ; "I have walked from Moffat, and woidd sit here for a time, if you would speak to me of the scenes and people of these parts." And the appli- cation of his hand again to her gown secured a compliance, dictated more by fear than inclination. She sat, while she trembled. " You are fair," continued he ; " but my ex- perience of sorrow tells me that grief has been busier with your young heart than years. I will not pry into your secrets. To whom does Whitecraigs now belong ?" The name had not been breathed by her to mortal since that day she had heard of the intended marriage. She made an effort to pronounce it, failed, and fixed her eyes on the pond. The stranger gazed on her, waiting for her reply. "Hector Hayston," she at length muttered. " And why has he left so fair a retreat to the desolation that has overtaken it?" rejoined lie again. The question PRESCRIPTION. 203 was still more unfortunate. She had no power to reply. Her face was turned from him, and repressed breathings heaved her bosom. " You may tell me, then, if one Dame Scott lives in these parts?" he said again, as he marked her strange manner, and probably augured that his prior question was fraught with pain. " Yes — yes," she replied, with a sudden start, as if re- lieved from pain, while she regained her feet; "yonder lives my mother." The stranger stood with his eyes fixed upon her, as if in deep scrutiny of the inexplicable features of her character and appearance ; but he added not a word, till he saw her move as if she wished to be gone. " You -will go with me ?" he said. But the words were scarcely uttered, when she was away through the woods, leaving him to seek his way to the house of her mother, whither, accordingly, he directed his steps, from some prior knowledge he possessed of the locality about which he had been making inquiries. As he went along, he seemed wrapt in meditation — again and again looking back, to endeavour to get another sight of the girl, who was now seated on the edge of the stream, and again seized by some engrossing thought that claimed all the energies of his spirit. On coming up to the door of the cottage, he tapped gently with his long staff ; and, upon being required by the dame to enter, he passed into the middle of the floor, and stood and surveyed the house and its inmate. " I have nothing for you," said the latter ; " so you must pass on to those whom God has ordained as the dis- tributors of what the needy reauire. Alas! I am myself but a beggar." The words seemed to have been wrung out of her by the meditative mood in which the stranger had found her, and, whether it was that the interest which had been ex- 204 TALES OF THE BORDERS cited in him by the appearance of the daughter had been increased by the confession of the mother, or that there was some secret cause working in his mind, he passed hia hand over his eyes, and for a moment turned away his head. " I have been both a beggar and a giver in my day," he replied, as he laid down his hat and staff, and took a chair opposite to the dame ; "and I am weary of the one charac- ter and of the other. I have got with a curse ; and I have given for ingratitude. But I may here give, and you may receive, without either. There is an unoccupied bed; I am weary of wandering, and have enough to pay for rest." " That is better than charity," rejoined the dame — " ay, even the charity of the stranger." " And why of the stranger, dame ?" added he. "I have hitherto thought that the charity of friends was that which might be most easily borne. And who may be your bene- factor ?" " Hector Hayston of Whitecraigs," replied she, hanging her head, and drawing a deep breath. The stranger detected the same symptoms of pain in the mother as those he had observed in the daughter. "Then forgets he not his cottars in his absence," he added. " But why has he left a retreat fairer than any I have yet seen throughout a long pilgrimage over many lands?" " We will not speak of that," she replied, rising slowly, and going to the window, where she stood for a time in silence. " You have a daughter, dame," resumed the man, as he watched the indications of movement in the heart of the mother. "I saw her sitting looking at the mansion of Whitecraigs. I fear she can lend you small aid ; yet, if her powers of mind and body were equal to the beauty that has too clearly faded from her cheeks, methinks you PRESCRIPTION. 205 would have had small need to have taken the charity of either friends or strangers." "Ay, poor Alice ! poor Alice !" rejoined the mother, turning suddenly, and applying her hand to something which required not her care at that time — "Ay, poor Alice I" she added. "Is it a bargain, then," said he, wishing to retreat from a subject that so evidently pained her, " that I may remain here for a time, on your own terms of remuneration ?" " It may be as you say," replied she, again taking her beat ; " but only on a condition." " What is it ?" inquired he. " That you never mention the name of Hector Hayston, or of Whitecraigs, while Alice is by. She harms no one; and I would not see her harmed." ' I perceive," said he, muttering to himself, " that I am not the only one in the world who carries in his bosom a sec. et. But," he continued, in a louder tone, "your con- dition, dame, shall be fulfilled ; and now I may hold my- self to be your lodger." And he proceeded to take from the stuffed pockets of his coat some night-clothes of a homely character, and handed them to the dame. " And now," he said, " you may be, now or after, wondering who he may be who has thus come, like a weary bird from the waste that seeks refuge among the sere leaves, to live in the habitation of sorrow. But you must question me not; and farther than my name, which is Wallace, you may know nothing of me till after the 29 th day of September — ay, ay," he continued, as if calculating, "the 29th day of September." The dame started as she heard the mention of the day, looked steadfastly at him, and was silent. " Yes," he continued, " that day past, and I will once more draw my breath freely in the land of my fathers ; and my foot, which has only bowed the head of the 206 TALES OF THE BORDERS. heather-bell in the valley, may yet collect energy enough from my unstrung nerves to press fearlessly the sod of the mountain. How long is it since your husband died ? " " Seven years," replied she. "Well, short as our acquaintance has yet been," said he, " our words have been only of unpleasant things. Now, I require refreshment ; and here is some small pay in advance, to remove the ordinary prejudice against strangers. We shall be better acquainted by times. I will take, now, what is readiest in the house ; for you may guess, from my attire, that I have been accustomed to that fare by which the poor contrive to spin out the weary term of their pilgrimage." So much being arranged, the dame set about preparing a meal ; and Mr. Wallace, as he had called himself, pro- ceeded to transform his staff into a fishing-rod, and arrange his other small matters connected with his future residence. When the humble dish was prepared, the dame went out, and, taking her position on a green tumulus that rose between the cottage and the Lyne, stood, and, placing her hands over her eyes, looked down the water. Her eye, accustomed to the search, detected the form of her daugh- ter far down the stream, and, waving her hand to her, she beckoned her home. But she came not; and the two inmates sat down to their repast. " This shall be for my poor Alice," said the mother, as she laid aside a portion of the frugal fare ; " but she will take it at her own time, or perhaps not at all." " And yet how much she needs it," added the stranger, " her wasted form and pale face too plainly show." "There is a sad change there, sir," rejoined she. "There was not a fairer or more gentle creature from Tweedscross to T weedmouth than Alice Scott ; nor did ever the foot of light-hearted innocence pass swifter over the hill or down the glen. You have seen her to-day where she is often to PRESCRIPTION. 207 be seen — by the pond opposite the closed-up house of Whitecraigs — and may wonder to hear how one so wasted may still reach the hill-heads ; yet there, too, she is some- times seen. I have struggled sore to make her what she once was; but in vain. She will wander and wander, and return and wander again; nor will this cease till I some day find her dead body among the seggs of the Lyne, or in the lirk of the hill. When I know you better, 1 may tell you more. At present, I am eating the bread of one who is more connected with this sad subject than I may now confess ; and I have never been accounted un- grateful." The stranger was moved, and ate his meal in meditative silence. In an hour afterwards, Alice returned to the house, and, as she entered, started as her eye met that of him who had, by his questions, stirred to greater activity the feelings that were already too busy with her heart ; but her fears were removed, by his avoidance of the sub- ject which had pained her ; and a few hours seemed to have rendered him as indifferent to her as seemed the other objects around her. Some days passed, and the widow would have been as well satisfied with her lodger as he was with her, had it not been that he enjoined secrecy as to his residence in the house — retiring to the spence when any one entered ; and if at any time he went along the Lyne in the morning, he avoided those whom he met ; and betook himself to private acts in the inner apart- ment during the day. At times he left the cottage in the evening, and did not return for two days ; but whither he went, the inmates knew not. The dame conjectured he had been as far as Peebles; but her reason was merely that he brought newspapers with him, and intelligence of matters transacting there. The secrecy was not suited to the open and simple manners to which she had been accustomed ; but she recollected his words, that on the 208 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 29 th of September, she would know all concerning him. Now these words were connected by a chain of associations that startled her. The 29th of September had been set apart by her deceased husband as a day of prayer. He had never allowed it to pass without an offering of the contrite heart to God ; this practice he had continued till his death, and she had witnessed the act repeated for fifteen years. She was no more superstitious than the rest of her class ; she was, indeed, probably less so ; and her theories, formed for an adequate explanation of the start- ling coincidence, were probably as philosophical as if they had been formed by reason acting under the astute direc- tion of scepticism. Yet where is the mind, untutored or learned, that can throw away at all times, at all hours — when the heart is in the sunshine of the cheerful day of worldly intercourse, or in the deep shadow of the wing of eternity — all thoughts of all powers save those of natural causes, which are themselves a mystery? We may sport with the subject ; but it comes again back on the heart, and we sigh in whispering words of fear, that in the hands of God we are nothing. One day Mr. Wallace was seated at breakfast ; he had been away for two nights ; Alice was sitting by the side of the fire, looking into the heart of the red embers, and the mother was superintending the breakfast ; he took out a newspaper from his pocket, and, without a word of pre- monition, read a paragraph in a deep, solemn voice. " Died at Street, London, Maria Knight, wife of Hector Hayston, Esq., of Whitecraigs, in the county of Peebles, in Scotland." A peculiar sound struggled in the throat of Alice ; but it passed, and she was silent. The mother sat and looked Wallace in the face, to ascertain what construction to put upon the occurrence which he had thus read with an em- phasis betokening a greater interest than it might demand PRESCRIPTION. 209 from one, as yet, all but ignorant, as she thought, of the true circumstances of the condition of her daughter. He made no commentary on what he had read ; but looking again at the paper, and turning it over, as if searching for some other news, he fixed his eyes on an advertisement in the fourth page. He then read — " On the 1st day of October next, there will be exposed to public roup and sale, within the Town-Hall of Peebles, by virtue of the powers of sale contained in a mortgage granted by Hector Hayston, Esq., of Whitecraigs, in favour of George Colville of Haughton, all and hail the lands and estate of Whitecraigs, situated in the parish of , and shire of Peebles, with the mansion-house, offices, &c." He then laid down the paper, and, looking the widow full in the face — " The day of sale of Whitecraigs," said he, " is the second day after the 29th of September. It would have been too much had it been on that day itself." No reply was made to his remark. The announcement called up in the mind of the dame more than she could express ; but that which concerned more closely herself, was too apparently veiled with no mystery. The sale of Whitecraigs was the ejection of herself and daughter from Homestead; and she knew not whither she and her daughter were now to be driven, to seek refuge and sus- tenance from a world from which she had been so long estranged. " All tnirgs come to a termination," she said. " For many years I have lived here, wife and widow ; and if I have felt sorrow, I have also enjoyed. The world is wide; and if I may be obliged to ask and to receive charity, the God who moves the hand to give it, may not again — now that His purpose may be served by my contrition — select that of the destroyer of my child. But there is another that must be taken from these haunts ; " and, turning to 11 210 TALES OF THE BORDERS. Alice, whose face was still directed to the fire, she gazed on her hapless daughter, while the tear stole down her cheeks. Wallace's eye was fixed on the couple. He seemed to understand the allusion of the mother, which indicated plainly enough, that though the hills and glens of White- craigs had been the scene of the ruin of her daughter's peace, she anticipated still more fatal consequences from taking her away from them. Meanwhile, Alice, who had listened to and understood all, arose from her seat. "I will never leave Whitecraigs, mother," she said; and bent her steps towards the door. " Let her follow her fancy," said Wallace. Then relaps- ing into a fit of musing, he added — "the 29th of September of this year will soon be of the time that is. For twenty years I have looked forward to that day — under a burning sun, far from my native, land, I have sighed for it — in the midnight hour I have counted the years and days that were between. Every anniversary was devoted to the God who has chastened the heart of the sinner ; and there was need, when that heart was full of the thoughts inspired by that day, and penitence came on the wings of terror. Now it approaches ; and I have not miscalculated the benefits it may pour on other heads than mine." " Alas ! " said the widow, as she cast her eye through the window after her daughter, "there is no appointed day for the termination of the sorrows of that poor crea- ture. To the broken-hearted, one day as another, sunshine or shower, is the same. But what hand shall bear Alice Scott from Whitecraigs ? " " Perhaps none," replied Wallace, as, taking up the newspaper, he retired to an inner apartment, where he usually spent the day. Some hours passed ; and, in the afternoon, Mr. Pringle, while passing, took occasion to call at Homestead, and informed the widow that it would bo PRESCRIPTION. 211 her duty to look out for another habitation, as "Whitecraigs was to be sold by the creditor, Mr. Colville, whose object in granting the loan was, if possible, to take advantage of the difficulties into which extravagance had plunged the young proprietor, and to bring the property into the market, that he might purchase it as an appanage of the old estate of Haughton, from which it had been disjoined. He represented it as a cruel proceeding, and that its cruelty was enhanced by the circumstance of the sale being advertised in the same paper which contained the intelligence of the death of Hector's young wife. Another listener might have replied that God's ways are just ; but Dame Scott, if she thought at the time of her daughter, considered also that Hayston had supported her for many years. " Good dame," added the agent, " it might have been well for my young friend if he had remained at White- craigs. I never saw the wife he married, and has just lost in the bloom of youth ; but she must have been fair in- deed, if she was fairer than she whom he left. Yet Hector's better principles did not, I am satisfied, entirely forsake him. The disinclination he has shown to visit his paternal property, was the result of a clinging remem- brance of her he left mourning in the midst of its glens ; nor do I wonder at it, for even I have turned aside to avoid the sight of Alice Scott. Misfortunes, however, are sometimes mercies; and the change of residence you will be now driven to, may aid in the cure of a disease that is only fed by these scenes of Whitecraigs." He here paused, and, putting his hand in his pocket, took out some money. " This may be the last gift," he said, as he presented it to her, " that Hector Hayston may ever send you. These are his words. His fortunes are ruined, his wife is dead, and, worse than all, his peace of mind is fled." 212 TALES OF THE BORDERS. "Heaven have inercy on him!" replied the widow " One word of reproach has never escaped the lips of me or my daughter. I have suffered in this cottage without murmuring, and the glens and hollows of Whitecraigs have alone heard the complainings of Alice Scott. She will cling to these places to the last; but were the windows of the deserted house again opened, with strange faces there, and maybe the lights of the entertainments of the happy shining through them, she might feel less pleasure in sitting by the pond from which she now so often sur- veys the deserted mansion. This last gift, sir, moves my tears — yea, for all I and mine have suffered from Hector Hayston." The agent had performed his duty, and departed with the promise that he would, of his own accord, endeavour to prevail upon some of his employers to grant her a cot- tage, if the purchaser of Whitecraigs should resist an appeal for her to remain. He had no sooner gone, than the stranger Wallace, who had heard the conversation, entered. He asked her how much money Hector had sent as his last gift ; and, on being informed — " That young man," he said, "has fallen a victim to the allurements of a town life. The story of your daughter has been known to me ; but I have avoided the mention of the name of Hayston, which could only have yielded pain without an amelioration of its cause. That gift speaks to me volumes. Even fashion has not sterilized the heart of that young man. He has erred — he may have trans- gressed — but for all, all, there is a 29th of September 1 " The allusion he thus made was as inscrutable as ever. Again she reflected upon her husband's conduct upon that day of the year ; and again, as she had done a hundred times, searched the face of the speaker. But she abstained from question ; and the day passed, and others came, till the eventful morning was ushered in by sunshine. Wallace PRESCRIPTION. 213 was up by times ; and his prayers were heard directed to the Throne of Mercy, in thanks and heart-expressed con- trition. In the forenoon he went forth with freedom, climbed the hills, and conversed with the anglers he met on the Lyne. He seemed as if relieved from some weighty burden; and the dame, who had carefully watched his motions, waited anxiously for the secret. He had not, however, pledged himself to reveal it on that day. He had only said that all would be made known some time after the day had passed ; and, accordingly, he made no declaration. Yet, at bedtime, he was again engaged in prayers, and even during the night he was heard mutter- ing expressions of thanksgiving to the Author of the day, and what the day bringeth. On the following morning, he announced his intention of going to Peebles, whither he was supposed to have gone before; but now his manner of going was charged. He purposed taking the coach, which, as it passed within some miles of Whitecraigs, he intended to wait for, and on de- parting — "You will not hear of me till to-morrow night," he said. " I can now face man ; would that I could with the same confidence hold up my countenance to God. Alice Scott," he continued, as he looked to the girl, "I will not forget you in my absence. Your day of sorrow has been long ; but there may yet be a 29th of September even to you." And, taking the maiden kindly in his arms, he whispered some words in her ear, in which the magic syllables of a name she trembled to hear were mixed. Her eyes exhi- bited a momentary brightness, a deep sigh heaved her bosom, and again her head declined, with a whisper on her lips — " Never, O never ! " In a moment after, he was gone; and the widow was left to ascertain from Alice what he had said, to bring again, even for a moment, the blood to her cheek. 214 TALES OP THE BORDERS. On the day after, there was a crowd of people in the Town-Hall of Peebles, and the auctioneer was reading aloud the articles of roup of the lands of Whitecraigs. Mr. Colville was there in high hopes ; but there were others too, who seemed inclined to disappoint them. The pro- perty was set up at the price of fifteen thousand pounds, and that sum was soon offered by the holder of the mort- gage. Other bodes quickly followed, and a competition commenced, which soon raised the price to eighteen thousand, at which it seemed to be destined to be given to Haughton. The other competitors appeared timid; and several declared themselves done, one by one, until no one was expected to advance a pound higher. All was silence, save for the voice of the auctioneer ; and he had already begun his ominous once, twice, when a voice which had not yet been heard, cried — "Eighteen thousand two hundred." The hammer was suspended, and all eyes turned to view the doughty assailant, who would, at the end of the day, vanquish the champion who had as yet retained the field. Those eyes recognised in the bidder a man poorly clothed, and more like an alms-seeker than the purchaser of an estate — no other was that man than Mr. Wallace. The auctioneer looked at him ; others looked and wondered ; and Haughton gloomed, as he advanced another hundred ; and that was soon followed by a hundred more, which led to a competition that seemed to be embittered on the one part by pride and contempt, and on the other by determi- nation. Hundred upon hundred followed in rapid succes- sion, till Haughton gave up in despair, and a shout rung through the hall as the hammer fell, and the estate was declared the property of the humble stranger, whom no one knew, and whom no one would have considered worth more than the clothes he carried on his back. A certifi- cate of a banker at Peebles — that he held in his hands funds, belonging to the purchaser, of greater amount than PRESCRIPTION. 215 the price — satisfied the judge of the roup ; and the party were divided in circles, conversing on the strange turn which had been given to the sale of Whitecraigs. On the same night, Wallace returned to Homestead, and sat down composedly to the humble meal thjit had been prepared for him by the widow. Alice was in her usua. seat; and the placidity of manner which distinguished them from ordinary sufferers, spoke their usual obedience to the Divine will. "This day the property of Whitecraigs has changed masters ! " said he. "And who has purchased it?" inquired the mother. " He who is now sitting before you 1 " replied he. Alice turned her head to look at him ; the mother sat mute with surprise ; while he rose and fastened the door. " It is even so," he continued, as he again sat down ; " David Scott, the brother of your husband, and the uncle of Alice, has this day purchased Whitecraigs." A faint scream from the mother followed this announce- ment, and, recovering herself, she again fixed her eyes on the stranger. " It is true," continued he ; "I am the brother of your deceased husband. For two years after you were married to Adam, you would, doubtless, hear him speak of me, as then engaged in a calling of which I may now be ashamed, for I was one of the most daring smugglers on the Sol way. The 29th of September, 17 — , dawned upon me, yet with hands unsullied in the blood of man ; but the sun of that day set upon me as proscribed by God and my country. My name was read on the house walls, and execration tollowed my steps, as I flew from cave to cave. Yet who could have told that that day in which my evil spirit wrought its greatest triumph over good, was that whose averting shades closed upon a repentant soul!" He paused, and placed his hand on his brow. 216 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " These things are to me as an old dream," replied the widow, looking round her, as if in search of memorials of stationary space. "My husband never afterwards men- tioned yonr name, save to inform me that you had died in the West Indies ; yet now I see the import of his devotion, in the coming round of the day that shamed the honest family to whom he belonged." " And it was to save that shame, and to secure my safety under my assumed name, that, after I new to the islands of the west, I got intelligence of my death sent to Scotland. What other than the issue of this day must have been in the view of the great Disposer of events, when, in addition to the grace He poured on the heart of the sinner, He invested the arm that had been lifted against His creatures with the prosperity that filled my coffers ! But, alas ! though I may have reason to trust to the forgiveness of Heaven, that of man I may never expect." "And punishment still awaits you?" rejoined she. " No, no ! " he cried, as he rose and placed his foot firmly on the floor. " I am free — the heart may hate me, the tongue may scorn me, the hand may point at me, but it dare not strike. On the 29th of September I was no longer amenable to the laws for the crime which drove me to foreign lands : twenty years free the culprit from the vengeance of man ; the last day of that period was the 29th of September — it is past ; and now God is my only judge." He again paused. " But I must live still as David Wallace. The name of Scott shall not be sullied by me. As David Wallace I have made my fortune, and as David Wallace made my supplications to Heaven. Bv the same name I have bought Whitecraigs, and by that name I shall make it over to one who may yet retrieve the honour of our humble house — to Alice, who should, through oth*>r means, have been mistress. Come to your natural PRESCRIPTION. 217 protector, Alice, and tell him if you will consent to be the lady of "Whitecraigs." The girl, on whom the ordinary occurrences of life now seldom made any impression, had listened attentively to the extraordinary facts and intentions thus evolved; and, at his bidding, rose and stood by his side. He took her hand, and looked into her face. " I knew," said he, " that I was pledged not to mention a certain name while you were by ; and I kept my word, with the exception of the whisper I stole into your ear on the day I set out for Peebles. But things are now changed. The rights of Whitecraigs are now in the act of being made out in your name. Within a month you will be mistress of that mansion, and of those green dells and hills you have loved to wander among in joy and in sorrow. Now, will you answer me a question ? " " I will ! " she replied. " What would be your answer to Hector Hayston — who is now no longer a husband, and no longer rich — were he to come to Whitecraigs and make amends for all that is by and gone ? Would you receive him kindly, or turn him from the door of the house of his fathers?" The question was too sudden, or too touchingly devised. She looked for a moment in his face, burst into tears, and hid her face in his breast. " Try her poor heart not thus ! " cried the mother " Time, that as yet has done nothing but made ravages, may now, when things are so changed, work miracles. Do not press the question. A woman and a mother knows better than you can do what are now her feelings. The answer is not asked — Alice, your uncle has taken back his question ! " " I have — I have !" replied he, as he pressed her to his breast. " Look up, my dear Alice. I have, in my pride tod r>ower, been hasty, and thought I ".ould rule the he-art 218 TALBS OF THE BORDERS. of woman as I have done my own, even in its rebellion against God. I have yet all to learn of those secret work- ings of the spirit, in all save repentance, I never myself knew what it was to love, far less what it is to love and be forsaken. No more — no more. I will not again touch those strings." And, rising hurriedly, he consigned the maid to her mother, and went out, to afford her time to collect again her thoughts. During the following week the furniture of Whitecraigs was disposed of by Mr. Pringle, for behoof of the other creditors of Hayston, and purchased by the uncle, who took another journey to Peebles, for the pur- pose of negotiating the sale, and making further prepara- tions for obtaining entry. In a fortnight after, the keys were sent to Homestead by a messenger, while the making tip of the titles was in the course of progress. It was no part of the intention of Wallace to reside in the mansion- house : his object was still secrecy ; and, though the form and character of the transaction might lead ultimately to a discovery, he cared not. By the prescription of the crime he had committed, he was free from punishment ; while, by retaining his name, and living ostensibly in a humble condition, he had a chance of escaping a detection of his true character, at the same time that he might, bv humility and good services, render himself more acceptable to that Great Power whose servant he now considered him- self to be. On the twenty-first day of October, the house of White- craigs was again open. Servants had been procured from Peebles ; the fires were again burning ; the wreaths of smoke again ascended from among the trees ; and life and living action were taking the place of desertedness. On the forenoon of that day, Wallace took the two females from Homestead, and conducted them, hanging on his arms, to their new place of residence. To speak of feelings, PRESCRIPTION. 219 where a change comprehended an entire revolution of a life of habit, thought, and sentiment, would be as vain as unintelligible. From that day, when the uncle had put the trying question to his niece, a change might have been detected working a gradual influence on her appearance and conduct. Might we say that hope had again lighted her taper within the recesses where all had been so long dreary darkness ! The change would not authorize an affirmative — it would have startled the ear that might have feared and yet loved the sounds. One not less versed in human nature might be safer in the construction derived from the new objects, new duties, new desires, new thoughts, from all the thousand things that act on the mind in this wonderful scene of man's existence ; but would he be truer to the nature of the heart that has once loved? We may be contented with a mean, where extremes shoot into the darkness of our mysterious nature. Alice Scott took in gradually the interests of her new sphere ; did not despise the apparel suited to it; did not reject the manners that adorned it ; did not turn a deaf ear or a dead eye to the eloquent ministers that lay around amidst the beauties of Whitecraigs and hailed her as mistress, where she was once a servant, if not a beggar. Meanwhile the house of Homestead was enlarged, to fit it as a residence for the uncle. Mr. Pringle was con- tinued agent for the proprietress of Whitecraigs ; and, while many, doubtless, speculated on a thousand theories as to these strange occurrences, we may not deny to Hec- tor Hayston, wherever he was, or in whatever circum- stances, some interest in what concerned him so nearly as the disposal of his estate, and the fortune of her by whom his first affections had been awakened. Neither shall we say that Wallace and Pringle had not, too, their secret views and understandings, and that the latter was not silent where the interests of bis old employer called for 220 TALES OF THE BORDERS. confidence. In all which we may be justified by the fact that, one day, the agent of Whitecraigs introduced to the bachelor of Homestead a young man : it was the iormer proprietor of Whitecraigs. " It is natural, Mr. "Wallace," said Mr. Pringle, " that one should wish to revisit the scenes of his youth — espe- cially," he added, with a smile, "when these have been one's own property, come from prior generations, and lost by the thoughtlessness of youth." " It is," replied Wallace, renouncing his usual gravity, "even though there should be no one there who might claim the hand of old friendship. But this young man has only, as yet, seen the hill-tops of his father's lands ; and these claim no seclusion from the eye of the traveller. He might wish, with greater ardency, to see the bed where his mother lay when she bore him, or the cradle (which may still be in the house) where she rocked him to sleep." " God be merciful to me ! " replied the youth, as he turned away his head. " This man touches strings whose vibrations harrow me. Sir," he added, " were you ever yourself in the situation of him whose feelings you have thus, from good motives, quickened so painfully?" " What Whitecraigs and she who fives now in the house yonder were or are to you, Scotland and my kindred were to me ; but the house where I was born knows me not, and the bed and the cradle do not own me. But Alice Scott recognised me as a fellow- creature, whatever more I say not ; and even that, from one so good, and, even yet, so beautiful — is something to live for. No more. I know all. Will you risk a meeting?" "Mr. Pringle will answer for me," replied he, as he turned, with a full heart, to the window. " And I will answer for Mr. Pringle," said Wallace. "But who will answer for her?" rejoined the other. PRE3CRTPT10N. ' 221 "Stay there," said Wallace. "I will return in a few minutes." And, bending his steps to Whitecraigs House, he was, for a time, engaged with Alice and her mother. He again returned to Homestead ; and, in a few minutes after, the three were walking towards the mansion. The eye of the young man glanced furtively from side to side, as if to catch glimpses of old features which had become strange to him ; but in the direction of the house he seemed to have no power to look — lagging behind, and displaying an anxiety to be concealed, by the bodies of the others, from the view of the windows. On arriving at the house, Wal- lace and Pringle went into an apartment where the mother was seated. Hector stood in the passage : he feared that Alice was there, and would not enter. " Think you," whispered Wallace, qiiickly returning to him, '•'that I, whom you accused of touching tender chords, am so little acquainted with human nature as to admit oj witnesses to your meeting with Alice Scott ? There, the green parlour in the west wing," he continued, pointing up the inside stair to a room well known to the youth. " If you cannot effect it, who may try ? Go — go ! " "I cannot — I cannot!" he replied, in deep tones. "My feet will not carry me. That room was my mother's fa- vourite parlour. A thousand associations are busy with me. And now, who sits there?" " Come, come 1" said Pringle, as he came forth, in con- sequence of hearing Hayston's irresolution. " What did you expect on coming here ? Alice to come and fly to you with open arms ? " "No, sir; to reject me with a wave of disdain !" replied the youth. " I am smitten from within, and confidence has left me. Let me see her mother first. My cruelty to her has been mixed with kindness, and she may give me some heart." 222 TALES OF THE BORDERS. And he turned to the apartment where the mother sat. " Your confidence will not be restored by anything the mother can say !" rejoined Pringle, who was getting alarmed for the success of his efforts. "Alice is now mistress here, and must be won by contrition, and a prayer for forgive' ness." "Ho!" interjected Wallace. "To what tends this mummery ? Must I take you by the hand, and lead you to one who, for years, has seen you in every Hitting shade of the hills, and heard you in every note of the sighing winds of the valley?" " To hate me as I deserve to be hated ! " replied Hay- ston, still irresolute. "None of you can give me any ground for hope, and seem to push me on to experience a rejection which may seal my misery for ever ! " Wallace smiled in silence, beckoned Pringle into the room beside the mother, and taking Hayston by the arm, with a show of humour that accorded but indifferently with the real anguish of doubt and dismay by which the young man's mind was occupied, forced him on to the first step of the inside stair. "You are now fairly committed!'' said he, smiling; "to retreat, is ruin; to advance, happiness, and love, and peace." And he retreated to the room where Pringle was, leaving the youth to the strength or weakness of his own resolu- tion. His tread was now heard, slow and hesitating, on the stair. Some time elapsed before the sound of the opening door was heard; and that it remained for a time open, held by the doubtful hand, might also have been observed. At last it was shut ; and quick steps on the floor indicated that the first look had not been fraught with rejection. The party below were, meanwhile, speculating on the result of the meeting. Even the mother was not certain PRESCRIPTION. 223 that it would, at first, be attended with success. Alice had yielded no consent; and it was only from the mother's construction of her looks, that she had given her authority for the interview. " All is now decided, for good or evil," said "Wallace. " Go up stairs, and bring us a report of the state of affairs." The mother obeyed ; and, after a considerable time, returned, with her eyes swimming in tears. " Is it so ? " said her friend. " Is it really so ? Has all my labour been fruitless ? " " No," replied she ; " but I could not stand the sight. I found her lying on the breast of Hector, sobbing out the sorrows of years. Her eyes have been long dry. The heart is at last opened." " Too good a sight for me to lose," replied her friend. " For twenty years I have only known the tears of peni- tence : I will now experience those that flow from the happiness of others." And, with these words, he hurried up stairs. We would follow, but that we are aware of the danger of treading ground almost forbidden to inspiration. Within two hours afterwards, Hector Hayston and Alice Scott were again among the glens of Whitecraigs, seeking out those places where, before, they used to breathe the ac- cents of a first affection. The one had been true to the end ; and the other had been false only to learn the beauty of truth. "We have given these details from a true record, and have derived pleasure from the recollections they have awakened ; but we fairly admit, that we would yield one half of what we have experienced of the good, to have marked that day the workings of the retrieved spirit in the eyes, and speech, and manners of Alice Scott. These are nature's true magic. The drooping flower that is all but dead in the dry, parched soil, raises its head, takes on 22 1 TALES OP THE BORDERS. fresh colours, and gives forth fresh odours, as the spring showers fall on its withered leaves. Oh ! there is a magic there that escapes not even the eye of dull labour, retiring home sick of all but the repose he needs. But the process in the frame that is the temple of beauty, worth, intelli- gence, sensibility, rearing all in loveliness afresh, out of what was deemed the ruins only of what is the greatest and best of God's works — to see this, and to feel it, is to rejoice that we are placed in a world that, with all its ele- ments of vice and sorrow, is yet a place where the good and the virtuous may find something analogous to that for which the spirit pants in other worlds. Yet, though we saw it not, we have enough of the con- ception, through fancy, to be thankful for the gift even of the ideal of the good ; and here we are satisfied that we have more. Hector Hayston and Alice Scott were mar- ried. David Wallace's history was long concealed, but curiosity finally triumphed ; yet with no effect calculated to impair the equanimity of a mind which repentance, and a reliance on God's grace, had long rendered indepen- dent of the opinions of men. He had wrought for evil, and good came of it; and he lived long to see, in the house of Whitecraigs, its master, mistress, and children, the benefits of the prescription which the 29th of September effected — a principle of the law of Scotland that was long deemed inconsistent with the good of the land, but now more properly considered as being no less in unison with the feelings of man than it is with divine mercy. THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBUKI 225 THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBUEY. In the summer of 1836 I had occasion to make a journey into Wiltshire, in England. As the business that called me there, although of sufficient importance to me, would have no interest whatever for the reader, I will readily be excused, I dare say, from saying of what nature that business was. It will more concern him, from its connec-. tion with the sequel, to know that my residence, while in England, was in a certain beautiful little village at the southern extremity of the shire above named, and that mine host, during my stay there, was the worthy landlord of the White Hart Inn, as intelligent and well-informed a man as it has often been my good fortune to meet with. The nature of the business which made me a guest ol Michael Jones, left me a great deal more spare time than I knew well what to do with. It hung heavy upon my hands; and my good host, perceiving this, suggested a little excursion, which, he said, he thought would dispose of one day, at any rate, agreeably enough. " I would recommend you, sir," he said, " to pay a visit to Oxton Hall, the seat of the Earl of Wistonbury.* It is one of the finest residences in England; and, as the family are not there just now, you may see the whole house, both inside and outside. If you think of it, I will give you a line to the butler, a very old friend of mine, and he will be glad to show you all that's worth seeing ibout the place." "How far distant is it?" I inquired. * Under this name we choose, for obvious reasons, to conceal the r6sl one. — Ed. Voi- 1 15 '226 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Oh, not more than three miles and a half— little niort than an hour's easy walk," replied mine host. " Excellent !" said I ; " thank you for the hint, landlord. Let me have the introduction to the butler you spoke about, and I'll set off directly." In less than five minutes, a card, addressed to Mr. John Grafton, butler, Oxton Hall, was put into my hands, and in two minutes more I was on my way to the ancient seat of the Earls of "Wistonbury. The directions given me as to my route, carefully noted on my part, brought me, in little more than an hour, to a spacious and noble gateway, secured by a magnificent gate of cast-iron. This I at once recognised, from the description given me by Mr. Jones, to be the principal entrance to Oxton Hall. Satisfied that it was so, I unhesitatingly entered — and the house of one of the proudest of England's aristocracy stood before me, in all its lordly magnificence. A spacious lawn, of the brightest and most beautiful verdure, dotted over with noble oaks, and tenanted by some scores of fallow-deer, 6tretched far and wide on every side. In the centre of this splendid park — such a park as England alone can exhibit- arose the mansion-house, an ancient and stately pile, of great extent and lofty structure. Having found the person to whose civilities I was recom- mended by mine host of the White Hart— a mild and pleasant-looking old man, of about seventy years of age — I put my credentials into his hands. On reading it, the old man looked at me smilingly, and said that he would have much pleasure in obliging his good friend Mr. Jones, by showing me all that was worth seeing both in and about the house; and many things both curious and rare, and, I may add, both costly and splendid, did I see ere another hour had passed away; but fearing the reader's patience would scarcely stand the trial of a description of them, I refrain from the experiment, and proceed to say, THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBUR1. 227 that, just as our survey of the house was concluded, my cicerone, as if suddenly recollecting himself, said — "By-the-by, sir, perhaps you would like to see the picture gallery, although it is hardly worth seeing just now — most of the pictures having been removed to our house in ' Grosvenor Square last winter ; and, being in this denuded state, I never think of showing it to visitors. There are, however, a few portraits of different members of the family still left, and these you may see if you have any curiosity regarding them." Such curiosity I avowed I felt, and was immediately conducted into the presence of a number of the pictorial ancestry of the illustrious house of Wistonbury. The greater part of the pictures had been removed, as my con- ductor had informed me; but a few still remained scattered along the lofty walls of the gallery. "That," said my cicerone, pointing to a grim warrior, clad from head to heel in a panoply of steel, — " that is Henry, first Earl of Wistonbury, who fell in Palestine during the holy wars; and this," directing my attention to another picture, " is the grandfather of the present Earl." " A very handsome and pleasant-looking young man," said I, struck with the forcible representation of these qualities which the painting exhibited. " Ay," replied the old man, " and as good as he was handsome. He is the pride of the house; and the country around yet rings with his name, associated with all that is kind and charitable." " And who is this lovely creature ? " said I, now pointing in my turn to the portrait of a young female of the most exquisite beauty — the face strikingly resembling some of the best executed likenesses of the unfortunate Queen Mary — which hung beside that of the Good Earl of Wistonbury, as the nobleman of whom my cicerone had just spoken was called throughout the country 228 TALES OF THE BORDERS. "That lady, sir," replied the latter, "was his wife — the Countess of Wistonbury. She was one of the most beautiful women of her time; and, like her husband, was beloved by all around her, for the gentleness of her manners and benevolence of her disposition." " But what's this ? " said I, advancing a little nearer the picture, to examine something in her attire that puzzled me. "A Scotch plaid!" I exclaimed in considerable sur- prise, on ascertaining that this was the article of dress which had perplexed me. "Pray, what has the Scotch plaid to do here ? How happens it that we find a Countess of Wistonbury arrayed in the costume of Caledonia ? " " Why, sir, the reason is good — perfectly satisfactory," replied Mr. Grafton, smilingly. " She was a native of that country.' "Indeed!" said I. "A countrywoman of mine! Of what family?" added I. My conductor smiled. " Truly," said he, after a pause, " that is a question easier put than answered." "What!" said I, "was she not of some distinguished house?" "By no means, sir," replied Mr. Grafton. "She was a person of the humblest birth and station; but this did not hinder her from becoming Countess of Wistonbury, nor from being one of the best as well as most beautiful that ever bore the title." "Ah, ha!" said I to myself "here's a story for the ' Tales of the Borders.'" I did not say this to Mr. Grafton, however; but to him I did say — "There must be some interesting story connected with this lady. The history of her singular good fortune must be curious, and well worth hearing." " Why, it certainly is," replied my conductor, with the air of one who, while he cannot but acknowledge that there THE COUNTESS OF WTSTOXBITTCY. 229 is interest in a certain piece of information which he pos- sesses, is yet so familiar with it himself, has owned it so long, and communicated it so often, that his feelings seem to belie his words — the former remaining unmoved by the tale which the latter unfolds. " There is certainly some- thing curious in the Countess's story," said Mr. Grafton ; "and, now that we have seen everything that is worth seeing, if you will come with me to my little refectory, I will tell you all about it over a tankard of fine old ale and a slice of cold round." Need I say, good reader, that I at once and gladly accepted an invitation that so happily combined the in- tellectual and the sensual ? You will give me credit for more sense; and the following story will prove at once that your good opinion is not misplaced, that I must have been an attentive listener, and, lastly, that I must be blessed with a pretty retentive memory. I relate the story in my own way, but without taking the slightest liberty with any single one of the details given me by my informant, who, from having been upwards of forty-five years in the service of the Earls of Wistonbury, and, during the greater part of that time their principal and most confidential domestic, was minutely and accurately informed regarding every remarkable event that had occurred in the family for several generations back. "But, before we leave this part of the house," resumed Mr. Grafton, " be so good as step with me a moment into this small room here, till I show you a certain little article that cuts some figure in the story which I shall shortly tell you." Saying this, he led the way into the small apartment he alluded to, and, conducting me towards a handsome ebony or blackwood cabinet that occupied one end of the room, he threw open its little folding doors, and exhibited to me, not some rich or rare curiosity, as I had expected, but s 230 TALES OF THE BORDERS. small, plain, very plain — or I should, perhaps, rather sax very coarse — country-looking, blue-painted chest. " Do you see that little chest, sir ? " said Mr. Grafton, smilingly. " I do," said I; " and it seems a very homely article to be so splendidly entombed, and so carefully kept." " Yet," replied Mr. Grafton, " homely as it is, and small as is its intrinsic value, that is one of the heir-looms of the family, and one of the most fondly-cherished of them all." "Indeed !" said I, in some surprise. "Then I am very sure it cannot be for its marketable worth. It wouldn't bring sixpence." "I verily believe it would not," replied Mr. Grafton. " Yet the Earl of Wistonbury would not part with that little chest for a good round sum, I warrant ye." " Pray, explain, my good sir." " I will. That little, blue-painted chest contained all the worldly wealth — a few articles of female dress — of the lady whose portrait you were just now so much admiring, when she became Countess of Wistonbury." " Why, then," said I, " that is proof that riches, at any rate, had nothing to do with her promotion to that high rank." " They certainly had not," replied my aged friend. " Rut all this you 'will learn more particularly in the story which I shall tell you presently. You will then learn, also, how the little, blue-painted chest comes to figure in the history of a countess." Saying this, Mr. Grafton shut the doors of the cabinet, when we left the apartment, and, in a fcw minutes after, I found myself in what my worthy old host called his refectory. This was a snug little room, most comfortably furnished, and in which I observed a very large quantity of silver plate, — being, I presumed, the depositor)' of that THE COUNTESS OY WISTONBURY. 23 1 portion of the family's wealth. My good old friend now rung his bell, when a female servant appeared. " Let's have summut to eat, Betsy," said the old man; and never was order more promptly or more effectively obeyed- In an instant the table, which occupied the centre of the flcor, absolutely creaked under the load of good things with which it was encumbered. The " slice of cold round," I found, was but a nomme de guerre with the old man, and meant everything in the edible way that was choice and savoury. To this conclusion I came from seeing the table before me covered with a great variety of good things, amongst which rose, conspicuous in the centre, a huge venison pasty. When the loading of the table was com- pleted, and the servant had retired — " Now," said the old man, looking at me with a signifi- cant smile, and at the same time drawing a bunch of small keys from his pocket, from which he carefully singled out one, " since Betsy has done her part so well, let me see if I can't do mine as creditably." Saying this, he opened what I thought a sly-looking little cupboard, and brought forth from its mysterious recess an aristocratic-looking bottle, sealed with black wax, and whose shoulders were still thickly coated with sawdust. Handling this venerable bottle with a lightness and deli- cacy of touch which a long practice only could have given, and with a degree of reverence which an a priori knowledge of its contents only could have inspired, my worthy host tenderly brushed off its coating of sawdust, gently inserted the screw, drew the cork, with a calm, cautious, steady pull, and, in the next moment, had filled up two brimmer? of the finest old port that the cellars of Oxton Hall could produce. Having done ample justice to the good things before us— " Now, my good sir., the story, the story, if you please/ said I. 232 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Oh, to be sure," replied my kind host, smiling. " The story you shall have. But first let us take another glass of wine, to inspire me with fortitude to begin so long a story, and you with patience to listen to it." The procedure thus recommended having been complied with, the good old man immediately began : — "About a hundred and thirteen years since," he said, " there lived in the neighbourhood of one of the principal cities in Scotland, a farmer of the name of Flowerdew. He was a man of respectable character, and of sober and industrious habits. His family consisted only of himself, his wife, and an only child — a daughter, named Jessy. Gentle and affectionate, of the most winning manners, and surpassingly beautiful in form and feature, Jessy was not only the darling of her father, but the favourite character of the neighbourhood in which she lived. All yielded the homage of admiration to her supreme loveliness, and of the tenderest esteem to her worth. For many years, Jessy's father contrived, notwithstand- ing of an enormous rent, to keep pace Avith the world, and eventually to raise himself a little above it ; but, in despite of all his industry and all his prudence, reverses came. A succession of bad crops was followed by a series of losses of various kinds, and James Flowerdew found himself a ruined man. ' It's not for myself I care,' said the honest man, when speaking one day with his wife of the misfortunes which had overwhelmed them — ' it's for our puir bit lassie, guid- wife. God help her ! I thought to have left her indepen- dent ; but it's been ordained otherwise, and we must sub- mit. But what's to become of her I know not. Being brocht up a little abune the common, she cannot be asked lo enter into the service of ony o' our neebors ; yet, I see nae other way o't. It must come to that in the lang rur. ' tttf, countess of wistonburt. 233 ' I suppose it must, guidman — I suppose it must,' replied his wife, raising the corner of her apron to her eye, and then bursting into tears. ' My puir, dear, gentle lassie,' she exclaimed, ' it's a sad change to her ; but I ken she'll meet it cheerfully, and -without repining. But, guidman, if to service she must go, and I fancy there's little doot o' that, wouldna it be better if we could get her into the service of some respectable family in the toon, than to put her wi' ony o' our neebors, where she might be reminded o' her fall, as they will call it ? ' 'It's a good thought, Lizzy,' replied her husband, musingly, as he gazed in sadness on the fire that burned before him. ' It's a good thought,' he said. ' She will be there tvnknown, and her feelings saved from the taunts of callous impertinence. I will think of it,' added Flower- dew. ' In the meantime, guidwife, prepare Jessy, the best way you can, for the change of situation in life which she is about to meet with. I canna do it. It would break my heart a'thegither.' This painful task Mrs. Flowerdew undertook ; and, as she expected, found her daughter not only reconciled to the step which was proposed for her, but eager and anxious to be put in a way of doing for herself, and, as she fondly hoped and affectionately said, of aiding her parents. Shortly after this, the ruin which had overtaken James Flowerdew began to present itself in its most instant and most distressing shapes. Arrestments were laid on his funds in all quarters. Visits of messengers were frequent j almost daily ; and his whole stock and crop were seques- trated by the landlord, and a day for the sale fixed. This last was a sight from which Flowerdew anxiously wished to save his daughter, and he meant to do so, if he could, by finding her 'a place' previous to the day of sale. The duty of looking out for a situation for Jessy in tow** 23ft tat.es of ttte borders. Flowerdew took upon himself, from the circumstance of his having been in the habit for many years of supplying a number of respectable families with the produce of his farm, which he generally delivered himself, his simple character and industrious habits not permitting him to see any degradation in driving his own cart on these occasions. Flowerdew had thus formed a personal acquaintance with many families of the better class, which he thought might be useful to him in his present views. Amongst the oldest and most respected of his customers was a learned professor, whom, to avoid what might be an inconvenient identification of circumstances, we shall call Lockerby. With this gentleman Flowerdew resolved to Negin his inquiries respecting a situation for his daughter. Tie did so, and on being introduced to him, explained the purpose of his visit. 'Dear me, Mr. Flowerdew 1' said the worthy professor, in surprise at the application, 'I thought — I all along thought, that your circumstances would entitle your daughter, whose modesty of demeanour and great beauty of person I have had frequent opportunities of admiring — she having called here frequently, as you know, on various occasions connected with our little traffic — I say, I thought your circumstances would entitle your daughter to look for something higher than the situation of a domestic servant.' ' I once thought so myself, professor,' replied Mr. Flower- dew, with a tear standing in his eye ; ' but it has turned out otherwise. The truth is, that I have lately met with such reverses as have entirely ruined me. I am about to be ejected from my farm, and must betake myself to daily labour for a subsistence. In this explanation you will see the reason why I apply to you for a situation in your family for my daughter.' 'Too clearly — too clearly,' replied the worthy professor TITE COUNTESS OF WISTONBUKY. 235 sincerely grieving for the misfortunes of a man whom he had long known, and whose uprightness of conduct and character he had long appreciated. 'I am seriously dis- tressed, Mr. Flowerdew,' he added, 'to learn all this — seriously distressed, indeed ; but, in the meantime, let us consult Mrs. Lockerby on the subject of your present visit.' And he rang the bell, and desired the servant who answered it, to request his wife to come to him. She came, and on being informed of Mr. Flowerdew's applica- tion in behalf of his daughter, at once agreed to receive her into her service ; adding, that she might, if she chose, enter on her duties immediately. It was finally arranged that Jessy should take possession of her situation on the following day. Highly gratified at having got admission for his daugh- ter into so worthy and respectable a family, Flowerdew returned home with a lighter heart than he had possessed for some time before. He felt that his Jessy was now, in a manner, provided for ; and that, although the situation was a humble one, and far short of what he had once expected for her, it was yet a creditable one, and one presenting no mean field for the exercise of some of the best qualities which a woman can possess. Equally pleased with her father at the opening that had been found for her, the gentle girl lost no time in making such preparations as the impending change in her position in life rendered necessary. Part of these preparations, all cheerfully performed, consisted in packing a small trunk with her clothes, and in other procedures of a similar kind. In this employment her mother endeavoured to assist her, but was too much affected by the sadness of the task to afford any very efficient aid, although her daughter did all she could, by assuming a light-heartedness which she could not altogether feel, to assuage the grief to which her mother was every moment giving way. 236 TALES OF THE BORDERS. ' Why grieve yourself in that way, mother?' she would say, pausing in her operations, and flinging her arms around her parent's neck. ' I assure you I am happy at the prospect of being put in a way of doing for myself; I consider it no hardship — not in the least. I will take a pride in discharging my new duties faithfully and dili- gently ; and I hope that, even in the humble sphere in which I am about to move, I shall contrive to make myself both esteemed and respected.' ' That I dinna doubt — that I dinna doubt, my dear lassie,' replied her mother ; ' but, oh, it goes to my heart to see you gaun into the service o' ithers. I never ex- pected to see the day. Oh, this is a sad change that's come over us a' ! ' And again the poor woman burst into a paroxysm of grief. 'Mother,' said the girl, 'you will dishearten me if you go on in this way.' Then smiling through the tears of affection that glistened on her eye, and assuming a tone of affected cheerfulness, 'Come now, dear mother, do drop this desponding tone. There's better days in store for us yet. We'll get above all this by-and-by. In the meantime it is our duty, as Christians, to submit to the destiny that has been decreed us with patience and resignation. Come, mother, I'll sing you the song you used always to like so well to hear me sing.' And, without waiting for any remark in reply, or pausing in her employment, the srirl immediately began, in a voice whose richness of tone and deep pathos possessed the most thrilling power: — A cheerfV heart's been always mine, Whatever might betide me, ! J a foul or fair, in shade or shine, I've aye had that to guide me. O ! W~hen luck cam chappin' at my door, WF right goodwill I cheered him, 0! And whan misfortune cam, I swore The ne'er a bit I feared him, I ' THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBL'RY. 237 ' lassie, lassie ! ' exclaimed Jessy's mother, here inter- rupting her, and now smiling as she spoke — ' how can ye think o' singing at such a time ? But God lang vouchsafe ye sae light and ckeerfu' a heart ! It's a great blessing, Jessy, and canna be prized too highly.' 1 I'm aware of it, mother,' replied her daughter, ' and am, I trust, thankful for it. I dinna see, after a', that anything should seriously distress us — but guilt. If we keep free o' that, what hae we to fear? A' ither mis- chances will mend, or if they dinna, they'll at least smooth doon wi' time.' ' But why are ye no puttin' up your silk goun, Jessy ?' here interposed her mother, abruptly; seeing her daughter laying aside the article of dress she referred to, as if she did not intend it should have a place in the little chest sue was packing. ' The silk gown, mother, I'll no tak wi' me,' replied Jessy, smiling ; 'I'll leave't at hame till better times come roun'. It would hardly become my station now, mother, to be gaun flaunting about in silks.' ' Too true, Jessy,' said her mother with a sigh. ' It may be as weel, as ye say, to leave't at hame for a wee, till times mend wi' us at ony rate, although God only knows when that may be, if ever.' ' I'll keep it for my wedding gown, mother,' said Jessy, laughingly, and with an intention of counteracting the depressing tendency of her inadvertent remarks on the propriety of her leaving her silk gown behind. ' I'll keep it for my wedding dress, mother,' she said, ' although it's mair than likely that a plainer attire will be mair suitable for that occasion too.' ' Nae sayin', Jessy,' replied her mother. ' Ye'll maybe get a canny laird yet, that can ride to market wi' siller spurs on his boots and gowd lace on his hat.' ' Far less will please me, mither,' replied Jessy, blush- 238 TALKS OF TOE BORDERS. ing and laughing at the same time. ' I never, even m our best days, looked so high, and it would ill become me to do so now.' With such conversation as this did mother and daughter endeavour to divert their minds from dwelling on the painful reflection which the latter's occupation was so well calculated to excite. An early hour of the following morning saw Jessy Flowerdew seated in a little cart, well lined with straw by her doting father, who proposed driving her himself into the city. A small, blue-painted chest, a bandbox, and one or two small bundles, formed the whole of her travel- ling accompaniments. She herself was wrapped in a scarlet mantle, and wore on her head a light straw bonnet, of tasteful shape, and admirably adapted to the complexion and contour of the fine countenance which it gracefully enclosed. After a delay of a few minutes — for the cart in which Jessy was seated was still standing at the door — her father, dressed in his Sunday's suit, came out of the house, stepped up to the horse's head, took the reins in his hand, and gently put in motion the little humble conveyance which was to bear his daughter away from the home of her childhood, and to place her in the house of the stranger. Unable to sustain the agony of a last parting, Jessy's mother had not come out of the house to see her daughter start on her journey; but she was seen, when the cart had proceeded a little way, standing at the door, with her apron at her eyes, looking after it with an expres- sion of the most heartfelt sorrow. 1 There's my mother, father,' said Jessy, in a choking voice, on getting a sight of the former in the affecting atti- tude above described — but she could add no more. In the next instant her face was buried in her handkerchief. Her father turned round on her calling his attention to her THE COUNTESS OF AV1STONBUKY 2S^ mother, but instantly, and without saying a word, resumed the silent, plodding pace which the circumstance had for a moment interrupted. In little more than an hour the humble equipage, whose progress we have been tracing, entered the city. Humble, however, as that equipage was, it did not prevent the passers-by from marking the singular beauty oi" her by whom it was occupied. Many were they who looked round, and stood and gazed in admiration after the little cart and its occupant, as they rattled along the ' stony street.' Their further progress, however, was now a short one. In a few minutes Flowerdew and his daughter found themselves at the professor's door. The former now ten- derly lifted out Jessy from the cart — for her sylph-like form, so light and slender, was nothing in the arms of the robust farmer — and placed her in safety on the flag-stones. Her little trunk and bandbox were next taken out by the same friendly hand, and deposited beside her. This done, Flowerdew rapped at the professor's door. It was opened The father and daughter entered ; and, in an hour after— * long before which her father had left her — the latter was engaged in the duties of her new situation. Days, weeks, and months, as they will always do, now passed away, but they still found Jessy in the service of her first employers, whose esteem she had gained by the gentleness of her nature, the modesty of her demeanour, and the extreme propriety of her conduct. At the time of her first entering into the service of Professor Lockerby, Jessy Flowerdew had just completed her sixteenth year. The charms of her person had not then attained their full perfection. But now that two years more had passed over her head — for this interval must be understood to have elapsed before we resume our tale — her face and figure had attained the zenith ol their beauty, a beauty that struck every beholder, and 240 TALES OF THE BORDERS. in every beholder excited feelings of unqualified admira- tion. It was about the end of two years after Jessy's advent into the family of the professor, that the latter one morn- ing, raising his head from a letter which he had just been reading, and, turning to the former, who was in the act of removing the breakfast equipage, said — ' Jessy, my girl, will you be so good as put the little parlour and bedroom up stairs in the best order you can, as I expect a young gentleman to-morrow, who is to be- come a boarder with us.' Jessy courtseyed her acquiescence in the order just given her, and retired from the apartment to fulfil it. On the following day a travelling carriage, whose panels were adorned with a coronet, drove up to the door of Professor Lockerby. From this carriage descended a young man, apparently between nineteen and twenty years of age, of the most prepossessing appearance. His countenance was pale, but bore an expression of extreme mildness and benevolence. His figure was tall and slender, but handsomely formed ; while his whole man- ner and bearing bespoke the man of high birth and breeding. On descending from his carriage, the young man was received by the professor with the most respectful defer- ence — too respectful it seemed to be for the taste of him to whom it was addressed, for he instantly broke through the cold formality of the meeting, by grasping the profes- sor's hand, and shaking it with the heartiest and most cor- dial goodwill, saying while he did so — ' I hope I see you well, professor.' ' In perfect health, I thank you, my lord,' replied the professor. ' I hope you left your good lady mother, the countess, well.' 'Quite well — I'm obliged to you, orofessor — as lively THE COUNTESS OF WTSTONBURY. 241 and Stirling, and active as ever. Hot and hasty, and a little queenly in her style now and then, as you know, but still the open heart and the open hand of the Wistonburys.' 1 1 have the honour of knowing the countess well, my lord,' replied the professor, ' and can bear testimony to the nobleness of her nature and disposition. I have known many, many instances of it.' With such conversation as this, the professor and his noble boarder — for such was the young man whom we have just introduced to the reader — entered the house. Who this young man was, and what was his object in taking up his abode with Professor Lockerby, we will ex- plain in a few words, although such explanation is rendered in part nearly unnecessary by the conversation just re- corded between him and the professor. It may not be amiss, however, to say, in more distinct terms, that he was the Earl of Wistonbury, a rank which he had attained just a year before, by the sudden and premature death of his father, who died in the forty- fifth year of his age. Since his accession to the title of his ancestors, the young earl had continued to live in retirement with his mother, a woman of a noble, elevated, and generous soul, well be- coming her high lineage — for she, too, was descended of one of the noblest families in England — but in whose tem- per there was occasionally made visible a dash of the leaven of aristocracy. On her son, the young earl, her only surviving child, she doted with all the affection of the fondest and tenderest of mothers ; and well worthy was that son of all the love she could bestow. His was one of those natures which no earthly elevation can corrupt, no factitioiis system deprive of its innate simplicity. The promotion of the young earl to the head of his illustrious house, was, however, a premature one in more respects than one. One of these was to be found in the F 16 242 TALKS OF THE BORDERS. circumstance of the young man's being found unprepared — at least so he judged himself — in the matter of educa- tion, to fill with credit the high station to which he was so unexpectedly called. His education, in truth, had been rather neglected ; and it was to make up for this neglect, to recover his lost ground with all the speed possible, that he was now come to reside for a few months with Professor Lockerby, who had once acted as tutor in his father's family to a brother who had died young. Such, then, was the professor's boarder, and such was the purpose for which he became so. The favourable impression which the youthful earl's first appearance had made, suffered no diminution by length of acquaintance. Mild and unpresuming, he won the love of all who came in contact with him. The little personal services he required, he always solicited, never commanded; and what he could with any propriety do himself, he always did, without seeking other assistance. A quiet and unostentatious inmate of the professor's, time rolled rapidly, but gently and imperceptibly, over the head of the young earl, until a single week only inter- vened between the moment referred to, and the period fixed on for his return to Oxton Hall. Thus, nearly six months had elapsed, not a very long period, but one in which much may be accomplished, and in which many a change may take place. And by such features were the six months marked, which the young Earl of Wistonbury had spent in the house of Professor Lockerby. In that time, by dint of unrelaxing assiduity and intense application, he had acquired a respectable knowledge of both Latin and Greek, and in that time, too, he had taken a step which was to affect the whole tenor of his after life, and to make him either happy or miserable, as it had been fortunately or unfortunately made. What 'hat step was we shall divulge, through precisely the same THE COtTNTE'S OF WISTOXBrRY. £43 singular process by which it actually came to the know- ledge of the other parties interested. One evening, at the period to which we a short while since alluded — namely, about a week previous to the ex- piry of the proposed term of the earl's residence with Pro- fessor Lockerby — as Jessy Flowerdew was about to remove the tea equipage from the table of the little parlour in which the professor and his noble pupil usually condvicted their studies, the latter suddenly rose from his seat, and, looking at their fair handmaiden with a serious counte- nance, said — ' Jessy, my love, you must not perform this service again, nor any other of a similar kind. You are now my wife — you are now Countess of Wistonbury.' We leave it to the reader to imagine, after his own sur- prise has a little subsided, what was that of the worthy professor, on hearing his noble pupil make so extraordinary, so astounding a declaration — a declaration not less remark- able for its import, than for the occasion on which, and the manner in which it was made. On recovering from his astonishment, 'My lord,' said the good professor, with a grave and stern countenance, 'be good enough to inform me what this extraordinary conduct means? What can have been your motive, my lord, for using the highly improper and most unguarded language which I have just now heard you utter?' The young earl, with the greatest calmness and defer- ence of manner, approached the professor, laid his hand upon his heart, and, with a graceful inclination, said, slowly and emphatically — ' Upon my honour, sir, she tis my wife ! ' 1 What, my lord ! ' exclaimed the still more and more amazed professor — and now starting from hie chair in his excitation — ' do you repeat your most unbecoming and incredible assertion?' 244 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 'I do, sir,' replied the earl, in the same calm and re- spectful manner. 'I do repeat it, and say, before God, that Jessy Flowerdew is the lawfully married wife of the Earl of Wistonbury.' ' Well, my lord, well,' said the professor, in angry agi- tation, ' I know what is my duty in this most extraordinary case. It is to give instant notice to the countess, your mother, of what I must call, my lord, the extremely rash and unadvised step you have taken.' To this threat and rebuke, the earl replied, with the utmost composure and politeness of manner — 'I was not unprepared, sir, for your resentment on this occasion. Neither do I take it in the least amiss. You merely do your duty when you tell me I have forgotten mine. But the step I have taken, sir, allow me to say, although it may appear unadvised, has not been so in reality. I have weighed well the consequences, and am quite prepared to abide them.' I Be it so, my lord, be it so,' replied the professor. ' I have only now to remark that, as you say you were pre- pared for my resentment, I hope you are also prepared for your mother's, my lord — a matter of much more serious moment.' ' My mother, sir, I will take in my own hands,' replied the earl; 'she can resent, but she can also forgive.' I I have no more to say, my lord, no more,' rejoined Mr. Lockerby; 'the matter must now be put into the hands of those who have a better right to judge of its pro- priety than I have. I shall presume on no further remark on the subject.' ' Come, sir,' said the earl, smiling and extending his hand to the professor, ' let this, if you please, be no cause p c\r difference between us. I propose that we allow the matter to lie in abeyance until my mother has been ap- pealed to ; she being the only person, you know, who has THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURY. 245 a "ight to be displeased with, my proceeding, or whose wishes I was called upon to consult in this matter.' ' Excuse me, my lord,' replied the worthy professor ; 4 but I must positively decline all interchange of courtesies which may, by any possibility, be construed into an over- looking of this very extraordinary affair.' ' Well, well, my good sir,' said the earl, smiling, and still maintaining the equanimity of his temper, 'judge ol me as charitably as you can. In the morning, we shall meet, I trust, better friends.' Saying this, he took up one of the candles which were on the table before him, bade the professor a polite and respectful good night, and retired to his own apartment. The earl had no sooner withdrawn than Mr. Lockerby, after collecting himself a little, commenced inditing a letter to the Countess Dowager of Wistonbury, apprising her of what had just occurred. In speaking, however, of the ' degrading ' connection which her son had made, the honest man's sense of justice compelled him to add a qualifying explanation of the term which he had employed — ' degrading, I mean,' he said, ' in point of wealth, rank, and accomplishments ; for, in all other respects, in conduct and character, in temper and disposition, and, above all, in personal appearance — for she is certainly eminently beautiful — I must admit that her superior may not easily be found.' The letter that contained these remarks, with the other information connected with it, the professor despatched on the same night on which it was written ; and, having done this, awaited with w r hat composure and fortitude he could command, the dreadful explosion of aristocratic wrath and indignation, which, he had no doubt, would speedily follow. Leaving matters in this extraordinary position in the house of Professor Lockerby we shall shift the scene, for 246 TALES OF THE BORDERS. a moment, to the Countess Dowager of Wistonbury's sitting apartment in Oxton Hall; and we shall choose the mo- ment when her favourite footman, Jacob Asterley, has entered her presence, after his return from a call at the post-office in the neighbouring village ; the time being the second day after the occurrence just previously related — namely, the despatch to Oxton Hall of Professor Lockerby's letter. " Well, Jacob, any letters for me to-day ? ' said the countess, on the entrance of that worthy official. 'One, my lady, from Scotland,' replied the servant, deferentially, and, at the same time, opening the bag in which the letters were usually carried to and from the post-house. ' Ah ! from the earl,' said the countess. ' No, my lady, I rather think not. The address is not in his lordship's handwriting.' ' Oh ! the good Professor Lockerby,' said the countess, contemplating for a moment the address of the letter in question, which was now in her ladyship's hands. 'I hope nothing unpleasant has occurred to my son.' And while she spoke, she hurriedly broke the seal, and, in the next instant, was intently engaged in perusing the intelli- gence which it had secured from the prying curiosity of parties whom it did not concern. It would take a much abler pen than that now employed in tracing these lines, to conve}'' anything like an adequate idea of the mingled expression of amazement, indignation, and grief exhibited on the countenance, and in every act and attitude of the proud Countess of Wistonbury, on reading the story of her son's degradation. The flush of haughty resentment was succeeded by the sudden paleness of despair; and in frequent alternation did these strong expressions of varied feeling flit across the fine countenance — still fine, although it had looked on fifty summers — of THE COUNTESS ©E W1STONBUKY. 24? the heart-stricken mother, us she proceeded in her perusal of the fatal document. On completing the perusal, the countess threw herself in silent distraction on a sofa, and, still holding the open letter in her hand, sank into a maze of wild and wandering thoughts. These, however, seemed at length to concentrate in one decisive and sudden resolu- tion. Starting from the reclining posture into which sht- had thrown herself, she advanced towards the bell-puD, rung furiously, and, when the servant entered to know what were her commands — 'Order the travelling carriage instantly, Jacob,' she said — ' instantly, instantly ; and let four of my best horses be put in the harness. "What do you stare at, fool?' she added, irritated at the look of astonishment which the inexplicable violence of her manner had called into the countenance of her trusty domestic. 'Do as you are ordered, directly.' The man bowed and withdrew ; and in pursuance of the commands he had received, proceeded to the stables. 'Here's a start, Thomas! he said, addressing a jolly- looking fellow, who was busily employed in brushing up some harness ; the travelling carriage directly, and four of your best horses for my lady.' 'Why, what the ' devil's the matter now?' replied Thomas, pausing in his operations; ' where's the old girl a-going to? ' ' Not knowing, can't say,' replied Jacob ; ' but she's in a woundy fuss, I warrant you. Never seed her in such a quandary in my life. Something's wrong somewhere, 1 guess.' 'Well, well, all's one to me,' said Thomas, with philo- sophical indifference ; but it looks like a long start, where- ever it may be to; so I'll get my traps in order.' And this duty was so expeditiously performed, that, in less than filteen minutes, the very handsome travelling rriage of 248 TALES OF THIS BOKDEK9. the Earl of Wistoubury, drawn by four spanking bays, flashed up to the door ox Oxton Hall. In an instant after, it was occupied by the dowager countess, and in another, was rattling away for Scotland, at the utmost speed of the noble animals by which it was drawn. Changing here, once more, the scene of our story, we return to the house of Professor Lockerby. There matters continued in that ominous state of quiescence, that signi- ficant and portentous calm, that precedes the bursting of the storm. Between the professor and the young earl, not a word more had passed on the subject of the latter's extra- ordinary declaration. Neither had made the slightest subse- quent allusion to it, but continued their studies precisely as they had done before; although, perhaps, a degree of restraint ■ — a consciousness of some point of difference between them — might now be discerned in their correspondence. Both, in short, seemed to have tacitly agreed to abide the result of the professor's letter to the countess, before taking any other step, or expressing any other feeling, on the subject to which that letter related. The anticipated crisis which the professor and his noble pupil were thus composedly awaiting, soon arrived. On the third day after that re- markable one on which the young Earl of Wistonbury had avowed the humble daughter of an humble Scotch farmer to be his wife, a carriage and four, which, we need scarcely say, was the same we saw start from Oxton Hall, drove furiously up to the door of Professor Lockerby. The horses' flanks sent forth clouds of smoke ; their mouths and fore-shoulders were covered with foam ; and the carriage itself w r as almost encased in mud. Everything, in short, told of a long and rapid journey. And it was so. Night and day, without one hour's intermission, had that carriage prosecuted its journey. In an instant after, the carriage stopped ; its steps were down, and, bridling with high and lofty indignation, the Dowager Countess of Wistonbury THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURY. 249 descended, and, ere any one of the professor's family were aware of her arrival, she had entered the house, the door being accidentally open, and was calling loudly for c her boy.' 'Where is my son?' she exclaimed, as she made her way into the interior of the house : ' where is the Earl of Wistonbury?' In a moment after the Earl of Wistonbury, who had heard and instantly recognized his mother's voice, was before her, and was about to rush into her arms, when she haughtily thrust him back, saying — 'Degraded, spiritless boy, dare not too approach me I You have blotted the noblest, the proudest scutcheon of England. Where is Professor Lockerby?' The professor was by her side before she had completed the sentence, when, seeing her agitation — 1 My good lady,' he said, in his most persuasive tone, 1 do allow me to entreat of you to be composed, and to have the honour of conducting you up stairs.' ' Anywhere ! — anywhere, professor ! ' exclaimed the countess ; ' but, alas ! go where I will, I cannot escape the misery of my own thoughts, nor the disgrace which my unworthy son has brought upon my head.' Without making any reply to this outburst of pas- sionate feeling, the professor took the countess respectfully by the hand, and silently conducted her to his drawing- room. With stately step the countess entered, and walked slowly to the further end of the apartment ; this gained, she turned round, and, when she had done so, a sight awaited her for which she was but little prepared. This was her son and Jessy Flowerdew, kneeling side by side, and, by their attitude, eloquently imploring her forgive- ness. It was just one of those sights best calculated to work on the nobler nature of the Countess of Wistonbury, and to call up the finer feelings of her generous heart. 250 TALES OF THE BORDERS. For some seconds she looked at the kneeling pair in silent astonishment ; her eye, however, chiefly fixed on the beauteous countenance of Jessy Flowerdew, pale with ter- ror and emotion, and wet with tears. Having gazed for some time on this extraordinary sight, without betraying the slightest symptom of the feelings beyond that of sur- prise, with which it had inspired her, the countess slowly advanced towards the kneeling couple. She still, however, uttered no word, and discovered no emotion ; but a sud- den change had come over her proud spirit. That spirit was now laid, and its place occupied by all the generous irnpirises of her nature. Keeping her eye steadily fixed on the kneeling fair one before her, she approached her, paused a moment, extended her hand, placed it on the ivory forehead of Jessy Flowerdew, gently laid back her rich auburn hair, and, as she did so, said, in a tremulous, but emphatic voice — ' You are, indeed, a lovely girl ! God bless you ! Alfred, my son, rise,' she added, in a low, but calm and solemn tone ; ' I forgive you.' And she extended her hand to- wards him. The earl seized it, kissed it affectionately, and bathed it with his tears. ' Rise, my lady — rise, my fair Countess of Wistonbury,' she now said, and herself aiding in the act she commanded, 1 1 acknowledge you as my daughter, and we must now see to fitting you to the high station to which my son's favour has promoted you, and of which, I trust, you will prove as worthy in point of conduct as you assuredly already are in that of personal beauty. God bless you both ! And may every happiness that the conjugal state affords, be yours! Professor,' she added, and now turn- ing round to that gentleman, ' you will think this weak- ness — a mother's weakness — and perhaps it is so — but I would myself fain attribute it to a more worthy feeling, fuid, if I know my own heart, it is so. But let that pass. THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURf. 251 I am reconciled to the step my son has taken, and reve- rently leave it to God, and fearlessly to man, to judge of the motives by which 1 have been influenced. I trust they are such as to merit the approbation of both.' Surprised, and greatly affected by the unexpected turn which matters had taken, so contrary to what he had antici- pated, the worthy professor had listened to these expres- sions of the countess with averted head, and making the most ingenious use of the handkerchief which he held to his face that he could, to conceal the real purpose for which he employed it. When she had done — ' Madam, 1 he said, with great agitation and confusion of manner, and still busily plying the handkerchief in its pre- tended vocation — ' Madam, I — I — I am surprised — much affected, I assure you — much affected, my lady — with this striking instance of what a noble and generous nature is capable. I Avas by no means prepared for it. It does )-ou infinite honour, my kidy — infinite honour ; and will, I trust, in its result, be productive of all that happiness to you which your magnanimous conduct so eminently deserves.' ' I trust I have acted rightly, professor,' was the brief reply of the countess, as she again turned to the young couple, who were now standing on the floor beside her, ' I hope 1 have ; and, if my heart does not deceive me, I am sure I have.' 1 You are warranted, my lady, in the confidence you express in the uprightness, the generosity of your conduct on this very remarkable occasion — perfectly warranted,' replied the professor. ' It is an unexampled instance of greatness, of liberality of mind, and as such I must always look on it.' Thus, then, terminated this extraordinary scene. It was subsequently arranged that the marriage of the earl should, in the meantime, be kept as secret as possible, and that 252 TALES OF THE BOttDEKS. the young countess should, in the interim, be sent for a year or two to one of the most celebrated seminaries of female education in England, under an assumed name, and that, when she should have acquired the attain- ments and the polish befitting her high station, she should be produced to the world as the Countess of Wistonbury. Acting upon this plan of proceedings, the same carriage that brought down the earl's mother, bore away, on the following day, together with that lady, the young earl and his bride ; the latter, to commence her educational novi- ciate in England ; the former, to while away the time as he best could until that noviciate should expire, a period which he proposed to render less irksome by a tour on the continent. About two years after the occurrence of the events just related — it might be more, perhaps nearly three — Oxton Hall presented a scene of prodigious confusion and bustle. Little carts of provender were daily seen making frequent visits to the house. Huge old grates, in deserted kitchens, that had not been in use for a century before, were cleared of their rubbish, and glowing with blazing fires, at which enormous roasts were solemnly revolving. Menials were running to and fro in all directions, and a crowd of powdered and richly-liveried lackeys bustled backwards and forwards through the gorgeous apartments, loaded with silver plate, and bearing huge baskets of wine. Everything at Oxton Hall, in short, betokened prepara- tions for a splendid fete — and such, in truth, was the case. To this fete all the nobility and gentry, within a circuit of ten to fifteen miles were invited ; and such an affair it promised to be, altogether, as hud not been seen at Oxton Hall since the marriage of the hist earl — a period of nearly thirty years. None of those invited knew, or could guess, what was the particular reason for so extensive a merry- THE COUNTESS OF WISTONBURT. 253 making. Its scale, they learned, was most magnificent, and the invitations unprecedentedly numerous. The whole affair was thus somewhat of a puzzle to the good people who were to ngure as guests at the impending fete ; but they comforted themselves with the reflection that they would know all about it by and by. In the meantime, the day appointed for the celebration of the proposed festival at Oxton Hall arrived ; and, amongst the other preparations which more markedly characterized it, was the appearance of several long tables extended on the lawn in front of the house, and which were intended for the accommodation of the earl's tenantry, who were also invited to share in the coming festivities. Towards the afternoon of the day alluded to, carriages and vehicles of all descriptions, and of various degrees of elegance, were seen, in seemingly endless numbers, streaming along the spacious and well-gravelled walks that led, by many a graceful curve, through the surrounding lawn, to the noble portals of Oxton Hall. These, by turns, drew up in front of the principal entrance to the house, and delivered their several cargoes of lords and ladies, knights and squires, all honourable personages, and of high degree. An inferior description of equipages, again, and occupied by persons of a different class, sturdy yeomen and their wives and daughters, found ther way, or rather were guided as they came, to a different destination, but with no difference in the hospitality of their reception. All were alike welcome to Oxton Hall on this auspicious day. By and by the hour of dinner came, and, when it did, it exhibited a splendid scene in the magnificent dining-room of the Earl of Wistonbury. In this dining-room were assembled a party of at least a hundred-and-fifty ladies and gentlemen, all in their best attire. Down the middle of the spacious apartment ran a table of ample length and breadth, and capable of accommodating with ease even the formidable 254 TALES OF THE BORDERS. array by which it was shortly to be surrounded. On this spacious board glittered as much wealth, in the shape of silver plate, as would have bought a barony, while every- thing around showed that it was still but a small portion of the riches of its noble owner. At the further end of the lordly hall, in an elevated recess or interior balcony, were stationed a band of musicians, to contribute the choicest specimens of the art to the hilarity of the evening. Altogether the scene was one of the most imposing that can well be conceived, an effect which was not a little heightened by the antique character of the noble apart- ment in which it was exhibited, one of whose most striking features was a large oriel window, filled with the most beautifully stained glass, which threw its subdued and sombre light on the magnificent scene beneath. Hitherto the young earl had not been seen by any of the company ; his mother, the countess-dowager, having discharged the duties of hospitality in receiving the guests. Many were the inquiries made for the absent lord of the mansion ; but these were all answered evasively, although always concluded with the assurance that he would appear in good time. Satisfied with this assurance, the stibject was no further pressed at the moment ; but, as the dinner hour ap- proached, and the earl had not yet presented himself, considerable curiosity and impatience began to be mani- fested amongst the assembled guests. These feelings increased every moment, and had attained their height, when the party found themselves called on to take their seats at table, and yet no earl had appeared. The general surprise was further excited on its being observed that the countess-dowager did not, as usual, take the chair at the head of the table, as was expected, but placed herself on its right. The chair at the foot of the table remained also yet unoccupied ; and great was the wonder what all this could THE COUNTESS OF W1STONBURY. 255 mean. It was now soon to be explained. Just as the party had taken their seats, a folding-door, at the further end of the hall, flew open, and the young Earl of Wiston- bury entered, leading by the hand a young female of exceeding beauty, attired in a dress of the most dazzling splendour, over which was gracefully thrown a Scottish plaid. Bowing slightly, but with a graceful and cordial expression, and smiling affably as he advanced, the earl conducted his fair charge to the head of the table, where, after a pause of a few seconds, which he purposely made in order to afford his guests an opportunity of marking the extreme loveliness of the lady whom he had thus so unexpectedly introduced to them — an opportunity which was not thrown away, as was evident from the murmur of admiration that ran round the brilliant assembly — the earl thus shortly addressed his wondering guests— ' Permit me, my friends,' he said, ' to introduce to you the Countess of Wistonbury ! ' 4 A shout of applause from the gentlemen, and a waving of handkerchiefs by the ladies, hailed the pleasing and unexpected intelligence — an homage whose duration and intensity was increased by the singularly graceful manner with which it was received and acknowledged by her to whom it was paid. Nothing could be more captivating than the modest, winning sweetness of her smile, nothing more pleasing to behold than the gentle grace of her every motion. On all present the impression was that she was a woman of birth, education, and high breeding, and nothing in the part she subsequently acted tended in the slightest degree to affect this idea. The young and lovely countess conducted herself throirghout the whole of this eventful evening, as she did throughout the remainder of her life, with the most perfect propriety; and thus evinced that the pains taken to fit Jessy Flowerdew for the high station to which a singular good fortune 25 G TALES OF THE BORDERS. had called her, was very far from having been taken in vain. At the conclusion of the banquet, the earl entreated the indulgence of the company for an absence for himself and the countess of a quarter of an hour. This being of course readily acquiesced in, the earl and his beauteous young wife were seen, arm and arm, on the lawn, going towards the tables at which his tenantry were enjoying his hospi- tality. Here he went through precisely the same cere- mony of introduction with that which we have described as having taken place in the banquet-hall; and here it was greeted with the same enthusiasm, and acknowledged by the countess with the same grace and propriety. This proceeding over, the earl and his young bride returned to their party, when one of the most joyous evenings followed that the banqueting-room of Oxton Hall had ever wit- nessed. There is only now to add, that Jessy Flowerdew's subsequent conduct as Countess of Wistonbury proved her in every respect worthy of the high place to which she had been elevated. A mildness and gentleness of disposi- tion, and a winning modesty of demeanour, which all the wealth and state with which she was surrounded could not in the slightest degree impair, distinguished her through life ; and no less distinguished was she by the generosity and benevolence of her nature, a nature which her change of destiny was wholly unable to pervert." Such, then, good reader, is the history of the lady whose portrait, in which she appears habited in a Scottish plaid, adorns, with others, the walls of the pictiire gallery of Oxton Hall, in Wiltshire. M1DSIDE MAGGY. 257 MIDSIDE MAGGY; OB, THE BANNOCK O' TOLLISHILL, "Every bannock had its maik, but the bannock o' Tollishill." Scottish Proverb. Belike, gentle reader, thou hast often heard the proverb quoted above, that " Every bannock had its maik, but the bannock o' Tollishill." The saying hath its origin in a romantic tradition of the Lammermoors, which I shall relate to thee. Tollishill is the name of a sheep-farm in Berwick- shire, situated in the parish of Lauder. Formerly, it was divided into three farms, which were occupied by different tenants ; and, by way of distinguishing it from the others, that in which dwelt the subjects of our present story was generally called Midside, and our heroine obtained the appellation of Midside Maggy. Tollishill was the property of John, second Earl, and afterwards Duke of Lauderdale — a personage whom I shall more than once, in these tales, have occasion to bring before mine readers, and whose character posterity hath small cause to hold in veneration. Yet it is a black character, indeed, in which there is not to be found one streak of sunshine ; and the story of the " Bannock of Tollishill " referreth to such a streak in the history of John, the Lord of Thirlestane. Time hath numbered somewhat more than a hundred and ninety years since Thomas Hardie became tenant of the principal farm of Tollishill. Now, that the reader may picture Thomas Hardie as he was, and as tradition hath described him, he or she must imagine a tall, strong, and Vol. I. 17 258 TALES OF THE BOttDERS. tresh -coloured man of fifty; a few hairs of grey mingling with his brown locks ; a countenance expressive of much good nature and some intelligence ; while a Lowland bonnet was drawn over his brow. The other parts of his dress were of coarse, grey, homespun cloth, manufactured in Earlston ; and across his shoulders, in summer as well as in winter, he wore the mountain plaid. His principles as- similated to those held by the men of the covenant ; but Thomas, though a native of the hills, was not without the worldly prudence which is considered as being more im- mediately the characteristic of the buying and selling children of society. His landlord was no favourer of the Covenant; and, though Thomas wished well to the cause, he did not see the necessity for making his laird, the Lord of Lauderdale, his enemy for its sake. He, therefore, judged it wise to remain a neutral spectator of the religious and political struggles of the period. But Thomas was a bachelor. Half a century had he been in the world, and the eyes of no woman had had power to throw a spark into his heart. In his single, solitary state, he was happy, or he thought himself happy ; and that is much the same thing. But an accident occurred which led him first to believe, and eventually to feel, that he was but a solitary and comfortless moorland farmer, toiling for he knew not what, and laying up treasure he knew not for whom. Yea, and while others had their wives spinning, carding, knitting, and smiling before them, and their bairns running laughing and sporting round about them, he was but a poor deserted creature, with nobody to care for, or to care for him. Every person had some object to strive for and to make them strive but Thomas Hardie ; or, to use his own words, he was "just in the situation o' a tewhit that has lost its mate — te-i*IieetJ te-wheet! it cried, flapping its wings impatiently and forlornly — and te-wheet/ te-wheetf answered vacant e'Vho frae the dreary glens." MIDjIDE MAGGY. 259 Thomas had been to Morpeth disposing of a part of his hirsels, and he had found a much better market for them than he anticipated. He returned, therefore, with a heavy purse, which generally hath a tendency to create a light and merry heart ; and he arrived at Westruther, and went into a hostel, where, three or four times in the year, he was in the habit of spending a cheerful evening with his friends. He had called for a quegh of the landlady's best, and he sat down at his ease with the liquor before him, for he had but a short way to travel. He also pulled out his tobacco-box and his pipe, and began to inhale the fumes of what, up to that period, was almost a forbidden weed. But we question much if the royal book of James the Sixth of Scotland and First of England, which he published against the use of tobacco, ever found its way into the Lammermoors, though the Indian weed did; therefore, Thomas Hardie sat enjoying his glass and his pipe, unconscious or regardless of the fulminations which he who was king in his boyhood, had published against the latter. But he had not sat long, when a fair maiden, an acquaintance of "mine hostess," entered the hostelry, and began to assist her in the cutting out or fashioning of a crimson kirtle. Her voice fell upon the ears of Thomas like the " music of sweet sounds." He had never heard a voice before that not only fell softly on his ear, but left a lingering murmur in his heart. She, too, was a young thing of not more than eighteen. If ever hair might be called " gowden," it was hers. It was a light and shining bronze, where the prevalence of the golden hue gave a colour to the whole. Her face was a thing of beauty, over which health spread its roseate hue, yet softly, as though the westling winds had caused the leaves of the blushing rose to kiss her cheeks, and leave their delicate hues" and impression behind them. She was of a middle stature, and her figure was such, although arrayed in 260 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. homely garments, as would have commanded the worship of a connoisseur of grace and symmetry. But beyond all that kindled a flame within the hitherto obdurate heart of Thomas, was the witching influence of her smile. For a full hour he sat with his eyes fixed upon her ; save at in- tervals, when he withdrew them to look into the unwonted agitation of his own breast, and examine the cause. " Amongst the daughters of women," thought he unto himself — for he had a sprinkling of the language of the age about him — " none have I seen so beautiful. Her cheeks bloom bonnier than the heather on Tollishill, and her bosom seems saft as the new-shorn fleece. Her smile if like a blink o' sunshine, and would mak summer to those on whom it fell a' the year round." He also discovered, for the first time, that " Tollishill was a dull place, especially in the winter season." When, therefore, the fair damsel had arrayed the fashion of the kirtle and departed, without once having seemed to observe Thomas, he said unto the goodAvife of the hostelry — "And wha, noo, if it be a fair question, may that bonnie lassie be?" " She is indeed a bonnie lassie," answered the landlady, " and a guid lassie, too ; and I hae nae doot but, as ye are a single man, Maister Hardie, yer question is fair enough. Her name is Margaret Lylestone, and she is the only bairn o' a puir infirm widow that cam to five here some twa or three years syne. They cam frae south owre some way, and I am sure they hae seen better days. We thocht at first that the auld woman had been a Catholic ; but I sup- pose that isna the case, though they certainly are baith o' them strong Episcopawlians, and in nae way favourable to the preachers or the word o' the Covenant ; but I maun say for Maggie, that she is a bonny, sweet-tempered, and obleegin lassie — though, puir thing, her mother has broclit her up in a wrarig way." MTDSIDE MAGGY. 261 Many days had not passed ere Thomas Hardie, arrayed in his Sunday habiliments, paid another visit to Westruther; and he cautiously asked of the goodwife of the hostel many questions concerning Margaret; and although she jeered him, and said that " Maggy would ne'er think o' a grey- haired carle like him," he brooded over the fond fancy; and although on this visit he saw her not, he returned to Tollishill, thinking of her as his bride. It was a difficult thing for a man of fifty, who had been the companion ot solitude from his youth upwards, and who had lived in single blessedness amidst the silence of the hills, without feeling the workings of the heart, or being subjected to the influence of its passions — I say, it was indeed difficult for such a one to declare, in the ear of a blooming maiden of eighteen, the tale of his first affections. But an oppor- tunity arrived which enabled him to disembosom the burden that pressed upon his heart. It has been mentioned that Margaret Lyleston and her mother were poor; and the latter, who had long been bowed down with infirmities, was supported by the industry of her daughter. They had also a cow, which was permit- ted to graze upon the hills without fee or reward ; and, with the milk which it produced, and the cheese they manufac- tured, together with the poor earnings of Margaret, positive want was long kept from them. But the old woman became more and more infirm-— the hand of death seemed stretching over her. She required nourishment which Margaret could not procure for her ; and, that it might be procured — that her mother might live and not die — the fair maiden sent the cow to Kelso to be sold, from whence the seller was to bring with him the restoratives that her parent required. Now, it so was that Thomas Hardie, the tenant of Tollishill, was in Kelso market when the cow of Widow Lylestone was offered for sale ; and, as it possessed the 262 TALES OF THE BORDERS. characteristic marks of a good mileher, he inquired to whom it belonged. On being answered, he turned round for a few moments, and stood thoughtfid ; but again turn- ing to the individual who had been intrusted to dispose of it, he inquired — " And wherefore is she selling it ? " " Really, Maister Hardie," replied the other, " I could not positively say, but I hae little doot it is for want- absolute necessity. The auld woman's very frail and very ill — I hae to tak a' sort o' things oot to her the nicht frae the doctor's, after selling the cow, and it's no in the power o' things that her dochter, industrious as she is, should be able to get them for her otherwise." Thomas again turned aside, and drew his sleeve across his eyes. Having inquired the price sought for the cow, he handed the money to the seller, and gave the animal in charge to one of his herdsmen. He left the market earlier than usual, and directed his servant that the cow should be taken to Westruther. It was drawing towards gloaming before Thomas ap- proached the habitation of the widow; and, before he could summon courage to enter it for the first time, he sauntered for several minutes, backward and forward on the moor, by the side of the Blackadder, which there silently wends its way, as a dull and simple burn, through the moss. He felt all the- awkwardness of an old man struggling beneath the influence of a young feeling. He thought of what he should say, how he should act, and how he would be received. At length he had composed a short introductory and explanatory speech which pleased him. He thought it contained both feeling and delicacy (according to his notions of the latter) in their proper proportions, and after repeating it three or four times over by the side of the Blackadder, he proceeded towards the cottage, still repeating it to himself as he went. But, MIDSrDE ftlAGGY. 263 when he raised his hand and knocked at the door, his heart gave a similar knock upon his bosom, as though it mimicked him ; and every idea, every word of the intro- ductory speech which he had studied and repeated again and again, short though it was, was knocked from his memory. The door was opened by Margaret, who invited him to enter. She was beautiful as when he first beheld her — he thought more beautiful — for she now spoke to him. Her mother sat in an arm-chair, by the side of the peat fire, and was supported by pillows. He took off his bonnet, and performed an awkward but his best salutation. "I beg your pardon," said he, hesitatingly, "for the liberty I have taken in calling upon you. But — I was in Kelso the day — and" He paused, and turned his bonnet once or twice in his hands. " And," he resumed, " I observed, or rather, I should say, I learned that ye intended to sell your cow; but I also heard that ye was very ill, and" Here he made another pause. " I say I heard that ye was eery ill, and I thocht it would be a hardship for ye to part wi' crummie, and especially at a time when ye are sure to stand maist in need o' every help. So I bought the cow — but, as I say, it would be a very great hardship for ye to be without the milk, and what the cheese may bring, at a time like this ; and, therefore, I hae ordered her to be brocht back to ye, and ane o' my men will bring her hame presently. Never consider the cow as mine, for a bachelor farmer likt me can better afford to want the siller, than ye can to want yer row ; and I micht hae spent it far mair foolishly, and wi 1 less satisfaction. Indeed, if ye only but think that gccd I've dune, I'm mair than paid." " Maister Hardie," said the widow, " what have I, a stranger widow woman, done to deserve this kindness at your hands ? Or how is it in the power o' words f'ir me to thank ye? HE who provideth for the widow ajd the fatherless will not permit you to go unrewarded, though I 264 TALES OF THE BORDERS. cannot. O Margaret, hinny," added she, "thank our benefactor as we ought to thank him, for I cannot." Fair Margaret's thanks were a flood of tears. "Oh, dinna greet 1" said Thomas; "I woxdd ten times ower rather no hae bocht the cow, but hae lost the siller, than I would hae been the cause o' a single tear rowin' doun yer bonny cheeks." " O sir," answered the widow, " but they are tears o' gratitude that distress my bairn, and nae tears are mair precious." I might tell how Thomas sat down by the peat fire between the widow and her daughter, and how he took the hand (. I the latter, and entreated her to dry up her tears, saying that his chief happiness would be to be thought their friend, and to deserve their esteem. The cow was brought back to the widow's, and Thomas returned to Tollishill with his herds- man. But, from that night, he became almost a daily visitor at the house of Mrs. Lylestone. He provided whatever she required — all that was ordered for her. He spoke not of love to Margaret, but he wooed her through his kindness to her mother. It was, perhaps, the most direct avenue to her affections. Yet it was not because Thomas thought so that he pursued this course, but because he wanted con- fidence to make his appeal in a manner more formal or direct. The widow lingered many months; and all that lay within the power of human means he caused to be done for her, to restore her to health and strength, or at least to smooth her dying pillow But the last was all that could be done. Where death spreadeth the shadow of his wing, there is no escape from sinking beneath the baneful influence of its shade. Mrs. Lylestone, finding that the hour of her de- parture drew near, took the hand of her benefactor, and when she had thanked him for all the kindness which he had shown towards her, she added — MIDSIDE MAGGY. 265 ■'But, O sir, there is one thing that makes the hand of death heavy. When the sod is cauld upon my breast, who will look after my puir orphan — my bonny faitherless and motherless Margaret? Where will she find a hame?" " O mem," said Thomas, " if the like o' me durst say it, she needna hae far to gang, to find a hame and a heart too. Would she only be mine, I would be her protector —a' that I have should be hers." A gleam of joy brightened in the eye of the dying widow. " Margaret ! "' she exclaimed, faintly ; and Margaret laid her face upon the bed, and wept. " O my bairn ! my puir bairn ! " continued her mother, " shall I see ye protected and provided for before I am ' where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest,' which canna be lang noo?" Thomas groaned — tears glistened in his eyes — he held his breath in suspense. The moment of trial, of condem- nation or acquittal, of happiness .or misery, had arrived. With an eager impatience he waited to hear her answer. But Margaret's heart was prepared for his proposal. He had first touched it with gratitude-^he had obtained her esteem; and where these sentiments prevail in the bosom of a woman whose affections have not been bestowed upon another, love is not far distant — if it be not between them, and a part of both. " Did ever I disobey you, mother ? " sobbed Margaret, raising her parent's hand to her lips. " No, my bairn, no ! " answered the widow. And raising herself in the bed, she took her daughter's hand and placed it in the hand of Thomas Hardie. " Oh !" said he, "is this possible? Does my bonny Mar- garet really consent to make me the happiest man on earth ? Shall I hae a gem at TollishiTl that I wadna exchange for a monarch's diadem ?" 266 TALES OF THE BORDERS. It is sufficient to say that the young and lovely Margaret Lylestone became Mrs. Hardie of Tollishill ; or, as she was generally called, " Midside Maggie." Her mother died within three months after their marriage, but died in peace, having, as she said, " seen her dear bairn blessed wi' a leal and a kind guidman, and ane that was weel to do." For two years after their marriage, and not a happier couple than Thomas and Midside Maggie was to be found on all the long Lammermoors, in the Merse, nor yet in the broad Lothians. They saw the broom and the heather bloom in their season, and they heard the mavis sing before their dwelling ; yea, they beheld the snow falling on the mountains, and the drift sweeping down the glens ; but while the former delighted, the latter harmed them not, and from all they drew mutual joy and happiness. • Thomas said that " Maggy was a matchless wife ;" and she that " he was a kind, kind husband." But the third winter was one of terror among the hills. It was near the new year; the snow began to fall on a Satur- day, and when the following Friday came, the storm had not ceased. It was accompanied by frost and a fierce wind, and the drift swept and whirled like awful pillars of alabas- ter, down the hills, and along the glens — " Sweeping the flocks and herds." Fearful was the wrath of the tempest on the Lammermoors. Many farmers suffered severely, but none more severely than Thomas Hardie of Tollishill. Hundreds of his sheep had perished in a single night. He was brought from prosperity to the brink of adversity. But another winter came round. It commenced with a severity scarce inferior to that which had preceded it, and again scores of his sheep were buried in the snow. But February had not passed, and scarce had the sun entered what is represented as the astronomical sign of the two jis/i, in the heavens, when the genial influence of spring fell with MIDSIDE MAGGY. 267 almost summer warmth upon the earth. During the night the dews came heavily on the ground, and the sun sucked it up in a vapour. But the herbage grew rapidly, and the flocks ate of it greedily, and licked the dew ere the sun rose to dry it up. It brought the murrain amongst them ; they died by hundreds ; and those that even fattened, but did not die, no man would purchase ; or, if purchased, it was only upon the understanding that the money should be returned if the animals were found unsound. These misfortunes were too much for Thomas Hardie. Within two years he found himself a ruined man. But he grieved not for the loss of his flocks, nor yet for his own sake, but for that of his fair young Avife, whom he loved as the apple of his eye. Many, when they heard of his mis- fortunes, said that they were sorry for bonny Midside Maggy. But, worst of all, the rent-day of Thomas Hardie drew near ; and for the first time since he had held a farm, he was unable to meet his landlord with his money in his hand. Margaret beheld the agony of his spirit, and she knew its cause. She put on her Sunday hood and kirtle; and pro- fessing to her husband that she wished to go to Lauder, she took her way to Thirlestane Castle, the residence of their proud landlord, before whom every tenant in arrear trembled. With a shaking hand she knocked at the hall door,* and after much perseverance and entreaty, was admitted into the presence of the haughty earl. She curtsied low before him. "Well, what want ye, my bonny lass?" said Lauder- dale, eyeing her significantly. "May it please yer lordship," replied Margaret, "I am the wife o' yer tenant, Thomas Hardie o' Tollishill ; an' a guid tenant he has been to yer lordship for twenty years and mair, as yer lordship maun weel ken." " He has been my tenant for more than twenty years, 268 TALES OF THE BORDERS. say ye?" interrupted Lauderdale; "and ye say ye are his wife : why, looking on thy bonny face, I should say that the heather hasna bloomed twenty times on the knowes o' Tollishill since thy mother bore thee. Yet ye say ye are his wife ! Beshrew me, but Thomas Hardie is a man o' taste. Arena ye his daughter ? " " No, my lord ; his first, his only, an' his lawfu' wife— an' I would only say, that to ye an' yer faither before ye, for mair than twenty years, he has paid his rent regularly an' faithfully ; but the seasons hae visited us sairly, very sairly, for twa years successively, my lord, an' the drift has destroyed, an' the rot rooted oot oor flocks, sae that we are hardly able to haud up oor heads amang oor neebors, and to meet yer lordship at yer rent-day is oot o' oor power ; therefore hae I come to ye to implore ye, that we may hae time to gather oor feet, an' to gie yer lordship an' every man his due, when it is in oor power." "Hear me, guidwife," rejoined the earl; "were I to listen to such stories as yours, I might have every farmer's wife on my estates coming whimpering and whinging, till I was left to shake a purse with naething in't, and allowing others the benefit o' my lands. But it is not every day that a face like yours comes in the shape o' sorrow before me ; and, for ae kiss o' your cherry mou', (and ye may take my compliments to your auld man for his taste,) ye shall have a discharge for your half-year's rent, and see if that may set your husband on his feet again." " Na, yer lordship, na!" replied Margaret; " it would ill become ony woman in my situation in life, an' especially a married ane, to be daffin with sic as yer lordship. I am the wife o' Thomas Hardie, wha is a guid guidman to me, an' I cam here this day to entreat ye to deal kindly wi' him in the day o' his misfortune." "Troth," replied Lauderdale — who could feel the force of virtue in others, though he did not always practise it MIDSIDE MAGGY 269 in Lis own person — " I hae heard o' the blossom o' Tollis- hill before, an' a bonny flower ye are to blossom in an auld man's bower ; but I find ye modest as ye are bonny, an' upon one condition Avill I grant yer request. Ye hae tauld me o' yer hirsels being buried wi' the drift, an' that the snaw has covered the May primrose on Leader braes ; now it is Martinmas, an' if in June ye bring me a snowball, not only shall ye be quit o' yer back rent, but ye shall sit free in TollisLill till Martinmas next. But see that in June ye bring me the snowball or the rent." Margaret made her obeisance before the earl, and, thanking him, withdrew. But she feared the coming of June ; for to raise the rent even then she well knew would be a thing impossible, and she thought also it would be equally so to preserve a snow-ball beneath the melting sun of June. Though young, she had too much prudence and honesty to keep a secret from her husband ; it was her maxim, and it was a good one, that " there ought to be no secrets between a man and his wife, which the one would conceal from the other." She therefore told him of her journey to Thirlestane, and of all that had passed between her and the earl. Thomas kissed her cheek, and called her his "bonny, artless Maggy;" but he had no more hope of seeing a snowball in June than she had, and he said, "the bargain was like tLe bargain o' a crafty Lauderdale." Again the winter storms howled upon the Lammermoors, and the snow lay deep upon the hills. Thomas and his herdsmen were busied in exertions to preserve the remain- der of his flocks ; but, one day, when the westling winds breathed with a thawing influence upon the snow-clad hills, Margaret went forth to where there was a small, deep, and shadowed ravine by the side of the Leader. In it the rivulet formed a pool, and seemed to sleep, and there the grey trout loved to he at ease ; for a high dark ^70 TALES OF THE BORDEKS. rock, over which the brushwood grew, overhung it, and the rays of the sun fell not upon it. In the rock, and near the side of the stream, was a deep cavity, and Mar- garet formed a snowball on the brae top, and she rolled it slowly down into the shadowed glen, till it attained the magnitude of an avalanche in miniature. She trode upon it, and pressed it firmly together, till it obtained almost the hardness and consistency of ice. She rolled it far into the cavity, and blocked up the mouth of the aperture, so that neither light nor air might penetrate the strange coffer in which she had deposited the equally strange rent of Tollis- hill. Verily, common as ice-houses are in our day, let not Midside Maggy be deprived of the merit of their invention. I have said that it was her maxim to keep no secret from her husband ; but, as it is said there is no rule with- out an exception, even so it was in the case of Margaret, and there was one secret which she communicated not to Thomas, and that was — the secret of the hidden snowball. But June came, and Thomas Hardie was a sorrowful man. He had in no measure overcome the calamities of former seasons, and he was still unprepared with his rent. Margaret shared not his sorrow, but strove to cheer him, and said — "We shall hae a snawba' in June, though I climb to the top o' Cheviot for it." "O my bonny lassie," replied he — and he could see the summit of Cheviot from his farm — " dinna deceive yersel' wi' what could only be words 6poken in jest ; but, at ony rate, I perceive there has been nae snaw on Cheviot for a month past." Now, not a week had passed, but Margaret had visited the aperture in the ravine, where the snowball was con- cealed, not through idle curiosity, to perceive whether it had melted away, but more effectually to stop up every MIDSIDE MAGGY. 271 crevice that might have been made in the materials with which she had blocked up the month of the cavity. But the third day of the dreadful month had not passed, when a messenger arrived at Tollishill from Thirlestane with the abrupt mandate — li June has come!" " And we shall be at Thirlestane the morn," answered Margaret. " my doo," said Thomas, " what nonsense are ye talk ing ! — that isna like ye, Margaret ; I'll be in Greenlaw Jail the morn; and oor bits o' things in the hoose, and oor flocks, will be seized by the harpies o' the law — and the only thing that distresses me is, what is to come o' you hinny." " Dinna dree the death ye'll never dee," said Margaret affectionately ; " we shall see, if we be spared, what the morn will bring." "The fortitude o' yer mind, Margaret," said Thomas, talcing her hand ; and he intended to have said more, to have finished a sentence in admiration of her worth, but his heart filled, and he was silent. On the following morning, Margaret said unto him — " Now, Thomas, if ye are ready, we'll gang to Thirlestane. It is aye waur to expect or think o' an evil than to face it.'' " Margaret, dear," said he, " I canna comprehend ye — wherefore should I thrust my head into the lion's den ? It will soon enough seek me in my path." Nevertheless, she said unto him, " Come," and bade him be of good heart ; and he rose and accompanied her. But she conducted him to the deep ravine, where the waters seem to sleep and no sunbeam ever falls ; and, as she removed the earth and the stones, with which she had blocked up the mouth of the cavity in the rock, he stood wondering. She entered the aperture, and rolled forth the firm mass of snow, which was yet too large to be lifter! by hands. "When Thomas saw this, he smiled and 272 TALES OF THE BORDERS. wept at the same instant, and he pressed his wife's cheek to his bosom, and said — " Great has been the care o' my poor Margaret ; but it is o' no avail; for, though ye hae proved mair than a match for the seasons, the proposal was but a jest o' Lauderdale." "What is a man but his word?" replied Margaret; " and him a nobleman too." " Nobility are but men," answered Thomas, " and sel- dom better men than ither folk. Believe me, if we were to gang afore him wi' a snawba' in oor hands, we should only get lauched at for our pains." " It was his ain agreement," added she ; " and, at ony rate, we can be naething the waur for seeing if he will abide by it." Breaking the snowy mass, she rolled up a portion of it in a napkin, and they went towards Thirlestane together ; though often did Thomas stop by the way and say — " Margaret, dear, I'm perfectly ashamed to gang upon this business; as sure as I am standing here, as I have tauld ye, we will only get oorselves lauched at." " I would rather be lauched at," added she, " than despised for breaking my word ; and, if oor laird break his noo, wha wadna despise him ? " Harmonious as their wedded life had hitherto been, there was what might well nigh be called bickerings be- tween them on the road ; for Thomas felt or believed that she was leading him on a fool's errand. But they arrived at the castle of Thirlestane, and were ushered into the man- sion of its proud lord. "Hal" said the earl, as they entered, "bonny Midside Maggy and her auld guidman ! Well, what bring ye ?— ■ the rents o' Tollishill, or their equivalent?" Thomas looked at his young wife, for he saw nothing to give him hope on the countenance of Lauderdale, and he MIDSIDE MAGGY. 273 thought that he pronounced the word "equivalent" with a sneer. " I bring ye snaw in June, my lord," replied Margaret, " agreeably to the terms o' yer bargain ; and I'm sorry, for your sake and oors, that it hasna yet been in oor power to bring gowd instead o't." Loud laughed the earl as Margaret unrolled the huge snowball before him ; and Thomas thought unto himself, ' I said how it would be." But Lauderdale, calling for his writing materials, sat down and wrote, and he placed in the hands of Thomas a discharge, not only for his back rent, but for all that should otherwise be due at the ensu- ing Martinmas. Thomas Hardie bowed and bowed again before the earl, low and yet lower, awkwardly and still more aAvkwardly, and he endeavoured to thank him, but his tongue faltered in the performance of its office. He could have taken his hand in his and wrung it fervently, leaving his fingers to express what his tongue could not ; but his laird was an earl, and there was a necessary distance to be observed between an earl and a Lammermoor farmer. " Thank not me, goodman," said Lauderdale, " but thank the modesty and discretion o' yer winsome wife." Margaret was silent; but gratitude for the kindness which the earl had shown unto her husband and herself took deep root in her heart. Gratitude, indeed, formed the predominating principle in her character, and fitted her even for acts of heroism. The unexpected and unwonted generosity of the earl had enabled Thomas Hardie to overcome the losses with which the fury of the seasons had overwhelmed him, and he prospered beyond any farmer on the hills. But, while he prospered, the Earl of Lauderdale, in his turn, was over- taken by adversity. The stormy times of the civil ware raged, and it is well known with what devotedness Lauder- IS 274 TALES OF THE BORDERS. dale followed the fortunes of the king. When the Com- monwealth began, he was made prisoner, conveyed to London, and confined in the Tower. There, nine years oi captivity crept slowly and gloomily over him ; but they neither taught him mercy to others nor to moderate his ambition, as was manifested when power aud prosperity again cast their beams upon him. But he now lingered in the Tower, without prospect or hope of release, living upon the bare sustenance of a prisoner, while his tenants dwelt on his estates, and did as they pleased with his rents, as though they should not again behold the face of a landlord. But Midside Maggy grieved for the fate of him whose generosity had brought prospeiity, such as they had never known before, to herself and to her husband ; and, in the fulness of her gratitude, she was ever planning schemes for his deliverance ; and she urged upon her husband that it was their duty to attempt to deliver their benefactor from captivity, as he had delivered them from the iron grasp of ruin, when misfortune lay heavily on them. Now, as duly as the rent-day came, from the Martinmas to which th« snowball had been his discharge, Thomas Hardie faithfully and punctually locked away his rent to the last farthing, that he might deliver it into the hands of his laird, should he again be permitted to claim his own; but he saw not in what way they could attempt his deliverance, as his wife proposed. " Thomas," said she, " there are ten lang years o' rent due, and we hae the siller locked away. It is o' nae use to us, for it isna oors , but it may be o' use to him. It would enable him to fare better in his prison, and maybe to put a handfu' o' gowd into the hands o' his keepers, and tiiereby to escape abroad, and it wad furnish him wi' the means o' living when he was abroad. Remember his kind- ness to us, and think that there is nae sin equal to the sio o' ingratitude." MIDSIDE MAGGT. 275 " But," added Thomas, " in what way could we get the money to him ? for, if we were to send it, it would never reach him, and, as a prisoner, he wouldna be allooed to receive it." " Let us tak it to him oorsels, then," said Margaret. " Tak it oorsels !" exclaimed Thomas, hi amazement, " a' the way to London ! It is oot o' the question a'thegither, Margaret. We wad be robbed o' every plack before we got half-way ; or, if we were even there, hoo, in a' the world, do ye think we could get it to him, or that we would be allooed to see him?" " Leave that to me," was her reply ; " only say ye will gang, and a' that shall be accomplished. There is nae obstacle in the way but the want o' yer consent. But the debt, and the ingratitude o' it thegither, hang heavy upon my heart." Thomas at length yielded to the importunities of his wife, and agreed that they should make a pilgrimage to London, to pay his rent to his captive laird ; though how they were to carry the gold in safety, through an unsettled country, a distance of more than three hundred miles, was a difficulty he could not" overcome. But Margaret re- moved his fears ; she desired him to count out the gold, and place it before her ; and when he had done so, she went to the meal -tub and took out a quantity of pease and of barley meal mixed, sufficient to knead a goodly fadge or bannock ; and, when she had kneaded it, and rolled it out, she took the golden pieces and pressed them into the paste of the embryo bannock, and again she doubled it together, and again rolled it out, and kneaded into it the remainder of the gold. She then fashioned it into a thick bannock, and placing it on the hearth, covered it with the red ashes of the peats. Thomas sat marvelling, as the formation of the singular purse proceeded, and when he beheld the operation com- 276 TALES OF THE BORDERS. pleted, and the bannock placed upon the hearth to bake, he only exclaimed — " TVeel, woman's ingenuity dings a' J 1 wadna hae thocht o' the like o' that, had I lived a thoosand years ! O Margaret, hinny, but ye are a strange ane." " Hoots," replied she, " I'm &ure ye micht easily hae imagined that it was the safest plan we could hae thocht tipon to carry the siller in safety ; for I am sure there isna a thief between the Tweed and Lon'on toun, that would covet or carry awa a bear bannock." " Troth, my doo, and I believe ye're richt," replied Thomas : " but wha could hae thocht o' sic an expedient ? Sure there never was a bannock baked like the bannock o' ToUishill." On the third day after this, an old man and a fair lad, before the sun had yet risen, were observed crossing the English Border. They alternately carried a wallet across their shoulders, which contained a few articles of apparel and a bannock. They were dressed as shepherds, and passengers turned and gazed on them as they passed along ; for the beauty of the youth's countenance excited their admiration. Never had Lowland bonnet covered so fair a brow. The elder stranger was Thomas Hardie, and the youth none other than his Midside Maggy. I will not follow them through the stages of their long and weary journey, nor dwell upon the perils and adven- tures they encountered by the way. But, on the third week after they had left ToUishill, and when they were beyond the town called Stevenage, and almost within sight of the metropolis, they were met by an elderly military- looking man, who, struck with the lovely countenance of the seeming youth, their dress, and way-worn appearance, accosted them, saying — "Good morrow, strangers; ye seem to have travelled far. Is this fair youth your son. old man?" MXDSLDE MAGGY. 277 " He is a gay sib fresnd," answered Thomas. "And whence come ye?" continued the stranger. "Frae Leader Haughs, on the bonny Borders o' the north countrie," replied Margaret. " And whence go ye ? " resumed the other. " First tell me wha ye may be that are sae inquisitive/ interrupted Thomas, in a tone which betrayed something like impatience. "Some call me George Monk," replied the stranger mildly, " others, Honest George. I am a general in the Parliamentary army." Thomas reverentially raised his hand to his bonnet, and bowed his head. " Then pardon me, sir," added Margaret, " and if ye indeed be the guid and gallant general, sma' offence will ye tak at onything that may be said amiss by a country laddie. We are tenants o' the Lord o' Lauderdale, whom ye now keep in captivity ; and, though we mayna think as he thinks, yet we never faund him but a guid landlord • and little guid, in my opinion, it can do ony body to keep him, as he has been noo for nine years, caged up like a bird. Therefore, though oorain business that has brocht us up to London should fail, I winna regret the journey, since it has afforded me an opportunity o' seem yer Excellency, and soliciting yer interest, which maun be pooerfu' in behalf o' oor laird, and that ye would release him frae his prison, and, if he michtna remain in this countrie, obtain permis- sion for him to gang abroad." ' Ye plead fairly and honestly for yer laird, fair youth,'' returned the general; "yet, though he is no man to be trusted, I needs say he hath had his portion of cap- tivity measured out abundantly ; and, since ye have minded me of him, ere a week go round I will think of what may be done for Lauderdale." Other question? were asked and answered — some truly, and some eva- sively; and Thomas and Margaret blessing Honest George 278 TALES OF THE BORDERS. in their hearts, went on their way rejoicing at having met him. On arriving in London, she laid aside the shepherd's garb in which she had journeyed, and resumed her wonted apparel. On the second day after their arrival, she went out upon Tower-hill, dressed as a Scottish peasant girl, with a basket on her arm ; and in the basket were a few ballads, and the bannock of Tollishill. She affected silli ness, and, acting the part of a wandering minstrel, went singing her ballads towards the gate of the Tower. Thomas followed her at a distance. Her appearance interested the guard ; and as she stood singing before the gate — " What want ye, pretty face?" inquired the officer of the guard. " Your alms, if you please," said she, smiling innocently, " and to sing a bonny Scotch sang to the Laird o' Lauder- dale." The officer and the sentinels laughed; and, after she had song them another song or two, she was permitted to enter the gate, and a soldier pointed out to her the room in which Lauderdale was confined. On arriving before the grated windows of his prison, she raised her eyes towards them, and began to sing " Leader Hauglis." The wild, sweet melody of his native land, drew Lauderdale to the windows of his prison-house, and in the countenance of the minstrel he remembered the lovely features of Midside Maggy. He requested permission of the keeper that she should be ad- mitted to his presence ; and his request was complied with. " Bless thee, sweet face ! " said the earl, as she was ad- mitted into his prison; and you have not forgotten the snowball in June?" And he took her hand to raise it to his lips. "Hooly, hooly, my guid lord," said she, withdrawing her hand; "my fingers were made for nae sic purpose — Thomas Hardie is here" — and she laid her hand upon her fair bosom — " though now standing withoot the yett o' the MIDSIDE MAGGY. 279 Tower." Lauderdale again wondered, and, with a look of mingled curiosity and confusion, inquired — "Wherefore do ye come — and why do ye seek me?" "I brocht ye a snaw-ba' before," said she, " for yer rent — I bring ye a bannock noo." And she took the bannock from the basket and placed it before him. " Woman," added he, " are ye really as demented as I thocht ye but feigned to be, when ye sang before the win- dow." " The proof o' the bannock," replied Margaret, " will be in the breakin' o't." "Then, goodwife, it will not be easily proved," said he —and he took the bannock, and, with some difficulty, broke it over his knee ; but, when he beheld the golden coins that were kneaded through it, for the first, perhaps the last and only time in his existence, the Earl of Lauder- dale burst into tears and exclaimed — "Well, every bannock has its maik, but the bannock o' Tollishill ! Yet, kind as ye hae been, the gold is useless to ane that groans in hope- less captivity." " Yours has been a long captivity," said Margaret; " but it is not hopeless ; and, if honest General Monk is to be trusted, from what he tanld me not three days by-gane, before a week gae roond, ye will be at liberty to go abroad, and there the bannock o' Tollishill may be o' use." The wonder of Lauderdale increased, and he replied — "Monk will keep his word — but what mean ye of him?" And she related to him the interview they had had with the general by the way. Lauderdale took her hand, a ray of hope and joy spread over his face, and he added — " Never shall ye rue the bakin' o' the bannock, if auld times come back again." Margaret left the tower, singing as she had entered it, and joined her husband, whom she found leaning over the railing around the moat, and anxiously waiting her return. 280 TALES OF THE BORDEKS. They spent a few days more in London, to iest and to gaze upon its wonders, and again set out upon their journey to Tollishill. General Monk remembered his promise; within a week, the Earl of Lauderdale was liberated, with permis- sion to go abroad, and there, as Margaret had intimated, he found the bannock of Tollishill of service. A few more years passed round, during which old Thomas Bardie still prospered; but, during those years, the Com- monwealth came to an end, the king was recalled, and with him, as one of his chief favourites, returned the Earl of Lauderdale. And, when he arrived in Scotland, clothed with power, whatever else he forgot, he remembered the bannock of Tollishill. Arrayed in what might have passed as royal state, and attended by fifty of his followers, he rode to the dwelling of Thomas Hardie and Midside Maggy ; and when they came forth to meet him, he dismounted and shew forth a costly silver girdle of strange workmanship, and fastened it round her jimp waist, saying — "Wear this, for now it is my turn to be grateful, and for your husband's life, and your life, and the life of the generation after ye" (for they had children), " ye shall sit rent free on the lands ye now farm. For, truly, every bannock had its maik but the bannock o' Tollishill." Thomas and Margaret felt their hearts too full to express their thanks; and ere they could speak, the earl, mounting bis horse, rode towards Thirlestane ; and his followers, waving their bonnets, shouted — " Long live Midside Maggy, queen of TollishiU." Such is the story of " The Bannock o' Tollishill;" and it is only necessary to add, for the information of the curious, that I believe the silver girdle may be seen until this day, in the neighbourhood of Tollishill, and in the possession of a descendant of Midside Maggy, to whom it was given. WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS AND OF SCOTLAND. THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. •'There was a criminal in a cart Agoing to be hanged — Reprieve to him was granted ; The crowd and cart did stand, To see if he would marry a wife, Or, otherwise, choose to die ! 'Oh, why should I torment my life?' The victim did reply ; 'The bargain's bad in every part — But a wife's the worst! — drive on the cart.'" Honest Six John Falstaff talketh of "minions of the moon:" and, truth to tell, two or three hundred years ago, nowhere was such an order of knighthood more prevalent than upon the Borders. Not only did the Scottish and English Bor- derers make their forays across the Tweed and the ideal line, but rival chieftains, though of the same nation, considered themselves at liberty to make inroads upon the property ci each other. The laws of meum and tuum they were unable to comprehend. Theirs was the strong man's world, and with them wight was right. But to proceed -with our story. About the beginning of the seventeenth century, one of the boldest knights upon the Borders was William Scott, the young laird of Harden. His favourite residence was Oak- Vol. II a t TALES OF THE BORDERS. wood Tower, a place of great strength, situated on the banks of the Ettrick. The motto of his family was " Reparabil cornua Phoebe," which being interpreted by his countrymen, in their vernacular idiom, ran thus — " We'll hae moonlight again." Now, the young laird was one who considered it his chief honour to give effect to both the spirit and the letter of his family motto. Permitting us again to refer to honest Falstaff, it implied that they were " gentlemen of the night ;" and he was not one who would loll upon his pillow when his "avocation" called him to the foray. It was drawing towards midnight, in the month of Octo- ber, when the leaves in the forest had become brown and yellow, and with a hard sound rustled upon each other, that young Scott called together his retainers, and addressing them, said — "Look ye, friends, is it not a crying sin and a national shame to see things going aglee as they are doing? There seems hardly such a thing as manhood left upon the Borders. A bit scratch with a pen upon parchment is becoming of more effect than a stroke with the sword. A bairn now stands as good a chance to hold and to have, as an armed man that has a hand to take and to defend. Such a state o' things was only made for those who are ower lazy to ride by night, and ower cowardly to fight. Never shall it be said that I, William Scott of Harden, was one who either submitted or conformed to it. Give me the good, old, manly law, that 'they shall keep who can,' and wi' my honest sword will I maintain my right against every enemy. Now, there is our natural and lawful ad- versary, auld Sir Gideon Murray o' Elibank, carries his head as high as though he were first cousin to a king, or the sole lord o' Ettrick Forest. More than once has he slighted me in a way which it wasna for a Scott to bear; and weel do I ken that he has the will, and wants but the power, to harry us o' house and ha'. But, by my troth, he shall pay a dear reckoning for a' the insults he ha3 THE WIFE OR THE WUDDV. 3 offered to the Scotts o' Harden. Now, every Murray among them has a weel-stocked mailing, and their Mne are weel-favoured ; to-night the moon is laughing cannily through the clouds : — therefore, what say ye, neighbours — will ye ride wi' me to Elibank? and, before morning, every man o' them shall have a toom byre." "Hurra!" shouted they, "for the young laird! He is a true Scott from head to heel! Eide on, and we will follow ye! Hurra! — the moon glents ower the hills to guide us to the spoils o' Elibank ! To-night we shall bring langsyne back again." There were twenty of them, stout and bold men, mounted upon light and active horses — some armed with firelocks, and others with Jeddart staves ; while, in addition to such weapons, every man had a good sword by his side. At their head was the fearless young laird ; and, at a brisk pace, they set off towards Elibank. Mothers and maidens ran to their cottage doors, and looked after them with fore- boding hearts when they rode along ; for it was a saying amongst them, that " when young Willie Scott o' Harden set his foot in the stirrup at night, there were to be swords drawn before morning." They knew, also, the feud between him and the house of Elibank, and as well did they know that the Murrays were a resolute and a sturdy race. Morn had not dawned when they arrived at the scene where their booty lay. Not a Murray was abroad ; and to the extreme they carried the threat of the young laird into execution, of making " toom byres." By scores and by hundreds, they collected together, into one immense herd, horned cattle and sheep, and they drove them before them through the forest towards Oakwood Tower. The laird, in order to repel any rescue that might be attempted, brought up the rear, and, in the joy of his heart, he sang, and, at times, cried aloud, " There will be dry breakfasts in Elibank before the sun gets oot, but a merry meal at Oakwood afore 4 TALES OF THE BORDERS. he gangs doun. An entire bullock shall be roasted, and wives and bairns shall eat o' it." " I humbly beg your pardon, Maister William," said an old retainer, named Simon Scott, and who traced a distant relationship to the family; " I respectfully ask your pardon; but I have been in your faither's family for forty years, and never was backward in the hoor o' danger, or in a ploy like this ; but ye will just alloo me to observe, sir, that wilfu' waste maks wofu' want, and I see nae occasion whatever for roasting a bullock. It would be as bad as oor neebors on the ither side o' the Tweed, wha are roast, roastin', or bakin' in the oven, every day o' the week, and makin' a stane weight o' meat no gang sae far as twa or three pounds wad hae dune. Therefore, sir, if ye will tak my advice, if we are to hae a feast, there will be nae roastin' in the way. There was a fine sharp frost the other nicht, and I observed the rime lying upon the kail ; so that baith greens and savoys will be as tender as a weel-boiled three-month- auld chicken ; and I say, therefore, let the beef be boiled, and let them hae ladlefu's o' kail, and ye will find, sir, that instead o' a hail bullock, even if ye intend to feast auld and young, male and female, upon the lands o' Oakwood, a quarter o' a bullock will be amply sufficient, and the rest can be sauted doun for winter's provisions. Ye ken, sir, that the Murrays winna let us lichtly slip for this nicht's walk ; and it is aye safest, as the saying is, to lay by for a sair fit." "Well argued, good Simon," said the young laird; "but your economy is ill-timed. After a night's work such as this there is surely some licence for gilravishing. I say it — and who dare contradict me? — to-night there is not one belonging to the house of Harden, be they old or young, who shall not eat of roast meat, and drink of the best." " Weel, sir," replied Simon, " wi' reverence be it spoken, but I would beg to say that ye are wrung. Folk that ance THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 5 get a liking for dainties tak ill wi' plainer fare again; and, moreover, sir, in a' my experience, I never kenned dainty bits and hardihood to go hand in hand; but, on the con- trary, luxuries mak men effeminate, and discontented into the bargain." The altercation between the old retainer and his young master ran farther; but it was suddenly interrupted by the deep-mouthed baying of a sleuth-hound ; and its threaten- ing howls were followed by a loud cry, as if from fifty voices, of — "To-night for Sir Gideon and the house of Elibank!" But here we pause to say that Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank was a man whose name was a sound of terror to all who were his enemies. As a foe, he was fierce, resolute, unforgiving. He had never been known to turn his back upon a foe, or forgive an injury. He knew the meaning of justice in its severest sense, but not of compassion; he was a stranger to the attribute of mercy, and the life of the man who had injured him, he regarded as little as the life of the worm which he might tread beneath his heel upon his path. He was a man of middle age; and had three daughters, none of w r hom were what the w r orld calls beautiful ; but, on the contrary, they were w r hat even the dependents upon his estates described as "very ordinary-looking young women." Such w r as Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank; and, although the young laird of Harden conceived that he had come upon him as "a thief in the night" — and some of my readers, from the transaction recorded, may be somewhat apt to take the scriptural quotation in a literal sense — yet I would say, as old Satchel sings of the Borderers of those days, they were men — " Somewhat unruly, and very ill to tame. I would have none think that I call them thieves; For, if I did, it would be arrant lies." 6 TALES OP THE BORDERS. But, stealthily as the young master of Harden had made his preparations for the foray, old Sir Gideon had got timely notice of it; and hence it was, that not a Murray seemed astir when they took the cattle from the byres, and drove them towards Oakwood. But, through the moonlight, there were eyes beheld every step they took — tbeir every movement was watched and traced; and amongst those who watched was the stern old knight, with fifty followers at his back. "Quiet! quiet!" he again and again, in deep murmurs, uttered tu his dependents, throwing back his hand, and speaking in a deep and earnest whisper, that awed even the slow but ferocious sleuth-hound that accompanied them, and caused it to crouch back to his feet. In a yet deeper whisper, he added, encouragingly — "Patience, my merry men! — bide your time! — ye shall hae work before long go by." When, therefore, the young laird and his followers began to disperse in the thickest of the forest, as they drove the cattle before them, Sir Gideon suddenly exclaimed — " Now for the onset!" And, at the sound of his voice, the sleuth- hound howled loud and savagely. "We are followed! — Halt! halt! — to arms! to arms!" cried the heir of Harden. Three or four were left in charge of the now somewhat scattered herd of cattle, and to drive them to a distance ; while the rest of the party spurred back their horses as rapidly as the tangled pass in the forest would permit, to the spot from whence the voice of their young leader pro- ceeded. They arrived speedily, but they arrived too late. In a moment, and with no signal save the baying of the hound, old Sir Gideon and his armed company had burst upon young Scott and Old Simon, and ere the former could cry for assistance, they had surrounded them. " Willie Scott! ye rash laddie!" cried Sir Gideon — "yield THE WIFE OR THE NVTJDDY. / quietly, or a thief s death shall ye die ; and in the very i'orest through which ye have this night driven my cattle, the corbies and you shall become acquaint — or, at least, if ye see not them, they shall see you and feel you too." "Brag on, ye auld greybeard," exclaimed the youth, but while a Scott o' Harden has a finger to wag, no power on earth shall make his tongue say 'I am conquered!' So come on ! — do your best — do your worst — here is the hand and the sword to meet ye! — and were ye ten to one, ye shall find that Willie Scott isna the lad to turn his back, though ten full-grown Murrays stand before his face." " By my sooth, then, callant," cried the old knight, "and it was small mercy, after what ye hae done, that I intended to show ye ; and after what ye hae said, it shall be less that I will grant ye. Sae come on lads, and now to humble the Hardens." " Arm ! every Scott to arms !" again shouted the young laird ; " and now, Sir Gideon, if ye will measure weapons, and leave your weel-faured daughters as a legacy to the world, be it sae. But there are lads among your clan o whom they would hae been glad, and who, belike in pity, might hae offered them their hands, but who will this night mak a bride o' the green sward! Sae come on, Sir Gideon, and on you and yours be the consequence!" "Before sunrise," returned Sir Gideon, "and the win- some laird o' Harden shall boast less vauntingly, and rue that he had broke his jeers upon an auld man. Touch me, sir, but not my bairns." » The conflict began, and on each side the strife was bloody and desperate. Bold men grasped each other by the throat, and they held their swords to each other's breasts, scowling one upon another with the ferocity of contending tigers, ere each gave the deadly plunge which was to hurl both into eternity. The report of fire-arms, the clash of swords, the clang of shields, with the neighing of maddened horses, the 8 TALES OF THE BORDERS. lowing of affrighted cattle, the howl of the sleuth-hounds, and the angry voices of fierce men, mingled wildly together, and, in one fearful and discordant echo, rang through the forest. This wild sound was followed by the low melan- choly groans of the dying. But, as I have already stated, the Scotts, and the cattle which they drove before them, were scattered, and ere those who were in advance could arrive to the rescue of their friends in the rear, the latter were slain, wounded, or overpowered. They also fought against fearful odds. The young laird himself had his sword broken in his grasp, and his horse was struck dead beneath him. He was instantly surrounded and made prisoner by the Murrays ; and, at the same time, old Simon fell into their hands. The few remaining retainers of the house of Harden gave way when they found their leader a captive, and they fled, leaving the cattle behind them. Sir Gideon Murray, there- fore, recovered all that had been taken from him; and though he had captured but two prisoners, the one was the chief, and the other his principal adviser and second in command. The old knight, therefore, commanded that they should be bound with cords together, and in such rueful plight led to his castle at Elibank. It was noon before they reached it, and Lady Murray came forth to welcome her husband, and congi'atulate him upon his success. But when she beheld the heir of Harden a captive, and thought of how little mercy was to be expected from Sir Gideon when once aroused, she remembered that she was a mother, and that one of her children might one day be situated as their prisoner then was. The young laird, with his aged kinsman and dependent, were thrust into a dark room; and he who locked them up informed them that the next day their bodies would be hung up on the nearest tree. " My life and lang fasting !" exclaimed Simon, " ye surelv THE WIFE OR THE WTJDDT. \f wouldna be speaking o' sic a thing as hanging to an auld man like me. If we were to be shot or beheaded — though I would like neither the ane nor the ither — it wouldna be a thing in particular to be complained o' ; but to be hanged like a dog is so disgracefu' and unchristian-like, that I would rather die ten times in a day, than feel a hempen cravat about my neck ance. And, moreover, I must say that hanging is not treating my dear young maister and kinsman as he ocht to be treated. His birth, his rank, and the memory o 1 his ancestors and mine, demand mair respect; and therefore, I say, gae tell your maister, that, if he is determined that we are to die — though I have no ambitioD to cut my breath before my time — that I think, as a gentleman, it is bis duty to see that we die the death o gentlemen. "Silence, Simon," cried the young laird; "let Murray hang us in his bedchamber if he will. No matter what manner o' death we die, provided only that we die like men. Let him hang us if he dare, and the disgrace be his that is coward enough so to make an end of his enemy. " sir," said Simon, " but that is poor comfort to a man that has to leave a small family behind him " Simon I are you afraid to die ?" cried the captive laird, in a tone of rebuke. "No, your honour," said Simon — "that is, I am no more afraid to die than other men are, or ought to be — but only ye'll observe, sir, that I have no ambition — not, as I may say, to draw my last breath upon a wuddy, but to have it very unnaturally stopped. Begging your pardon, but you are a young man, while I have a wife and family that would be left to mourn for me ! — and O sir ! the wife and the bits o' bairns press unco sairly upon a man's heart, when death tries to come in the way between him and them. In exploits like that in which we were last night engaged, and also in battles abroad, I have faced danger in every shape a hundred 10 TALES OP THE BORDERS. times — yet, sir, to be shot in a moment, as it were, or to be run through the body, and to die honourably on the field, is a very different thing from deliberately walking up a ladder to the branch o' a tree, from which Ave are never to come doun in life again. And mair than that, if we had been o' Johnny Faa's gang, they couldna hae treated us mair disrespectfully than to condemn us to the death that they have decreed for us." " Providing ye die bravely, Simon," said the young laird, " it is little matter what manner o' death ye die ; and as for your wife and weans, fear not; my faither's house will provide for them. For, though I fall now, there will be other heirs left to the estate o' Harden." While the prisoners thus conversed in the place of their confinement, Lady Murray spoke unto her husband, saying — " And what, Sir Gideon, if it be a fair question, may ye intend to do wi' the braw young laird o' Harden, now that he is in your power?" He drew her gently by the arm towards tne window, and pointing towards a tree which grew at the distance of a few yards, he said — " Do ye see yonder branch o' the elm tree that is waving in the wind ? To-morrow, young Scott and his kinsman shall swing there together, or hereafter say that I am no Murray." u O guidman!" said she, "it is because I was terrified that ye would be doing the like o' that, that caused me to ask the question. Now, I must say, Sir Gideon, what- ever ye may think, that ye are not only acting cruelly, but foolishly." " I care naething about the cruelty," cried he ; " what mercy did ever a Scott among them show to me or to mine? Lady Murray, the ball is at my foot, and I will kick it, though I deprive Scott o' Harden o' a head. And whai mean ye, dame, by saying I act foolishly?" " Only this, guidman," said she — " that ye hae thre* THE WIFE OR THE WTJDDY. 11 daughters to marry, whom the world doesna consider to be ower weel-faured, and it isna every day that ye hae a husband for ane o' them in your hand." " Sooth ! " cried he, " and for once in your life ye are right, guidwife — there is mair wisdom in that remark than I would hae gien ye credit for. To-morrow, the birkie c' Harden shall have his choice — either upon the instant to marry our daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg, or strap for it." "Weel, Sir Gideon," added she, "to make him marry Meg will be mair purpose- like than to cut off the head and the hope of an auld house, in the very flower o' his youth; and there is nae doubt as to the choice he will mak, for there is an unco difference between them." " Dinna be ower sure," continued the knight ; " there is nae saying what his choice may be. There is both pluck and a spirit o' contradiction in the callant, and I wouldna be in the least surprised if he preferred the wuddy. I ken, had I been in his place, what my choice would hae been." "I daresay, Sir Gideon," replied the old lady, who was jocose at the idea of seeing one of her daughters wed, " I daresay I could guess what that choice would hae been." "And what, in your wisdom," said he sharply, "do ye think it would hae been — the wife or the wuddy ?" " O Gideon ! Gideon !" said she, good-humouredly, and shaking her head, " weel do ye ken that your choice would bae been a wife." " There ye are wrang," cried he ; "I would rather die a death that was before me, than marry a wife I had never seen. But go ye and prepare Meg for becoming a bride the morn, and I shall see what the intended bridegroom says to the proposal." In obedience to his commands, she went to an apartment 12 TALES OF THE BORDERS in which their eldest daughter Agnes, but commonly called " Meikle-mouthed Meg," then sat, twirling a distaff. The old dame sat down by her daughter's side, and, after a few observations respecting the weather, and the quality of the lint she was then torturing into threads, she said — " Weel, I'm just thinking, Meggie, that ye mak me an auld woman. Ye would be six-and-twenty past at last Lammas." "So I believe, mother!" said Meggie; and a sigh, or a very deep and long-drawn breath, followed her words. " Dear me ! " continued the old lady, " young men maun be growing very scarce. I wanted four months and five days o' being nineteen when I married your faither, and I had refused at least six offers before I took him !" " Ay, mother," replied the maiden ; " but ye had a weel- faured face — there lay the difference ! Heigho !" " Heigho ! " responded her mother, as in pleasant raillery — " what is the lassie heighoing at ? Certes, if ye get a guidman before ye be six and twenty, ye may think yoursel' a very fortunate woman." " Yes," added the maiden ; " but I see sma' prospect o' that. I doubt ye will see the Ettrick running through the ' dowie dells o' Yarrow,' before ye hear tell o' an offer being made to me." " Hoot, hoot ! — dinna say sae, bairn," added her mother; " there is nae saying what may betide ye yet. Ye think ye winna be married before ye are six and twenty ; but, truly, my dear, there has mony a mair unlikely ship come to land. Now, what wad ye think o' the young laird o' Harden?" "Mother! mother!" said Agnes, "wherefore do ye mock me ? I never saw ye do that before. My faither has ta'en William Scott a prisoner ; and, from what I hae heard, he will hang him in the morning. Ye ken what a man my faither is — when he says a thing he will do it; and THE WIFE OR THE WUDDT. 13 how can you jest about the young man, when his very existence is reduced to a matter o' minutes and moments. Though, rather than my faither should tak his life, if I could save him, he should take mine. " Weel said, my bairn," replied the old woman ; " but dinna ye be put about concerning -what will never come to pass. I doubtna that, before morning, ye will find young Scott o' Harden at your feet, and begging o' you to save his life, by giving him your hand and troth, and becoming his wife : and then, ye ken, your faither couldna, for shame, hang or do ony harm to his ain son-in-law." " O mother ! mother !" replied Agnes, " it will never be in my power to save him ; for what ye hae said he will never think o'; and even if I were his wife, I question if my faither would pardon him, though I should beg it upon mv knees." " Oh, your faither's no sae ill as that, Meggie, my doo," said the old lady. " Mark my words— if Willie Scott con- sent to marry you, ye will henceforth find him and your faither hand and glove." While this conversation between Lady Murray and her daughter took place, Sir Gideon entered the room where his prisoners were confined, and, addressing the young laird, said — " Now, ye rank marauder, though death is the very least that ye deserve or can expect from my hands, yet I will gie ye a chance for your life, and ye shall choose between a wife and the wuddy. To-morrow morning, ye shall either marry my daughter Meg, or swing from the branch o' the nearest tree, and the bauldest Scott upon the Borders shanna tak ye down, until ye drop away, bone by bone, a fleshless skeleton." " Good save us ! most honourable and good Sir Gideon!" suddenly interrupted Simon, in a tone which bespoke his horror; " but ye certainly dinna intend to make an anatomy o' me too; or surely, when my honoured maister marries 14 TALES OF THE BORDERS. Miss Murray (as I hope and trust he will), ye will alloo me to dance at their wedding, instead o 1 dancing in the air, and keeping time to the music o' the soughing wind. And, maister ! for my sake, for your ain sake, and especially out o' regard to my sma 1 and helpless family, consent to marry the lassie, though she isna extraordinar' weel-faured ; for I am sure that, rather tharj die a dog's death, swinging from a tree, I would marry twenty wives, though they were a' as auld as the hills, as ugly as a starless midnicht, and had tongues like trumpets." "Peace, Simon I" cried the young laird, impatiently; "if ye hae turned coward, keep the sound o' yer fears within yer ain teeth. And ye, Sir Gideon," added he, turning towards the old knight, " in your amazing mercy and generosity, would spare my life, upon condition that I should marry your bonny daughter Meg! Look ye, sir — I am Scott o' Harden, and ye are Murray o' Elibank ; there is no love lost between us ; chance has placed my life in your hands — take it, for I wouldna marry your daughter though ye should gie me life, and a' the lands o' Elibank into the bargain. I fear as little to meet death as I do to tell you to your teeth that, had ye fallen into my hands, I would have hung ye wi' as little ceremony as I would bring a whip across the back o' a disobedient hound. Therefore, ye are welcome to do the same by me. Ye have taken what ye thought to be a sure mode o' getting a husband for ane o' your winsome daughters; but, in the present instance, it has proved a wrong one, auld man. Do your worst, and there will be Scotts enow left to revenge the death o' the laird o' Harden." "There, then, is my thumb, young braggart," exclaimed Sir Gideon, " that I winna hinder ye in your choice ; for to-morrow ye shall be exalted as Haman was; and let those revenge your death who dare." " Maister !— dear maister!" cried Simon, wringing his THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 15 hands, " will ye sacrifice me also, and break the hearts o* my puir wife and family I sir, accept o' Sir Gideon's proposal, and marry his dochter." "Silence! ye milk-livered slave!" cried the young laird. " Do ye pretend to bear the name o 1 Scott, and yet tremble like an ash leaf at the thought o' death !" " Ye will excuse me, sir," retorted Simon, " but I tremble at no such thing ; only, as I have already remarked, I have no particular ambition for being honoured wi' the exalte* tion o' the halter ; and, moreover, I see no cause why a man should die unnecessarily, or where death can be avoided. Sir Gideon," added he, " humble prisoner as I at this moment am, and in your power, I leave it to you if ever ye saw ony thing in my conduct in the field o' battle (and ye have seen me there) that could justify ony ane in calling me either milk-livered or a coward? But, sir, I consider it would be altogether unjustifiable to deprive ane o' life, which is always precious, merely because my maister is stubborn, and winna marry your daughter. But, oh, sir, I am not a very auld man yet, and if ye will set me at liberty, though I am now a married man, in the event o' my ever becoming a widower, I gie ye my solemn promise that I will marry ony o' your dochters that ye please!" "Audacious idiot!" exclaimed the old knight, raising his hand and striking poor Simon to the ground. " Sir Gideon Murray !" cried the young laird fiercely, " are ye such a base knave as to strike a fettered prisoner I Shame fa' ye, man ! where b the pride o' the Murrays now?" Sir Gideon evidently felt the rebuke, and, withdrawing from the apartment, said, as he departed — "Remember that when the sun-dial shall to-morrow note the hour of twelve, so surely shall ye be brought forth — and a wife shall be your I: ' ~~ *he wuddy your doom." 16 TALES OF THE BORDERS. "Leave me!" cried the youth impatiently, "and the gallows be it — my choice is made. Till my last hour trouble me not again." "Sir! sir!" cried Simon, "I beg, I pray that ye will alter your determination. There is surely naething sto awful in the idea o' marriage, even though yoxir wife should have a face not particularly weel-favoured. Ye dinna ken, sir, but that the young woman's looks are her worst fault; and, indeed, I hae heard her spoken o' as a lassie o' great sense and discretion, and as having an excellent temper ; and, oh, sir, if ye kenned as weel what it is to be married as I do, ye would think that a good temper was a recommendation far before beauty." " Hold thy fool's tongue, Simon," cried the laird ; ' would ye disgrace the family wi' which ye make it jrour boast to be connected, when in the power and pre- sence o' its enemies ? Do as ye see me do — die and defy them." It was drawing towards midnight, when the prison-door was opened, and the sentinel who stood watch over it admitted a female dressed as a domestic. "What want ye, or whom seek ye, maiden?" inquired the laird. "I come," answered she mildly, " to speak wi' the laird o' Harden, and to ask if he has any dying commands that a poor lassie could fulfil for him." " Dying commands ! " responded Simon ; " oh, are those no awful words ! — and can ye still be foolhardy enough to say ye winna marry ? " "Who sent ye, maiden? — or who are ye?" continued the laird. " A despised lassie, sir," answered she, " and an atten- dant upon Sir Gideon's lady, in whom ye hae a true and steadfast friend ; though I doubt that, as ye hae refused poor Meg, her intercession will avail ye little." THE WIFE OR THE WUDDT. 17 " And wherefore has Lady Murray sent you here ? " he continued. " Just, sir, because she is a mother, and has a mother's heart ; and, as ye hae a mother and sisters who will now be mourning for ye at Oakwood, she thought that, belike, ye would hae something to say that ye would wish to hae communicated to them ; and, if it be sae, I am come to offer to be your messenger." " Maiden ! " said he, with emotion, " speak not of my poor mother, or you will unman me, and I would wish t<5 die as becomes my father's son." " That's right, hinny," whispered Simon ; " speak to him about his mother again — talk about her sorrow, poor lady, and her tears, and distraction, and mourning — and I hae little doubt but that we shall get him to marry Meg, or do onything else, and I shall get back to my family after a'." " What is it that ye whisper, Simon, in the maiden's ear ? " inquired the laird, sternly. " Oh, naething, sir — naething, I assure ye," answered Simon, falteringly ; " I was only saying that, if ye sent her ower to Oakwood wi' a message to your poor, hon- oured, wretched mother, that she would inquire for my poor widow, Janet, and my bits o' bairns, and that she would tell them that nothing troubled me upon my death- bed — no, no, not my death-bed, but — I declare I am ashamed to think o't ! — I was saying that I was simply telling her to inform my wife and bairns, that nothing dis- tracted me in the hour o' death but the thought o' being Darted from them." Without noticing the evasive reply of his dependent and fellow-prisoner, the laird, addressing the intruder, said — " Ye speak as a kind and considerate lassie. I would like to send a scrape o' a pen to my poor mother, and, if ya will be its bearer, she will reward ye." A 2 18 TALES OP THE BORDERS. " And, belike," she replied, " ye would like to hear if the good lady has an answer back, or to learn how she bore the tidings o' your unhappy fate." " Before you could return," said he, " the time ap- pointed by my adversary for my execution will be past, and I shall feel for my mother's sorrows with the sympathy of a disembodied spirit." " But," added she, " if you would like to hear from your poor mother, or, belike, to see her — for there may be family matters that ye would wish to have arranged — I think, through the influence of my lady, Sir Gideon could be prevailed upon to grant ye a respite for three or four days ; and, as he isna a man that keeps his passion long, perhaps by that time he may be disposed to save your life upon terms that would be more acceptable." " No, maiden," he replied ; " he is my enemy ; and from him I wish no terms — no clemency. Let him fulfil his purpose — I will die ; but my death shall be revenged ; and tell my mother that it was my latest injunction that she should command every follower of our house to avenge her son's death, while there is a Murray left in all Scot- land to repent the deed o' the knight o' Elibank." " Oh, sweet young ma'am, or mistress ! " cried Simon ; " bear the lady no such message ; but rather, as ye hae said, try if it be possible to get your own good lady to persuade Sir Gideon to spare our lives for a few days ; and, as ye say, the edge o' the auld knight's revenge may be blunted by that time, or, perhaps, my worthy young maister may be brought to see things in a clearer light, and, perhaps, to marry Miss Margaret, by which means our lives may be spared. For it is certainly the height o' madness in him to sacrifice my life and his own, rather than marry her before he has seen her." " Simon," interrupted the laird, " the maiden has spoken kindly ; let her endeavour to procure a respite — a reprieve THE WIFE OR THE "WUDDT. 19 for you. In your death my enemy can have no gratifica- tion; but for me — leave me to myself." " O sir," replied Simon, " ye wrong me — ye mistake my meaning a'thegither. If you are to die, I will die also ; but do ye no think it would be as valorous, and mair rational, at least to see and hear the young leddy before ye determine to die rather than to marry her ? " " And hae ye," said the maiden, addressing the laird, " preferred the gallows to poor Meg without even seeing her?" " If I haena seen her I hae heard o' her," said he ; " and by all accounts her countenance isna ane that ony man would desire to see accompanying him through the world like a shadow at his oxter." " Belike," said the maiden, " she has been represented to you worse than she looks like — if ye saw her, ye might change your opinion ; and, perhaps, after a', that she isna bonny is a' that any one can say against her." " Wheesht, lassie ! " said he ; "I winna be forced to onything. A Scott may be led, but he winna drive. I have nae wish to see the face o' your young mistress, for I winna hae her. But you speak as one that has a feeling heart, and before I trust ye wi' my last letter to my poor mother, I should like to have a glance at your face, and by your countenance I shall judge whether or not it will be safe to trust ye." " I doubt, sir," replied she, throwing back the hood that covered her head, " ye will see as little in my features as ye expect to find in my young mistress's to recommend me ; but, sir, you ought to remember that jewels are often encrusted in coarser metals, and ye will often find a deli- cious kernel within an unsightly shell." " Ye speak sweetly, and as sensibly as sweet," said he, raising the flickering lamp, which burned before them upon a small table, and gazing upon her countenance; 20 TALES OF THE BORDERS. u and I will now tell ye, lassie, that if your features be not beautiful, there is honesty and kindliness written upon every line o' them ; and though ye are a dependent in the house o' my enemy, I will trust ye. Try if I can obtain writing materials to address a few lines to my mother, and I will confide in you to deliver them." " Ye may confide in me," rejoined she, "and the writ- ing materials which ye desire I hae brought wi' me. Write, and not only shall your letter be faithfully deli- vered, but, as ye hae confided in me, I will venture to say that your life shall be spared until ye receive her answer ; for I may say that what I request, Lady Murray will try to see performed. And if I can find any means in my power by which ye can escape, it shall not be lang that ye will remain a prisoner." "Thank ye! — doubly thank ye!" cried Simon; "ye are a good and a kind creature ; and though my maister refuses to marry your mistress, yet, had I been single, I would hae married you. But, oh, when ye go wi' the letter to his mother, my honoured lady, will ye just go away down to a bit white house which lies by the river side, about a mile and a half aboon Selkirk, and there ye will find my poor wife and bairns — or rather, I should say, my unhappy widow and my orphans — and tell them — oh, tell my wife — that I never kenned how dear she was to me till now ; but that, if she marries again, my ghost will haunt her night and day ; and tell also the bairns that, above everything, I charge them to be good to their mother." The young laird sat down, and, writing a letter to his mother, intrusted it to the hands of the stranger girl. He raised her hand to his lips as she withdrew, and a tear trickled down his cheeks as he thanked her. It was early on the following morning that Meikle- mouthed Meg, as she was called, requested an interview THE WIFE OR THE WTJDDY. 21 with her father, which being granted, after respectfully rendering obeisance before him, she said — " So, faither, I understand that it is your pleasure that I shall this day become the wife o' young Scott o' Harden. I think, sir, that it is due to the daughter o' a Murray o' Elibank, that she should be courted before she gies her hand. The young man has never seen me ; he kens naething concern- ing me ; an' never will yer dochter disgrace ye by gieing her hand to a man who only accepted it to save his neck from a hempen cord. Faither, if it be your command that I am to marry him, I will an' must marry him ; but, before I just make a venture upon him for better for worse, an' for life, I wad like to hae some sma' acquaintance wi' him, to see what sort o' a lad he is, and what kind o' temper he has; and therefore, faither, I humbly crave that ye will put off the death or the marriage for a week at least, that I may hae an opportunity o' judging for mysel' how far it would be prudent or becoming in me to consent to be his wife." " Gie me your hand, Meg," cried the old knight ; " I didna think ye had as muckle spirit and gumption in ye as to say what ye hae said. But your request is useless ; for he has already, point blank, refused to hae ye ; an' there is naething left for him, but, before sunset, to strike his heels against the bark o' the auld elm tree." " Say not that, faither," said she — " let me at least hae four days to become acquainted wi' him ; and if in that time he doesna mak a request to you to marry me without ony dowry, then will I say that I look even waur than I get the name o' doing." " He shall have four days, Meg," cried the old knight ; " for your sake he will have them ; but if, at the end o four days, he shall refuse to take ye, he shall hang before this window, and his poor half-crazed companion shall bear him company." 22 TALES OP THE BORDERS. With this assurance Agnes, or, as she was called, Meg left her father, and bethought her of how she might save the prisoners and secure a husband. The mother of the laird sat in the midst of her daughters, mourning for him, and looking from the win- dow of the tower, as though, in every form that appeared in the distance, she expected to see him, or at least to gather tidings regarding him, when information was brought to her that he was the prisoner of Murray of Elibank. " Then," cried she, and wept, u the days o' my winsome Willie are numbered, and his death is determined on ; for often has Sir Gideon declared he would gie a' the lands o' Elibank for his head. My Willie is my only son, my first-born, and my heart's hope and treasure ; and, oh, if I lose him now, if I shall never again hear his kindly voice say ' mother J " nor stroke down his yellow hair — wi' him that has made me sonless I shall hae a day o' lang and fearfu' reckoning ; cauld shall be the hearth- stane in the house o' many a Murray, and loud their lamentation." Her daughters wept with her for their brother's fate ; but they wist not how to comfort her; and, while they sat mingling their tears together, it was announced to them that a humble maiden, bearing a message from the cap- tive laird, desired to speak with her. " Show her in ! — take me to her ! " cried the mother, impatiently. " Where is she? — what does she say? — or what does my Willie say ? " And the maiden who has been mentioned as having visited the laird in his prison, was ushered into her presence " Come to me, lassie — come and tell me a'," cried the old lady; "what message does Willie Scott send to his heart-broken mother? " " He has sent you this bit packet, ma'am," replied the THE WIFE OR THE WL'DDY, 23 bearer ; •' and I shall be right glad to take back to him whatever answer ye may hae to send." 44 And wha are ye, young woman ? " inquired the lady, 14 that speaks sae kindly to a mother, an' takes an interest in the late o* my Willie ? " "A despised lassie," was the reply; "but ane that would risk her ain life to save either yours or his." "Bless you for the words!" replied Lady Scott, as she broke the seal of her son's letter, and read : — 44 My mother, my honoured mother, — Fate has delivered me into the power of Murray of Elibank, the enemy of our house. He has doomed me to death, and I die to-morrow; but sit not down to mourn for me, and uselessly to wring the hands and tear the hair ; but rouse every Scott upon the Borders to rise up and be my avenger. If ye bewail the loss o' a son, let them spare o' the Murrays neither son nor daughter. Rouse ye, and let a mother's vengeance nerve your arm ! Poor Simon o' Yarrow-foot is to be my companion in death, and he whines to meet his fate with the weakness of a woman, and yearns a perpetual yearning for his wife and bairns. On that account I forgie him the want o' heart and determination which he manifests ; but see ye to them, and take care that they be provided for. As for me, I shall meet my doom wi' disdain for my enemy in my eyes and on my tongue. Even in death he shall feel that I despise him; and a proof o' this I have given him already ; for he has offered to save my life, providing I would marry his daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg. But I have scorned his proposal." " Ye were right, Willie! ye were right, lad!" exclaimed his mother, while the letter shook in her hand ; but, sud- denly bursting into tears, she continued — " No, no ! my bairn was wrong — very wrong. Life is precious, and at all times desirable ; and, for his poor mother's sake, he ought to have married the lassie, whate'er she may be like.'' 24 TALES OF THE BORDERS. And, turning to the bearer of the letter, she inquired — « " And what like may the leddy be, the marrying o' whom would save my Willie's life ? " " Ye have nae doubt heard, my leddy," replied the stranger, " that she isna what the world considers to be a likely lass — though, take her as she is, and ye might find a hantle worse wives than poor Meg would make ; and, as to her features, I may say that she looks much the same as I do ; and if she doesna appear better, she at least doesna look ony waur." " Then, if she be as ye say, and look as ye say," con- tinued the lady, "my poor headstrong Willie ought to marry her. But, oh ! weel do I ken that in everything he is just his father ower again, and ye might as weel think o' moving the Eildon hills as force him to ony- thing." She perused the concluding part o' her son's letter, in which he spoke enthusiastically of the kindness shown him by the fair messenger, and of the promise she had made to liberate him if possible. " And if she does," he added, " whatever be her parentage, on the day that I should be free, she should be my wife, though I have preferred death to the hand o' Sir Gideon's comely daughter." " Lassie," said the lady, weeping as she spoke, " my poor Willie talks a deal o' the kindness ye have shown him in the hour o' his distress, and for that kindness his mother's heart thanks ye. But do you not think that it is possible that I could accompany ye to Elibank ? and, if ye can devise no means for him to escape, perhaps, if ye could get me admitted into his presence, when he saw his poor distressed mother upon her knees before him, his heart would saften, and he would marry Sir Gideon's daughter, ill-featured though she may be." " My leddy," answered the stranger maiden, " it is little tbat I can promise, and less that I can do ; but if ye desire THE WIFE OR THE WUDDT. 25 to see yer son, I think I could answer for accomplishing year request; an' though nae guid micht come oot o't, I could also say that I wad see ye safe back again." Within an hour, Lady Scott, disguised as a peasant, and carrying a basket on her arm, set out for Elibank, accom- panied by the fair stranger. Leaving them upon their melancholy journey,- we shall return to the young laird. From the windows of his prison-house, he beheld the sun rise which was to be the last on which he was to look. J* heard the sentinels, who kept watch over him, relieve each other ; he heard them pacing to and fro before the grated door, and as the sun rose towards the south, proclaiming the approach of noon, the agitation of Simon increased. He sat in a cor- ner of the prison, and strove to pray ; and, as the foot- steps of the sentinels quickened, he groaned in the bitter- ness of his spirit. At length the loud booming of the gong announced that the dial-plate upon the turret marked the hour of twelve. Simon clasped his hands together. " Maister ! maister!" he cried, "our hour is come, an' one word from yer lips could save us baith, an' ye winna speak it. The very holding oot o' yer hand could do it, but ye are stubborn even unto death." " Simon," said the laird, " I hae left it as an injunction upon my mother, that yer wife an' weans be provided for — she will fulfil my request. Therefore, be ye content. Die like a man, an' dinna disgrace both yourself an' me." " O sir ! I winna disgrace, or in any manner dishonour ye," said Simon — " only I do not see the smallest necessity for us to die, and especially when both our lives could be saved by yer doing yerself a good turn." While he spoke, the sound of the sentinels' footsteps, pacing to and fro, ceased. The prison-door was opes?d ; Simon fell upon his knees — the laird looked towards the »«irud«r proudly. 26 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Your lives are spared for another day," said a voice, n that the laird o' Harden may have time to reflect upon the proposal that has been made to him. But let him not hope that he •will find mercy upon other terms; or that, refusing them for another day, his life will be pro- longed." The door was again closed, and the bolts were drawn. The spirit of Sir Gideon was too proud and impatient to spare the lives of his prisoners for four days, as he had promised to his daughter to do, and he now resolved that they should die upon the following day. The sun had again set, and the dim lamp shed around its fitful and shadowy lights from the table of the prison- room, when the maiden, who had carried the letter to the laird's mother, again entered. " This is kind, very kind, gentle maiden," said he ; u would that I could reward ye ! An' hoo fares it with my puir mother ? — what answer does she send ? " " An' oh, ma'am, or mistress ! " cried Simon, " hoo fares it wi 1 my dear wife an' bairns ? I hope ye told them all that I desired ye to say. Hoo did she bear the news o' being made a widow? An' what did she say to my in- iunction that she was never to marry again ? " " Ye talk wildly, man," said the maiden, addressing iSitJon ; it wasna in my power to carry yer commands to yer wife ; but, I trust, it will be longer than ye expect before she will be a widow, or hae it in her power to marry again ? " " ye angel! ye perfect picture!" cried Simon, " what is that which I hear ye say ? Do ye really mean to tell me that I stand a chance o' being saved, an' that I shall 6ee my wife an' bairns again ? " " Even so," said she ; " but whether ye do or do not, rests with yer master." "Speak not o' that, sweet maiden," said the laird: THE WIFE OR THE WUDDT. 27 " but tell me, what says my mother ? How does she beai the fate o' her son ; an' hoo does she promise to avenge my death?" " She is as one whose heart-strings are torn asunder," was the reply, " and who refuses to be comforted ; but she wad rather hae another dochter than lose an only son ; an' her prayer is, that ye will live and mak her happy, by marrying the maiden ye despise." " What ! " he cried, " has even my mother so far forgot herself as to desire me to marry the dochter o' oor enemy, whom no other man could be found to take ! It shall never be. I wad obey her in onything but that." " But," said the maiden, " I still think ye are wrong to reject and despise puir Meg before that ye hae seen her. She may baith be better an' look better than ye are aware o\ There are as guid as Scott o' Harden who hae said, that were it in their power they wad mak her their wife ; an' ye should remember, sir, that it will be as pleasant for you to hear the blithe laverock singing ower yer head, as for another person to hear the wind soughing and the long grass rustling ower yer grave. Ye hae another day to live, an' see her, an' speak to her, before ye decide rashly. Yours is a cruel doom, but Sir Gideon is a wrathfu' man ; an' even for his ain flesh an' bluid he has but sma' com- passion when his anger is provoked. Death, too, is an awfu' thing to think aboot ; an', therefore, for yer ain sake, an' for the sake o' yer puir distressed mother an' sisters, dinna come to a rash determination." " Sweet lass," replied he, " I respect the sympathy which ye evince ; but never shall Sir Gideon Murray say that, in order to save my life, he terrified me into a marriage wi' his daughter. An' when my puir mother's grief has sub- sided, she will think differently o' my decision." " Weel, sir," said the maiden, " since ye will not listen to my advice — an' I own t T *t I hae nae richt to offer it — 28 TALES OF THE BORDERS. I -will send ane to ye whose persuasion will hae mair avail." "Whom will ye send?" inquired the laird; "it isna possible that ye can hae been playing me false ? " " No," she replied, " that isna possible ; an' from her that I will send to you, you will see whether or not I hae kept my word, guid and truly, to fulfil yer message." So saying, she withdrew, leaving him much wondering at her words, and yet more at the interest which she took in his fate. But she had not long withdrawn when the prison door was again opened, and Lady Scott rushed into the arms of her son. " My mother ! " cried he, starting back in ast onishment — " my mother ! — hoo is this?" " Oh, joy an' gladness, an' every blessing be upon my honoured lady ! for noo I may stand some chance o' walkin' back upon my ain feet to see my family. Oh ! yer leddyship," Simon added, "join yer prayers to my prayers, an' try if ye can persuade my maister to marry Sir Gideon's dochter, an' thereby save baith his life an' mine." But she fell upon the neck of her son, and seemed not to hear the words which Simon addressed to her. "O my son! my son!" she cried; "since there is no other way by which yer life can be ransomed, yield to the demand o' the fierce Murray. Marry his daughter an' live — save yer wretched mother's life ; for yer death, Willie, wad be mine also." "Mother!" answered he, vehemently, "I will never accept fife upon such terms. I am in Murray's hands, but the day may come — yea, see ye that it does come — when he shall fall into the hands o' the Scotts o' Harden ; an' see ye that ye do to him as he shall have done to me. But, tell me, mother, hoo are ye here? Wherefore did ye venture, or hoo got ye permission to see me ? Ken ye not THE WIFE OR THE WTJDDY. 29 that if he found ye in his power, upon your life also he wad fix a ransom ? " " The kind lassie," she replied, " that brought the letter from ye, at my request conducted me here, and contrived to get me permission to see ye ; an' she says that my visit shall not come to the knowledge o' Sir Gideon. But, Willie ! as ye love an 1 respect the mother that bore ye, an' that nursed ye nicht an' day at her bosom, dinna throw awa yer life when it is in yer power to save it, but marry Miss Murray, an' ye may live, an' so may I, to see many happy days ; for, from a' that I hae heard, though not weel-favoured, she is a young lady o' an excellent disposi- tion!" " Oh ! that's richt, my leddy," interrupted Simon ; u urge him to marry her, for it would be a dreadfu' thing for him an' I to be gibbeted, as a pair o' perpetual spec- tacles for the Murrays to mak a jest o\ Ye ken if he does marry, an' if he finds he doesna like her, he can leave her; or he needna live wi' her ; or, perhaps, she may soon die ; an' ye will certainly agree that marriage, ony way ye tak it, is to be desired, a thousand times ower, before a violent death. Therefore, urge him again, yer leddyship, for he may listen to what ye say, though he despises my words, an' will not hearken to my advice." " Simon," said the laird, " never shall a Murray hae it in his power to boast that he struck terror into the breast o' a Scott o' Harden. My determination is fixed as fate. I shall welcome my doom, an' meet it as a man. Come, dear mother," he added, "weep not, nor cause me to appear in the presence o' my enemies with a blanched cheek. Hasten to avenge my death, an' think that in yei revenge yer son lives again. Come, though I die, there will be moonlight again." She hung upon his breast and wept, but he turned away his head and refused to listen to her entrea- TALES OF THE BORDERS. ties. The young maiden again entered the prison, and said — " Ye must part noo, for in a few minutes Sir Gideon will be astir, an' should he find yer leddyship here, or dis- cover that I hae brought ye, I wad hae stna' power to gie ye protection." "FareweeL dear mother! — fareweel !" exclaimed the youth, grasping her hand. " O Willie ! Willie ! " she cried, " did I bear ye to see ye come to an end like this ! Bairn ! bairn ! live — for yer mother's sake, live ! " " FareweeL mother ! — fareweel ! " he again cried, and the sentinel conducted her from the apartment. It again drew towards noon. The loud gong again sounded, and Simon sank upon his kees in despair, as the voice of the warder was heard crying — " It is the hour ! prepare the prisoners for execution ! " Again the prison-door was opened, and Sir Gideon, with wrath upon his brow, stood before them. " Weel, youngster," said he, addressing the laird, " yer hour is come. What is yer choice — a wife or the wuddy?" " Lead me to execution, ye auld knave," answered the laird, scornfully ; " an' ken, that wi' the hemp around my neck, in contempt o' you an' yours, I will spit upon the ground where ye tread." " Here, guards ! " cried Sir Gideon ; " lead forth Wil- liam Scott o' Harden to execution. Strap him upon the nearest tree, an' there let him hang until the bauldest Scott upon the Borders dare to cut him down. As for you," added he, addressing Simon, " I seek not your life ; depart, ye are free ; but beware hoo ye again fall into the hands o' Gideon Murray." ,! No, sir!" exclaimed Simon, "though I am free to acknowledge that I hae nae ambition to die before it is the THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY. 31 wise will an' purpose o' nature, yet I winna, I canna leave my dear young maister ; an' if he be to suffer, 1 will share his fate. Only, Sir Gideon, there is ae thing I hae to say, an' that is, that he is young, an' he is proud an' stubborn, like yersel', an' though he will not, o' his ain free wih an' accord, nor in obedience to yer commandments, marry yer dochter — is it not possible to compel him, whether h3 be willing or no, an' so save his life, as it were, in spite o 1 him?" "Away with both!" cried the knight, striking Lis ironed heel upon the ground, and leaving the apartment. " Then, if it is to be, it must be," said Simon, folding his arms in resignation, " an' there is no help for it 1 But, oh, maister ! maister ! ye hae acted foolishly." They were led from the prison-house, and through the court-yard, towards a tall elm-tree, round which all the retainers of Sir Gideon were assembled to witness the exe- cution ; and the old knight took his place upon an elevated seat in the midst of them. The executioners were preparing to perform their office, when Agnes, or Muckle-mouthed Meg, as she was called, came forth, with a deep veil thrown over her face, and sinking on her knee before the old knight, said, implor- ingly — " A boon, dear faither — yer dochter begs a simple boon." " Ye tak an ill season to ask it, Meg," said the knight, angrily ; "but what may it be? " She whispered to him earnestly for a few minutes, during which his countenance exhibited indignation and surprise ; and when she had finished speaking, she again knelt before him and embraced his knees. " Rise, Meg, rise ! " said he, impatiently, " for yer sake, an' at yer request, he shall hae another chance to live." And, approaching the prisoner, he added — " William Scott, ye hae chosen death in preference to the hand o' 32 TALES OF THE BORDERS. my dochter. Will ye noo prefer to die rather than inarrj the lassie that ran wi' the letter to yer mother, an' without my consent brought her to see ye ? " " Had another asked me the question," said the laird, " though I ken not who she is, yet she has a kind heart, and I should hae said 'No,' an' offered her my hand, heart, an' fortune ; but to you, Sir Gideon, I only say- do yer worst" " Then, Willie, my ain Willie ! " cried his mother, who at that moment rushed forward, " another does request ye to marry her, an' that is yer ain mother ! " "An'," said Agnes, stepping forward, and throwing aside the veil that covered her face, "puir Meg, ower whom ye gied a preference to the gallows, also requests ye!" "What!" exclaimed the young laird, grasping her hand, " is the kind lassie that has striven, night and day, to save me — the very Meg that I hae been treating wi' disdain ? " "In troth am I," she replied, "an' do ye prefer the wuddy still ? " "No," answered he; and, turning to Sir Gideon, he added — " Sir, I am now wilhng that the ceremony end in matrimony." " Be it so," said the old knight, and the spectators burst into a shout. The day that began with preparations for death ended in a joyful bridal. The honour of knighthood was after- wards conferred upon the laird ; and Meg bore unto him many sons and daughters, and was, as the reader will be ready to believe one of the best wives in Scotland ; while Simon declared that he never saw a better-looking woman in Ettrick Forest, his own wife and daughters not ex- cepted. LORD DUR1E AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. Who can journey, now-a-days, along the high parts of Selkirkshire, and hear the mire-snipe whistle in the morass, proclaiming itself, in the silence around, the unmolested occupant of the waste, or descend into the green valley, and see the lazy shepherd lying folded up in his plaid, while his flocks graze in peace around him and in the distance, and not think of the bold spirits that, in the times of Border warfare, sounded the war-horn till it rang in reverberating echoes from hill to hill? The land of the Armstrongs knows no longer their kindred. The hills, ravines, mosses, and muirs, that, only a few centuries ago, were animated by the boldest spirits that ever sounded a war-cry, and defended to the death by men whose swords were their only charters of right, have passed into other hands, and the names of the warlike holders serve now only to give a grim charm to a Border ballad. An extraordinary lesson may be read on the banks of the Liddel and the Esk — there is a strange eloquence in the silence of these quiet dales. Stand for a while among the graves of the chief of Gil- nockie and his fifty followers, in the lonely churchyard of Carlenrig — cast a contemplative eye on the roofless tower of that brave riever, then glance at the gorgeous policies of Bowhill, and resist, if you can, the deep sigh that rises as a tribute to the memories of men who, having, by their sleepless spirits, kept a kingdom in commotion, died on the gallows, and left no generation to claim their lands from those who, with less bravery and no better sense 'of right, had the subtle policy to rise on their ruins. Poorly, in- deed, now sound the names of Johnny Armstrong, Sim of Whittram, Sim of the Cathill, Kinmont Willie, or Christie's vol. n. B Si TALES OF THE BORDERS. Will, besides those of Dukes of Buccleuch and Roxburgh, Scott of Harden, and Elliot of Stobbs and Wells ; and yet, without wishing to take away the merit or the extent of their ancestors' own " reif and felonie," how much do they owe to their succession to the ill-got gear of those hardy Borderers whose names and scarcely credible achievements are all that have escaped the rapacity that, not satisfied with their lands, took also their lives! For smaller depre dations, the old laws of the Border— and it would not be fair to exclude those of the present day, not confined to that locality — awarded a halter; for thefts of a larger kind, they gave a title. Old Wat of Buccleuch deserved the honour of " the neck garter " just as much as poor Johnny Armstrong ; yet all he got was a reproof and a dukedom. " Then up and spake the noble king — And an angry man, I trow, was lie — 'It ill becomes ye, bauld Bucclew, To talk o' reif or felonie ; For, if every man had his ain cow, A right puir clan yer name would be.' " There is a change now. The bones of the bold Armstrongs lie in Carlenrig, and the descendants of their brother- rievers who got their lands sit in high places, and speak words of legislative command. But these things will be as they have ever been. We cannot change the world, far less remake it ; but we can resuscitate a part of its moral wonders ; and, while the property of Christie's Will, the last of the bold Armstrongs, is now possessed by another family, under a written title, we will do well to commit to record a part of his fame. It is well known that the chief of the family of Arm- strongs had his residence* at Mangerton in Liddesdale. * In a MS. we have seen, as old as the end of the 15th century, " the Laird of Mangerton" is placed at the head of the Liddesdale chiefs— Harden, Buccleuch, and others eomincr after him i»* -<»spoctful order. LORD DUR1E AND CHRISTIES WILL. 35 There is scarcely now any trace of his tower, though time has not exerted so cruel a hand against his brother Johnny Armstrong's residence, which lies in the Hollows near Langholme. We know no tumult of the emotions of what may be called antiquarian sentiment, so engrossing and curious as that produced by the headless skeleton of "auld Gilnockie's Tower," as it is seen in the grey gloaming, with a breeze brattling through its dry ribs, and a stray owl sitting on the top, and sending his eldritch screigh through the deserted hollows. The mind becomes busy on the instant with the former scenes of festivity, when "their stolen gear," "baith nolt and sheep," and "flesh, and bread, and ale," as Maitland says, were eaten and drunk with the kitchen of a Cheviot hunger, and the sweetness of stolen things ; and when the wild spirit of the daring out- laws, with Johnny at their head, made the old tower of the Armstrongs ring with their wassail shouts. This Border turret came — after the execution of Johnny Arm- strong, and when the clan had become what was called a broken clan — into the possession of William Armstrong, who figured in the times of Charles I. He was called Christie's Will, though from what reason does not now seem very clear ; neither is it at all evident why, after the execution of his forbear, Johnny, and his fifty followers, at Carlenrig, the Tower of Gilnockie was not forfeited to the crown, and taken from the rebellious clan alto- gether ; but, to be sure it was in those days more easy to take a man's life than his property, insomuch as the for- mer needed no guard, while the other would have required a small standing army to keep it and the new proprietor together. Certain, however, it is, that Christie's Will did get possession of the Tower of Gilnockie, where, according to the practice of the family, he lived "on Scottish ground and English kye;" and, when the latter could not easily be had, on the poorer land of his neighbours of Scotland. 86 TALES OP THE BORDERS. This descendant of the Armstrongs was not unlike Johnny ; and, indeed, it has been observed that through- out the whole branches of the family there was an extra- ordinary union of boldness and humour — two qualities which have more connection than may, at first view, be apparent. Law-breakers, among themselves, are seldom serious ; a lightness of heart and a turn for wit being necessary for the sustenance of their outlawed spirits, as well as for a quaint justification — resorted to by all the tribe — of their calling, against the laws of the land. In the possession of these qualities, Will was not behind the most illustrious of his race ; but he, perhaps, excelled them all in the art of " conveying " — a polite, term then used for that change of ownership which the affected laws of the time denominated theft. This art was not confined to cattle or plenishing, though " They left not spindelL, spoone, nor speit, Bed, boster, blanket, sark, nor sheet: John of the Park ryps kist and ark — To all sic wark he is sae meet."* It extended to abduction, and this was far seldomer exer- cised on damsels than on men, who would be well ransomed, especially of those classes, duke, earl, or baron, any of whom Johnny offered (for his life) to bring, "within a certain day, to his Majesty James V., either quick or dead." This latter part of their art was the highest to which the Borderers aspired ; and there never was a riever among them all that excelled in it so much as Christie'? Will. " To steal a stirk, or wear a score o' sheep hame- wards" he used to say, " was naething ; but to steal a lord was the highest flicht o' a man's genius, and ought never to be lippened to a hand less than an Armstrong's ; " and, certainly, if the success with which he executed one * See Maitland's curious satire on the Border robberies.— Ed, LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 37 scheme of that high kind will guarantee Will's boasted abilities, he did not transcend the truth in limiting lord- stealing to the Armstrongs. Will married a distant relation of the true Border breed, named Margaret Elliot — a lass whose ideas of hussyskep were so peculiar, that she thought Gilnockie and its laird were going to ruin when she saw in the kail-pot a "heugh bane" of their own cattle, a symptom of waste, extrava- gance, and laziness, on the part of her husband, that boded less good than the offer made by "the Laird's Jock," (Johnny Armstrong's henchman,) to give " Dick o' the Cow " a piece of his own ox, which he came to ask repara- tion for, and, not having got it, tied with St. Mary's knot (hamstringed) thirty good horses. To this good house- wife, in fact, might be traced, if antiquaries would re- nounce for it less important investigations, the old saying, that stolen joys (qu. queys ?) are sweetest, undoubtedly a Border aphorism, and now received into the society of legitimate moral sayings. When lazy and not inclined for " felonie," Will would not subscribe to the truth of the dictum, and often got for grace to the dinner he had not taken from the English, and yet relished, the wish of the good dame, that, for his want of spirit, it might choke him. That effect, however, was more likely to be produced by the beef got in the regular Border way ; for the laws were beginning now to be more vigorously executed, and many a riever was astonished and offended by the proceedings of the Justice- Ayr at Jedburgh, where they were actually going the length of hanging for the crime of conveying cattle from one property to another. It was in vain that Will told his wife these proceedings of the Jedburgh court ; she knew very well that many of the Armstrongs, and the famous Johnny among the rest, had been strung up, by the command of their king, for rebellion against his authority ; b"t it was out of all ques- 38 TALES OF THE BORDERS. tion, beyond the reach of common sense, and, indeed, utterly barbarous and unjust to hang a man, as Gilderoy's lover said, " for gear," a thing that never yet was known to be stationary, but, even from the times of the Old Testament, given to taking to itself wings and flying away. It was, besides, against the oldest constitution of things, the old possessors being the Tories, who acted upon the comely principle already alluded to, that right was might — the new lairds, again, being the Whigs, who wished to take from the Tories (the freebooters) the good old law of nature and possession, and regulate property by the mere conceits of men's brains. To some such purpose did Margaret argue against Will's allusions to the doings at Jedburgh; but, secretly, Will cared no more for the threat of a rope, than he did for the empty bravado of a neighbour whom he Lad eased of a score of cattle. He merely brought in the doings of the Justice- Ayr at Jedburgh, to screen his fits of laziness ; those states of the mind common to rievers, thieves, writers, and poets, and generally all people who live upon their wits, which at times incapacitate them for using sword or pen for their honest livelihood. But all Margaret's arguments and Will's courage were on one occa- sion overturned, by the riever's apprehension for stealing a cow, belonging to a farmer at Stobbs, of the name of Grant. He was carried to Jedburgh jail, and indicted to stand his trial before the Lord Justice-General at the next circuit. There was a determination, on the part of the crown authorities, to make an example of the most inveterate riever of the time, and Will stood a very fair chance of being hanged. The apprehension of Will Armstrong made a great noise throughout all Liddesdale, producing, to the class of vic- tims, joy, and to the class of spoilers, great dismay ; but none wondered more at the impertinence and presumption of the government authorities in attempting thus to dislo- LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 39 cate the old Tory principle of " might makes right," than Margaret Elliot ; who, as she sat in her turret of Gilnockie, alternately wept and cursed for the fate of her " winsome Will," and, no doubt, there was in the projected condem- nation and execution of a man six feet five inches high, with a face like an Adonis, shoulders like a Milo, the speed of Mercury, the boldness of a Hon, and more than the generosity of that noble animal, for the crime of stealing a stirk, something that was very apt to rouse, even in those who loved him not so well as did Margaret, feelings of sympathy for his fate, and indignation against his oppres- sors. There was no keeping, as the artists say, in the picture, no proper causality in a stolen cow, for the pro- duction of such an effect as a hanged Phaon or strangled Hercules ; and though we have used some classic names to grace our idea, the very same thought, at least as good a one, though perhaps not so gaudily clothed, occupied the mind of Margaret Elliot. She sobbed and cried bitterly, till the Gilnockie ravens and owls, kindred spirits, were terrified from the riever's tower. " What is this o't • " she exclaimed, in the midst of her tears. " Shall Christie's Will, the bravest man o' the Borders, be hanged because a cow, that kenned nae better, followed him frae Stobbs to the Hollows ; and shall it be said that Margaret Elliot was the death o' her braw riever? I had meat enough in Gilnockie larder that day I scorned him wi' his laziness, and forced him to do the deed that has brought him to Jedburgh jail. But I'll awa to the warden, James Stewart o' Traquair, and see if it be the king's high will that a man's life should be ta'en for a cow's." Making good her resolution, Margaret threw her plaid about her shoulders, and hied her away to Traquair House, the same that still stands on the margin of the Tweed, and raises its high white walls, perforated by numerous Flemish- 40 TALES OP THE BORDERS. shaped windows, among the dark woods of Traquair. When she came to the front of the house, and saw the two stone figures stationed at the old gate, she paused and wondered at the weakness and effeminacy of the Lord High Steward in endeavouring to defend his castle by fearful representations of animals. " My faith," muttered she to herself, as she approached to request entrance, " the warden was righi in no makin' choice o' the figure o' a quey to defend his castle." And she could scarcely resist a chuckle in the midst of her tears, at her reference to the cause of her visit. " Is my Lord Steward at hame ?" said she to the servant who answered her call. "Yes," answered the man; "who is it that wishes to see him ? " "The mistress o' Gilnockie," rejoined Margaret, "has come to seek a guid word for Christie's Will, who now lies in Jedburgh jail for stealing a tether, and I fear may hang fort" The servant heard this extraordinary message as servants who presume to judge of the sense of their messages ever do, with critical attention, and, after serious consideration, declared that he could not deliver such a message to his lord. "I dinna want ye to deliver my message, man," said Margaret. "I merely wished to be polite to ye, and show ye a little attention. God be thankit, the mistress o' Gil- nockie can deliver her ain errand." And, pushing the waiting man aside by a sudden jerk of her brawnie arm, she proceeded calmly forward to a door, which she intended to open ; but the servant was at her heels, and, laying hold of her plaid, was in the act of hauling her back, when the Warden himself came out, and asked the cause of the affray. "Is the house yours, my Lord, or this man's?" said LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 41 Margaret "Take my advice, my Lord," (whispering in his ear,) "turn him aff — he's a traitor; would you believe it, my Lord, that, though placed there for the purpose o' lettin' folk into yer Lordship, he actually — ay, as sure as death — tried to keep me oot! Can ye deny it, sir? Look i' my face, and deny it if ye daur!" The man smiled, and his Lordship laughed; and Margaret wondered at the easy good-nature of a Lord in forgiving such a heinous offence on the part of a servitor. "If ye're as kind to me as ye are to that rebel," con- tinued Margaret, as she followed his Lordship into his sitting chamber, "Christie's Will winna hang yet." "What mean you, good woman?" said the Warden. -'What is it that you want?" " As if your Lordship didna ken," answered Margaret, with a knowing look. "Is it likely that a Liddesdale woman frae the Hollows, should ca' upon the great Warden for aught short o' the life and safety o' the man wha's in •Jedburgh jail?" (Another Scotch wink.) "I am still at a loss, good woman," said the Warden. "At a loss !" rejoined Margaret. " What ! doesna a' the Forest,* and Teviotdale and Tweeddale to boot, ken that Christie's Will is in Jedburgh jail ?" "I know, I know, good dame," replied the Warden, "that that brave riever is in prison; but I thought his crime was the stealing of a cow, and not a tether, as I heard you say to my servant." "Weel, weel — the cow may have been at the end o' the tether," replied Margaret. "She is a wise woman who concealeth the eoctremity of her husband's crime," replied Lord Traquair, with a smile, "But what wouldst thou have me to do?" "Just to save Christie's Will frae the gallows, my Lord," answered Margaret. And, going up close to his Lordship, • Selkirkshire. 42 TALES OP THE BORDERS. and whispering in his ear — " And sometimes a Lord needs a lift as weel as ither folk. If there's nae buck on Traquair when your Lordship has company at the castle, you hae only to gie Christie's Will a nod, and there will be nae want o' venison here for a month. There's no a stouthriever in a' Liddesdale, be he baron or bondsman, knight or knave, but Christie's "Will will bring to you at your Lord- ship's bidding, and a week's biding ; and if there's ony want o' a braw leddie," (speaking low,) "to keep the bonny house o' Traquair in order, an' she canna be got for a carlin keeper, a wink to Christie's Will will bring her here, unscathed by sun or wind, in suner time than a priest could tie the knot, or a lawyer loose it. Is sic a man a meet burden for a fir wuddy, my Lord ?" "By my faith, your husband hath good properties about him," replied Traquair. "There is not one in these parts that knoweth not Christie's Will ; but I fear it is to that fame he oweth his danger. He is the last of the old Armstrongs ; and there is a saying hereaway, that 'Comes Liddesdale's peace When Armstrongs cease;' and since, good dame, it would ill become the King's Warden to let slip the noose that is to catch peace and order for our march territories, yet Will is too noble a fellow for hanging. Go thy ways. I'll see him — I'll see him." "Hech na, my Lord," answered Margaret; "I'll no budge frae this house till ye say ye'll save him this ance. I'll be caution and surety for him mysel,' that he'll never again dine in Gilnockie on another man's surloins. His clan has been lang a broken ane ; but I am now the head o't, and it has aye been the practice in our country to make the head answer for the rest o' the body." " Well, that is the practice of the hangman at Jedburgh," replied Traquair, laughing. "But go thy ways. Will LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 43 shall not hang yet. He hath a job to do for me. There's a ' lurdon ' * of the north he must steal for me. I'll take thy bond." "Gie me your hand then, my Lord," said the deter- mined dame; "and the richest lurdon o' the land he'll bring to your Lordship, as surely as he ever took a Cum- berland cow — whilk, as your Lordship kens, is nae riev- ing." Traquair gave the good dame his hand, and she departed, wondering, as she went, what the Lord Warden was to do with a stolen lurdon. A young damsel might have been a fair prize for the handsome baron ; but an " auld wife," as she muttered to herself, was the most extraordinary object of rieving she had ever heard of, amidst all the varieties of a Borderer's prey. Next day Traquair mounted his horse, and — "Traquair has riden up Chaplehope, An' sae has he doun by the Grey-Mare's-Tail ; He never stinted the light gallop, Until he speered for Christie's Will." Having arrived at .Jedburgh, he repaired direct to the jail, where Margaret had been before him, to inform her husband that the great Lord Warden was to visit him, and get him released ; but upon the condition of stealing away a lurdon in the north— a performance, the singularity of which was much greater than the apparent difficulty, unless, indeed, as Will said, she was a bedridden lurdon, in which case, it would be no easy matter to get her con- veyed, as horses were the only carriers of stolen goods in those days. But the wonder why Traquair should wish to steal away an old woman had perplexed the wits of Will and his wife to such an extent, that they had recourse to • It has been attempted to derive this word from "Lord," (paper lord); but we have no faith in the etymology; it was, however, often applied to the wigged and gowned judges, as being, in their appearance, more like women than men — fol "lurdon," though applied to a male, is generally used for a lazy woman.— Ed. 44 " TALES OP THE BORDERS. the most extraordinary hypotheses ; supposing at one time that she was some coy heiress of seventy summers, who had determined to be carried off after the form of young damsels in the times of chivalry; at another, that she was the parent of some lord, who could only be brought to concede something to the Warden by the force of the im- pledgment of his mother ; and, again, that she was the duenna of an heiress, who could only be got through the confinement of the old hag. Be who she might, however, Christie's Will declared, upon the faith of the long shablas of Johnny Armstrong, that he would carry her off through fire and water, as sure as ever Kinmont Willie was carried away by old Wat of Buccleuch from the Castle of Carlisle. " Oh, was it war- wolf in the wood, Or was it mermaid in the sea, Or was it maid or lurdon auld, He'd cany an' hring her bodilie." Such was the heroic determination to which Christie's Will had come, when the jailor came and whispered in his ear, that the Lord Warden was in the passage on the way to see him. Starting to his feet, the riever was prepared to meet the baron, of whom he generally stood in so much awe in his old tower of Gilnockie, but who came to him now on a visit of peace. " Thou'lt hang, Will, this time," said the Warden, with an affectation of gruffness, as he stepped forward. " It is not in the power of man to save ye !" "Begging yer Lordship's pardon," replied Will, "I be- lieve it, however, to be in the power o' a woman. The auld lurdon will be in Gilnockie tower at yer Lordship's ain time." "And who is the 'auld lurdon?'" replied the Warden, trying to repress a laugh, which forced its way in spite of his efforts. " Margaret couldna tell me that," said Will ; " but many LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 45 a speculation we had on the question yer Lordship has now put to me. ' Wha can she be ?' said Peggy ; and ' Wha can she be ?' replied I ; but it's for yer Lordship to say wha she ts, and for me to steal the auld limmer awa, as sure as ever I conveyed an auld milker frae the land o' the Nevills. I'm nae sooner free than she's a prisoner." The familiarity with which Will spoke of the female personage thus destined to durance vile, produced another laugh on the part of the Warden, not altogther consistent, as Will thought, with the serious nature of the subject in hand. "Where is she, my Loid?" continued Will; "in what fortress ? — wha is her keeper ? — whar will I tak her, and how long retain her a prisoner ?" " I fear, Will, she is beyond the power o' mortal," said his Lordship, in a serious voice ; " but on condition of thy making a fair trial, I will make intercession for thy life, and take the chance of thy success. Much hangeth by the enterprise — ay, even all my barony of Coberston depend- eth upon that 'lurdon' being retained three months in a quiet corner of Gramme's Tower. Thou knowest the place ?" "Ay, weel, weel," replied Will, who began to see the great importance of the enterprise, while his curiosity to know who the object was had considerably increased. " That tower has its ' redcap sly.' E'en Lord Soulis' Hermitage is no better guarded. Ance there, and awa wi' care, as we say o' Gilnockie as a rendezvous for strayed steers. But who is she, my Lord ?" "Thou hast thyself said she is a woman," replied the Warden, smiling, " and I correct thee not. Hast thou ever heard, Will, of fifteen old women — ' lurdons,' as the good people call them — that reside in a large house in the Par- liament close of Edinburgh ?" "Brawly, brawly," answered Will, with a particular 46 TALES OF THE BORDERS. leer of fan and intelligence ; " and weel may I ken the limmers — real lurdons, wi' lang gowns and curches. Ken them ! Wha that has a character to lose, or a property to keep against the claims o' auld parchment, doesna ken thae fifteen auld runts ? They keep the hail country side in a steer wi' their scandal. Nae man's character is safe in their keeping ; and they're sae fu' o' mischief that they hae even blawn into the king's lug that my tower o' Gilnockie was escheat to the king by the death o' my ancestor, who was hanged at Carlenrig. They say a' the mischief that has come on the Borders sin' the guid auld times, has its beginning in that coterie o' weazened gimmers. Dootless, they're at the root o' the danger o' yer bonny barony o' Coberston. By the rood ! I wish I had a dash at their big curches." " Ay, Will," responded Traquair ; " but they're securely lodged in their strong Parliament House, and the difficulty is how to get at them." " But I fancy ane o' the lurdons will satisfy yer Lord- ship," said Will, " or do ye want them a' lodged in Graeme's Tower? They would mak a bonny nest o' screighing hoolets, if we had them safely under the care o' the sly iedcap o' that auld keep: they wad hatch something else than scandal, and leasin-makin, and reports o' the insta- bility o' Border rights, the auld jauds." "I will be content with one of them," rejoined the Warden. " Ha ! ha ! I see, I see," replied Will. " Ane o' the limmers has been sapping and undermining Coberston wi' her hellish scandal. What's the lurdon's name, my Lord?" " Gibson of Durie," rejoined Traquair. " Ah ! a weel-kenned scandalous runt that," replied Will. "She's the auldest o' the hail fifteen, if I'm no cheated — Leddie President o' the coterie. She spak sair LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 47 against me when the King's advocate claimed for his Majesty my auld turret o' Gilnockie. I owe that quean an auld score. How lang do you want her lodged in Gramme's Tower ? " " Three months would maybe change her tongue," replied the Warden ; " but the enterprise seems desperate, Will." "Desperate! my Lord," replied the other — "that word's no kenned on the Borders. Is it the doing o't, or the dool for the doing o't, that has the desperation in't ? " " The consequences to you would be great, Will," said Traquair. " You are confined here for stealing a cow, and would be hanged for it if I did not save ye. Our laws are equal and humane. For stealing a cow one may be hanged ; but there's no such law against stealing a paper- lord." " That shows the guid sense o' our lawgivers,'' replied Will, with a leer on his face. " The legislator has wisely weighed the merits o' the twa craturs ; yet, were it no for your case, my Lord, I could wish the law reversed. I wad be in nae hurry stealing ane o' thae cummers, at least for my ain use ; and, as for Peggy, she would rather see a cow at Gilnockie ony day." " Weel, Will," said his Lordship, " I do not ask thee to steal for me old Leddie Gibson. I dare not. You under- stand me; but I am to save your life; and I tell thee that, if that big-wigged personage be not, within ten days, safely lodged in Grime's Tower, my lands of Coberston will find a new proprietor, and your benefactor will M made a lordly beggar." " Fear not, my Lord," replied Will. " Tm nae suner out than she's in. She'll no say a word against Coberston for the next three months, I warrant ye. But, by my faith, it's as teuch a job as boilin' auld Soulis in the caul- dron at the Skelfhill ; and I hae nae black spae-book like 48 TALES OF THE BORDERS. Thomas to help my spell. Yet, after a', my Lord, what spell is like the wit o' man, when he has courage to act up to't !" The Warden acknowledged the truth of Will's heroic sentiment ; and, having satisfied himself that the bold riever would perform his promise, he departed, and in two days afterwards the prisoner was liberated, and on his way to his residence at the Hollows. It was apparent, from Will's part of the dialogue, that he had some knowledge of the object the Lord Warden had in view in carrying off a Lord of Session from the middle of the capital ; yet it is doubtful if he troubled himself with more than the fact of its being the wish of his benefactor that the learned judge should be for a time confined in Graeme's Tower; and, conforming to a private hint of his Lordship before he de- parted from the jail, he kept up in his wife Margaret's mind the delusiop that it was truly "an auld lurdon" whom he was to steal, as a condition for getting out of prison. On the morning after his arrival at Gilnockie, Will held a consultation with two tried friends, whose assist- ance he required in this most extraordinary of all the riev- ing expeditions he had ever yet been engaged in ; and the result of their long sederunt was, that, within two hours after ? the three were mounted on as many prancing Galloways, and with a fourth led by a bridle, and carrying their pro- visions, a large cloak, and some other articles. They took the least frequented road to the metropolis of Scotland. Having arrived there, they put up their horses at a small hostelry in the Grassmarket ; and, next day, Will, leaving his friends at the inn, repaired to that seat of the law and learning of Scotland, where the "hail fifteen" sat in grim array, munching, with their toothless jaws, the thousand scraps of Latin law-maxims (borrowed from the Roman and feudal systems) which then ruled the principles of judicial proceedings in Scotland. LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 49 Planting himself in one of the litigants' benches — a line of seats in front of the semicircle where the fifteen Lords sat — the Liddesdale riever took a careful survey of all the wonders of that old laboratory of law. The first objects that attracted his attention, were, of course, the imposing semicircular line of judges, no fewer than fifteen (almost sufficient for a small standing army for puny Scotland in those days), who, wigged and robed, sat and nodded and grinned, and munched their chops in each other's faces, with a most extraordinary regularity of mummery, which yielded great amusement to the stalworth riever of the Borders. Their appearance in the long gowns, with sleeves down to the hands, wigs whose lappets fell on their breasts, displaying many a fine of crucified curl, and white cambric cravats falling from below their gaucy double- chins on their bosoms, suggested at once the appellation of lurdons, often applied to them in those days, and now vivid in the fancy of the staring Borderer, whose wild and lawless life was so strangely contrasted with that of the drowsy, effeminate-looking individuals who sat before him. He understood very little of their movements, which had all the regularity and ceremony of a raree-show. One individual (the macer) cried out, at intervals, with a cracked voice, some words he could not understand ; but the moment the sound had rung through the raftered hall, another species of wigged and robed individuals (advocates) came forward, and spoke a strange mixture of English and Latin, which Will could not follow; and, when they had finished, the whole fifteen looked at each other, and then began, one after another, but often two or three at a time, to speak, and nod, and shake their wigs, as if they had been set agoing by some winding-up pro- cess on the part of the advocates. Not one word of all this did Will understand ; and, indeed, he cared nothing for such mummery, but ever and anon fixed his keen eye b 2 50 TALES OF TITF BORDERS. on the face of the middle senator, with an expression that certainly never could have conveyed the intelligence that that rough country-looking individual meditated such a thing as an abduction of the huge incorporation of law that sat there in so much state and solidity. "Hal ha! my old lass," said Will to himself; "ye little ken that the Laird o' Gilnockie, whom ye tried to deprive of his birthright, sits afore ye ; and will a' the lear 'neath that big wig tell ye that that same Laird o' Gilnockie sits here contriving a plan to run awa wi' ye? Faith, an' it's a bauld project; but the baulder the bonnier, as we say in Liddesdale. I only wish I could tak her wig and gown wi' her — for, if the lurdon were seen looking out o' Graeme's Tower, wi' that lang lappet head-gear, there would be nae need o' watch or ward to keep her there." Will had scarcely finished his monologue, when he heard the macer cry out, "Maxwell against Lord Traquair;" then came forward the advocates, and shook their wigs over the bar, and at length old Durie, the President, said, in words that did not escape Will's vigilant ear — " This case, I believe, involves the right to the large barony of Coberston. Seven of my brethren, you are aware, have given their opinions in favour of the defend- ant, Lord Traquair, and seven have declared for the pursuer, Maxwell. My casting vote must, therefore, de- cide the case, and I have been very anxious to bring my mind to a conclusion on the subject, with as little delay as possible ; but there are difficulties which I have not yet been able to surmount.") "Ay, and there's a new ane here, sittin' afore ye," muttered Will, " maybe the warst o' them a'." " I still require some new lights," continued the judge. "I have already, as the case proceeded, partially announced an opinion against Lord Traquair ; but I wish confirma- tion before I pronounce a judgment that is to have the LORD DURIK AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 51 effect of turning one out of possession of a large barony. I am sorry that my learned friends at the bar have not been able to relieve me of my scruples." " Stupid rules," muttered Will ; " but I'll relieve ye, my Lord Durie. It'll ne'er be said that a Lord o' Session stood in need o' relief, and a Border riever in the court, wha has a hundred times made the doubtin' stirk tak ae road (maybe Gilnockie-ways) in preference to anither." The Traquair case being the last called that day, the court broke up, and the judges, followed still by the eye of Christie's Will, retired into the robing-room to take off their wigs and gowns. The Borderer now inquired, in a very simple manner, at a macer, at what door the judges came out of the court, as he was a countryman, and was curious to see their Lordships dressed in their usual every- day clothes. The request was complied with ; and Will, as a stupid gazing man from the Highlands, who wished to get an inane curiosity gratified by what had nothing curious in it, was placed in a convenient place to see the Solomons pass forth on their way to their respective dwell- ings. They soon came ; and Will's lynx eye caught, in a moment, the face of the President, whom, to his great satisfaction, he now found to be a thin, spare, portable individual, and very far from the unwieldy personage which his judge's dress made him appear to be when sitting on the bench — a reversing of the riever's thoughts, in reference to the spareness and fatness of his object of seizure, that brought a twinkle to his eye in spite of the serious task in which he was engaged. Forth went the President with great dignity, and Christie's Will behind him, dogging him with the keen scent of a sleuth-hound. To his house in the Canongate he slowly bent his steps, ruminating as he went, in all likelihood, upon the difficul- ties of the Traquair case, from which his followers were so anxious to relieve him. Will saw him ascend the steps 52 TAXES OF THE BORDERS. and enter, and his next object was to ascertain at what time he took his walk, and to what quarter of the suburbs he generally resorted ; but on this point he could not get much satisfaction, the good judge being in his motions somewhat irregular, though (as Will learned) seldom a day passed without his having recourse to the country in some direction or other. Will, therefore, set a watch upon the house. Another of his friends held the horses at the foot of Leith Wynd, while he himself paced between the watchman and the top of the passage, so that he might have both ends of the line always in his eye. A concerted whistle was to regulate their movements. The first day passed without a single glimpse being had of the grave senator, who was probably occupied in the consultation of legal authorities, little conscious of the care that was taken about his precious person by so important an individual as the far-famed Christie's Will of Gilnockie. On the second day, about three of the afternoon, and two hours after he had left the Parliament House, a whistle from Will's friend indicated that the grave judge was on the steps of his stair. Will recognised him in an instant, and, despatching his friend to him who held the horses at the foot of the Wynd, with instructions to keep behind him at a distance, he began to follow his victim slowly, and soon saw with delight that he was wending his sena- torial steps down towards Leith. The unconscious judge seemed drowned in study: his eyes were fixed on the ground ; his hands placed behind his back ; and, ever and anon, he twirled a gold-headed cane that hung suspended by a silken string from one of his fingers. Will was cer- tain that he was meditating the fall of Coberston, and the ruin of his benefactor, Traquair ; and, as the thought rose in his mind, the fire of his eye burned brighter, and his resolution mounted higher and higher, till he could even have seized his prey in Leith lane, and carried him LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 55 off amidst the cries of the populace. But his opportunity ■was coming quicker than he supposed. To enable him to get deeper and deeper into his brown study, Durie was clearly bent upon avoiding the common road where pas- sengers put to flight his ideas ; and, turning to the right, went up a narrow lane, and continued to saunter on till he came to that place commonly known by the name of the Figgate Whins. In that sequestered place, where scarcely an individual was seen to pass in an hour, the deep thinking of the cogitative senator might trench the soil of the law of prescription, turn up the principle which regulated tailzies under the second part of the act 1617, and bury Traquair's right to Coberston. No sound but the flutter of a bird, or the moan of the breaking waves of the Frith of Forth, could there interfere with his train of thought. Away he sauntered, ever turning his gold- headed cane, and driving his head farther and farther into the deep hole where, like the ancient philosopher, he ex- pected to find truth. Sometimes he struck his foot against a stone, and started and looked up, as if awakened from a dream ; but he was too intent on his study to take the pains to make a complete turn of his wise head, to see if there was any one behind him. During all this time, a regular course of signals was in progress among Will and his friends who were coming up behind him, the horses being kept far back, in case the sound of their hoofs mijht reach the ear of the day-dreamer. He bad now reaohed the most retired and lonely part of the common, where, at that time, there stood a small clump of trees at a little distance from the whin-road that gave the place its singular name. His study still continued, for his head was still bent, and he looked neither to the right nor to the left. In a single instant, he was muffled up in a large cloak, a hood thrown over his face, and his hands firmly bound by a cord. The operation was that of a moment — finished 54 TALES OF THE BORDEK8. before the prisoner's astonishment had left him power to open his mouth. A whistle brought up the horses ; he was placed on one of them with the same rapidity ; a cord -,vas passed round his loins and bound to the saddle ; and, in a few minutes, the party was in rapid motion to get to the back part of the city.* During all this extraordinary operation, not a single word passed between the three rievers, to whom the proceeding was, in a great degree, perfectly familiar. Through the folds of the hood of the cloak in which the President's head was much more snugly lodged than it ever was in his senatorial wig, he contrived to send forth some muffled sounds, indicating, not unnaturally, a wish to know what was the meaning and object of so extraordi- nary a manoeuvre. At that time, be it understood, the belief in the power of witches was general, and Durie himself had been accessary to the condemnation of many a wise woman who was committed to the flames ; but though he had, to a great extent, emancipated his strong mind from the thraldom of the prevailing prejudice, the mode in which he was now seized — in broad day, in the midst of a legal study, without seeing a single individual (his head being covered first), and without hearing the sound of man's voice — would have been sufficient to bring him back to the general belief, and force the conviction that he was now in the hands of the agents of the Devil. It is, indeed, a fact (afterwards ascertained), that the learned judge did actually conceive that he was now in the power of those he had helped to persecute ; and his fears — bringing up before him the burning tar-barrels, the paid prickers, the roaring crowds, and the expiring victim — completed the delusion, and bound up his ener- gies, till he was speechless and motionless. There was, * This famous abduction was reported by Lord Fountainhall. Ever* circaae trt&nce is literally true. — Ed. LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 55 therefore, no cause of apprehension from the terror-struck prisoner himself; and, as the party scoured along, they told every inquiring passenger on the way (for they were obliged, in some places, to ask the road) that they were carrying an auld lurdon to Dumfries, to be burnt for exercising the power of her art on the innocent inhabitants of that district. It was, therefore, no uncommon thing for Durie to hear himself saluted by all the appellations gene- rally applied to the poor persecuted class to which he was supposed to belong. * &y, awa wi' the auld limmer," cried one, "and see that the barrels are fresh frae Norraway, and weel-lined wi' the bleezing tar." " Be sure and prick her weel," cried another ; " the foul witch may be fireproof. If she winna burn, boil her like Meg Davy at Smithfield, or Shirra Melville on the hill o' Garvock." These cries coming on the ear of the astonished judge, did not altogether agree with his preconceived notions of being committed to the power of the Evil One ; but they tended still farther to confuse him, and he even fancied at times that the vengeance of the populace, which thus rung in his ears, was in the act of being realized, and that he was actually to suffer the punishment he had so often awarded to others. Some expressions wrung from him by his fear, and overheard by the quick ear of Will, gave the latter a clue to the workings of his mind, and he did not fail to see how he might take advantage of it. As night began to fall, they had got far on their way towards Moffat, and, consequently, far out of danger of a pursuit and a rescue. Durie's horse was pricked forward at a speed not inconsistent with his power of keeping the saddle. They stopped at no baiting place, but kept push- ing forward, while the silence was still maintained, or, il it ever was broken, it was to introduce, by interlocutory 56 TALES OF THE BORDERS. snatches of conversation, some reference to the doom which awaited the unhappy judge. The darkness in which he was muffled, the speed of his journey, the sounds and menaces that had met his ear, all co-operating with the original sensations produced by his mysterious seizure, continued to keep alive the terrors he at first felt, to over- turn all the ordinary ideas and feelings of the living world, and to sink him deeper and deeper in the confusion that had overtaken his mind in the midst of his legal reverie at the Figgate Whins. The cavalcade kept its course all next day, and, towards the evening, they approached Gragme's Tower, a dark, melancholy -looking erection, situated on Dryfe "Water, not very distant from the village of Moffat. In a deep cell of this old castle the President of the Court of Session was safely lodged, with no more light than was supplied by a small grating, and with a small supply of meat, only suffi- cient to allay at first the pangs of hunger. Will having thus executed his commission, sat down and wrote on a scrap of paper these expressive words — " The brock's in the pock ! " and sent it with one of his friends to Traquair House. The moment the Earl read the scrawl, he knew that Will had performed his promise, and took a hearty laugh at the extraordinary scheme he had resorted to for gaining his plea. It was not yet, however, his time to commence his proceedings ; but, in a short while after the imprisonment of the President, he set off for Edinburgh, which town he found in a state of wonder and ferment at the mysterious disappearance of the illustrious Durie. Every individual he met had something to say on the subject; but the prevailing opinion was, that the unhappy President had ventured upon that part of the sands near Leith where the incoming tide usually encloses, with great rapidity, large sand-banks, and often overwhelms helpless "^rangers trbo a^ xinacqnainted with the manner in which LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 57 the tide there flows. Numbers of people had exerted themselves in searching all the surrounding parts, and some had traversed the whole coast from Musselburgh to Cramond, in the expectation of finding the body upon the sea-shore. But all was in vain : no President was found ; and a month of vain search and expectation having passed, the original opinion settled down into a conviction that he had been drowned. His wife, Lady Durie, after the first emotions of intense grief, went, with her whole family, into movrning; and young and old lamented the fate of one of the most learned judges and best men that ever sat on the judgment-seat of Scotland. There was nothing now to prevent Traquair from reap- ing the fruits of his enterprise. He pressed hard for a judgment in his case ; and pled that the fourteen judges having been equally divided, he was entitled to a decision in his favour as defender. This plea was not at that time sustained; but a new president having been appointed, who was favourable to his side of the question, the case was again to be brought before the court, and the Earl expected to carry his point, and reap all the benefit of Will's courage and ingenuity. Meantime, the dead-alive President was closely confined in the old tower of Gramme, and had never recovered from the feelings of superstition which held the sovereign power of his mind at the time of his confinement. He never saw the face of man, his food being handed into him by an unseen hand, through a small hole at the foot of the door. The small grating was not situated so as to yield him any prospect ; and the only sounds that greeted his ears were the calls of the shepherds who tended their sheep in the neighbouring moor. Sometimes he heard men's voices calling out " Batty !" and anon a female crying " Maudge!" The former was the name of a shepherd's dog, and the latter was the name of the cat beJ^«edngr to an old womaE TALES OF THE BORDERS. who occupied a small cottage adjoining to the tower. Both the names sounded strangely and ominously in the ears of the President, and sorely did he tax his wits as to what they implied. Every day he heard them, and every time he heard them he meditated more and more as to the species of beings they denominated. Still remaining in the belief that he was in the hands of evil powers, he ima- gined that these strange names, Batty and Maudge, were the earthly titles of the two demons that held the impor- tant authority of watching and tormenting the President of the Court of Session. He had heard these often, and suffered so much from their cruel tyranny, that he became nervous when the ominous sounds struck on his ear, and often (as he himself subsequently admitted) he adjured heaven, in his prayers, to take away Maudge and Batty, and torment him no longer by their infernal agency. " Relieve me, relieve me, from these conjunct and confi- dent spirits, cruel Maudge and inexorable Batty," (he prayed,) " and any other punishment due to my crimes I will willingly bear." Exorcisms in abundance he applied to them, and used many fanciful tricks of demon-expelling agency to free him from their tyranny ; but all to no pur- pose. The names still struck his ear in the silence of his cell, and kept alive the superstitious terror with which he was enslaved. Traquair, meanwhile, pushed hard for a decision, and, at last, after a period of about three months, the famous cause was brought before the court, and the successor of the dead-alive President having given his vote for the de- fender, the wily Warden carried his point, and secured to him and his heirs, in time coming, the fine barony in dis- pute, which, for aught we know to the contrary, is in the family to this day. It now remained for the actors in this strange drama to let free the unhappy Durie, and relieve him from the LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. power of his enemies. The Warden accordingly despatched a messenger to Christie's Will, with the laconic and empha- tic demand — " Let the brock out o' the pock " — a return of Will's own humorous message, which he well understood. Will and his associates accordingly went about the im- portant deliverance in a manner worthy of the dexterity by which the imprisonment had been effected. Having opened the door of his cell, they muffled him up in the same black cloak in which he was enveloped at the Figgate Whins, and leading him to the door, placed him on the back of a swift steed, while they mounted others, with a view to accompany him. Setting off at a swift pace, they made a circuit of the tower in which he had been confined, and continuing the same circuitous route round and round the castle for a period of two or three hours, they stopped at the very door of his cell from which they had started. They then set him down upon the ground, and again mounting their horses, took to their heels, and never halted till they arrived at Gilnockie. On being left alone, Durie proceeded to undo the cords by which the cloak was fastened about his head ; and, for the first time after three months, breathed the fresh air and saw the light of heaven. He had ridden, according to his own calculation, about twenty miles ; and, looking round him, he saw alongside of him the Jower of Gramme, an old castle he had seen many years before, and recol- lected as being famous in antiquarian reminiscence. The place he had been confined in must have been some castle twenty miles distant from Graeme's Tower — a circumstance that would lead him, he thought, to discover the place of his confinement, though he was free to confess that he was utterly ignorant of the direction in which he had travelled. Thankful for his deliverance, he fell on his knees, and poured out a long prayer of gratitude for being thus freed from his enemies ; Batty and Maudge. The distance 60 TALES OF THE BORDERS. he had travelled must have taken him far away from the regions of their influence — the most grateful of all the thoughts that now rose in his wondering mind. No more would these hated names strike his ear with terror and dismay, and no more would he feel the tyranny of their demoniac sway. As these thoughts were passing through his mind a sound struck his ear. " Hey, Batty, lad ! — far yaud, far yaud ! " cried a voice by his side. " God have mercy on me ! here again," ejaculated the president. "Maudge, ye jaud!" cried another voice, from the door of a poor woman's cottage. The terrified president lifted his eyes, and saw a goodly shepherd, with a long staff in his hand, crying to his dog, Batty, to drive his sheep to a distance; and, a little beyond, a poor woman sat at her door, looking for her black cat, that sat on the roof of the cottage, and would not come down for all the energies of her squeaking voice. " What could all this mean ? " now ejaculated Durie. " Have I not been for three months tortured with these sounds, which I attributed to evil spirits ? I have ridden from them twenty miles, and here they are again, in the form of fair honest denominations of living animals. I am in greater perplexity than ever. While I thought them evil spirits, I feared them as such ; but now, God help me, they have taken on the forms of a dog and cat, and this shepherd and this old woman are kindred devils, under whose command they are. What shall I do, whither run lo avoid them, since twenty miles have been to them as a flight in the air ? " " It's a braw morning, sir," said the shepherd. " How far hae ye come this past night ? — for I ken nae habitation near whar ye may hae rested." LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 61 "It's seldom we see strangers hereawa," said the old woman, "at this early hour — will ye come in, sir, and rest ye?" Durie looked first at the one and then at the other, bewildered and speechless. The fair face of nature before him, with the forms of God's creatures, and the sounds of human voices in his ears, were as nothing to recollections and sensations which he could not shake from his mind. He had, for certain, heard these dreadful sounds for three months ; he had ridden twenty miles, and now he heard them again, mixed up with the delusive accompaniments of the enticing speeches of a man and a woman. He would fly, but felt him self unable ; and, standing under the influ- ence of the charm of his own terrors, he continued to look, first at the shepherd and then at the old woman, in wonder and dismay. The people knew as little what to think ot him as he did in regard to them. He looked wild and haggard, his eyes rolled about in his head, his voice was mute ; and the cloak, which he had partially unloosed from his head, hung in strange guise down his back, and flapped in the wind. The old castle had its " red cap," a fact known to both the shepherd and the old woman, who had latterly heard strangr sounds coming from it. Might not Durie be the spirit in another form ? The question was reasonable, and was well answered by the wildly- staring president, who was still under the spell of his terrors. " Avaunt ye ! — avaunt I in the name o T the haly rude o' St. Andrews I " cried the woman, now roused to a state of terror. The same words were repeated by the simple-minded shepherd, and poor Durie's fears were, if possible, in- creased; for it seemed that they were now performing some new incantation, whereby he would be again reduced to their power ; but he was now in the open air, and why 62 TALES OF THE BORDERS. not take advantage of the opportunity of escaping from their thraldom? The moment the idea started in his mind, he threw from him the accursed cloak, and flew away over the moor as fast as his decayed limbs, inspired by terror, would carry him. As he ran, he heard the old tvoman clapping her hands, and crying " Shoo, shoo ! " as if she had been exorcising a winged demon. After run- ning till he was fairly out of the sights and sounds that had produced in him so much terror, he sat down, and took a retrospect of what had occurred to him during the preceding three months ; but he could come to no conclu- sion that could reconcile all the strange things he had experienced with any supposition based on natural powers. It was certain, however, that he was still upon the earth, and it was probable he was now beyond the power of his evil genius. His best plan, therefore, under all the cir- cumstances, was to seek home, and Lady Durie and his loving family, who would doubtless be in a terrible condi- tion on account of his long absence ; and even this idea, pleasant as it was, was qualified by the fear that he might, for aught he knew, have been away, like the laird of Comrie, for many, perhaps a hundred years, and neither Lady Durie, nor friend or acquaintance, would be alive to greet him on his return. Of all this, however, he must now take his chance ; and, rising and journeying forward, he came to a house, where he asked for some refreshment by way of charity ; for he had nothing in the world to pa) for what he required. He was fortunate in getting some relief from the kind woman to whom he had applied, and proceeded to speak to her on various topics with great sense and propriety, as became the ex-President of the Court of Session ; but when, to satisfy his scruples, he asked her the day of the month, then the month of the year, and then the year of the Lord, the good woman was satisfied he was mad ; and, with a look of pity, recom- LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE'S WILL. 63 mended him to proceed on his way, and get home as fast as he could. So on the president went, begging his way from hamlel to hamlet, getting alms from one and news from another, but never gratified with the year of the Lord in which he lived; for, when he put that question, he was uniformly pitied, and allowed to proceed on his way for a madman. He heard, however, several times that President Durie had been drowned in the Frith of Forth, and that a new Presi- dent of the Court of Session had been appointed in his place. Whether his wife was married again or not, he could not learn, and was obliged to wrestle with this and other fears as he still continued his way to the metropolis. At last Edinburgh came in view, and glad was he to see again the cat's head of old St. Arthur's, and the diadem of St. Giles rearing their heights in the distance. Nearer and nearer he approached the place of his home, happi- ness, and dignity ; but, as he came nearer still, he began to feel all the effects of his supposed demise. Several of his old acquaintances stared wildly at him as they passed, and, though he beckoned to them to stand and speak, they hurried on, and seemed either not to recognize him, or to be terrified at him. At last he met Lord F , the judge who had sat for many years next to him on the bench ; and, running up to him, he held out his hand in kindly salutation, grinning, with his long thin jaws and pallid cheeks, a greeting which he scarcely understood himself. By this time it was about the gloaming, and such was the extraordinary effect produced by his sudden appearance and changed cadaverous look, that his old brother of the bench got alarmed, and fairly took to his heels, as if he had seen a spectre. Undaunted, however, he pushed on, and by the time he reached the Canongate it was almost dark. He went direct to his own house, and peeping through the window, saw Lady Durie sitting by 64 TALES OF THE BORDERS. tne fire dressed in weeds, and several of his children around, arrayed in the same style. The sight brought the tears of joy to his eyes, and, forgetting entirely the effect his appearance would produce, he threw open the door, and rushed into the room. A loud scream from the throats of the lady and the children rang through the whole house, and brought up the servants, who screamed in their turn, and some of them fainted, while others ran away; and no one had any idea that the emaciated haggard being before them was other than the grim ghost of Lord President Durie, come from the other world to terrify the good people of this. The confusion, however, soon ceased ; for Durie began to speak softly to them, and, taking his dear lady in his arms, pressed her to his bosom in a way that satisfied her that he was no ghost, but her own lord, who, by some mischance, had been spirited away by some bad angels. The children gradually recovered their confidence, and in a short time joy took the place of fear, and all the neighbourhood was filled with the news that Lord Durie had come alive again, and was in the living body in his own house. Shortly after the good lord sat down by the fire and got his supper, and, by the quantity he ate, satisfied his lady and family still more that he carried a good body, with as fair a capability of reception as he ever exhibited after a walk at the Figgate Whins. He told them all he had undergone since first he was carried away, not forgetting the two spirits, Batty and Maudge, that had tormented him so cruelly during the period of his enchantment. The lady and family stared with open mouths as they heard the dreadful recital ; but a goodly potation of warm spiced wine drove off the vapours produced by the dismal story, and, by-and-by, Lord Durie and his wife retired to bed — the one weary and exhausted with his trials, and the other with her terrors and her joys. RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 65 RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS.* CHAPTER I. " Wear we not graven on our hearts The name of Robert Burns 1" — American Poet. The degrees shorten as we proceed from the higher to the lower latitudes — the years seem to shorten in a much greater ratio as we pass onward through life. We are almost disposed to question whether the brief period of storms and foul weather that floats over us with such dream-like rapidity, and the transient season of flowers and sunshine that seems almost too short for enjoyment, be at all identical with the long summers and still longer winters of our boyhood, when day after day and week after week stretched away in dim perspective, till lost in the obscurity of an almost inconceivable distance. Young as I was, I had already passed the period of life when we wonder how it is that the years should be described as short and fleeting ; and it seemed as if I had stood but yesterday beside the deathbed of the unfortunate Ferguson, though the flowers of four summers and the snows of four winters had now been shed over his grave. My prospects in life had begun to brighten. I served in the capacity of mate in a large West India trader, the master of which, an elderly man of considerable wealth, was on the eve of quitting the sea ; and the owners had already determined that I should succeed him in the charge. But fate had ordered it otherwise. Our seas * Our author, Hugh Miller, never communicated to the Editor his authority for these "Recollections." Probahly it was of the same kind as that possessed by Lucian, Lord Lyttleton, and Walter Savage Lander; hut whether so or net, we must at least be well satisfied that the parts of the conversation sustained by the principal interlocutor are true to the genius and character of Burns, and that however searching the thoughts or beautiful the sentiment*, they do not tran scend what might have been expected from the Bard himself. — Ed. vol. n. q 66 TALES OF THE BORDERS. were infested at this period by American privateers — prime sailors, and strongly armed ; and, when homeward boimd from Jamaica with a valuable cargo, we were attacked and captured when within a day's sailing of Ire- land, by one of the most formidable of the clas3. Vain as> resistance might have been deemed — for the force of the American was altogether overpowering — and though our master, poor old man I and three of the crew, had fallen by the first broadside, we had yet stood stiffly by our guns, and were only overmastered when, after falling foul of the enemy, we were boarded by a party of thrice our strength and number. The Americans, irritated by our resistance, proved on this occasion no generous enemies ; we were stripped and heavily ironed, and, two days after, were set ashore on the wild coast of Connaught, without a single change of dress, or a sixpence to bear us by the way. I was sitting, on the following night, beside the turf fire of a hospitable Irish peasant, when a seafaring man, whom I had sailed with about two years before, entered the cabin. The meeting was equally unexpected on either side. My acquaintance was the master of a smuggling lugger then on the coast ; and on acquainting him with the details of my disaster, and the state of destitution to which it had reduced me, he kindly proposed that I should accompany him on his voyage to the west coast of Scot- land, for which he was then on the eve of sailing. " You will run some little risk," he said, "as the companion of a man who has now been thrice outlawed for firing on his Majesty's flag ; but I know your proud heart will prefer the danger of bad company at its worst, to the alternative of begging your way home." He judged rightly. Before daybreak we had lost sight of land, and in four days more we could discern the precipitous shores of Carrick stretch- ing in a dark line along the horizon, and the hills of the interior rising thin and blue behind, like a volume of RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 67 clouds. A considerable part of our cargo, which consisted mostly of tea and spirits, was consigned to an Ayr trader, who had several agents in the remote parish of Kirkoswald, which at this period afforded more facilities for carrying on the contraband trade than any other on the western coast of Scotland ; and, in a rocky bay of the parish, we proposed unlading on the following night. It was neces- sary, however, that the several agents, who were yet igno- rant of our arrival, should be prepared to meet with us ; and, on volunteering my service for the purpose, I was landed near the ruins of the ancient castle of Turnberry, once the seat of Robert the Bruce. I had accomplished my object ; it was evening, and a party of countrymen were sauntering among the cliffs, waiting for nightfall and the appearance of the lugger. There are splendid caverns on the coast of Kirkoswald ; and, to while away the time, I had descended to the shore by a broken and precipitous path, with a view of explor- ing what are termed the Caves of Colzean, by far the finest in this part of Scotland. The evening was of great beauty ; the sea spread out from the cliffs to the far horizon, like the sea of gold and crystal described by the prophet ; and its warm orange hues so harmonized with those of the sky, that, passing over the dimly-defined line of demarcation, the whole upper and nether expanse seemed but one glori- ous firmament, with the dark Ailsa, like a thunder-cloud, sleeping in the midst. The sun was hastening to his set- ting, and threw his strong red light on the wall of rock which, loftier and more imposing than the walls of even the mighty Babylon, stretched onward along the beach, headland after headland, till the last sank abruptly in the far distance, and only the wide ocean stretched beyond. I passed along the insulated piles of cliff that rise thick along the basis of the precipices — now in sunshim now in shadow — till I reached tb.3 opening of one of the la^st 68 TALES OF THE BORDERS. caves. The roof rose more than fifty feet over my head — ■ a broad stream of light, that seemed redder and more fiery from tb» surrounding gloom, slanted inwards, and, as I paused in the opening, my shadow, lengthened and dark, fell athwart the floor — a slim and narrow bar of black — till lost in the gloom of the inner recess. There was a wild and uncommon beauty in the scene that powerfully affected the imagination ; and I stood admiring it in that delicious dreamy mood in which one can forget all but the present enjoyment, when I was roused to a recollection of the business of the evening by the sound of a footfall echo- ing from within. It seemed approaching by a sort of cross passage in the rock, and, in a moment after, a young man, one of the country people whom I had left among the cliffs above, stood before me. He wore a broad Lowland bon- net, and his plain homely suit of coarse russet seemed to bespeak him a peasant of perhaps the poorest class ; but, as he emerged from the gloom, and the red light fell full on his countenance, I saw an indescribable something in the expression that in an instant awakened my curiosity. He was rather above the middle size, of a frame the most muscular and compact I have almost ever seen, and there was a blended mixture of elasticity and firmness in his tread, that to one accustomed, as I had been, to* estimate the physical capabilities of men, gave evidence of a union of immense personal strength with great activity. My first idea regarding the stranger — and I know not how it should have struck me — was that of a very powerful frame, ani- mated by a double portion of vitality. The red light shone full on his face, and gave a ruddy tinge to the com- plexion, which I afterwards found it wanted — for he wat naturally of a darker hue than common ; but there wa& no mistaking the expression of the large flashing eyes, the features that seemed so thoroughly cast in the mould of thought, and of the broad, full, perpendicular forehead. RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 69 Such, at least, was the Impression on my mind, that I addressed him with more of the courtesy which my earlier pursuits had rendered familiar to me, than of the bluntness of my adopted profession. " This sweet evening," I said, " is by far too fine for our lugger ; I question whether, in these calms, we need expect her before midnight ; but, 'tis well, since wait we must, that 'tis in a place where the hours may pass so agreeably." The stranger, good- humouredly, acquiesced in the remark, and we sat down together on the dry, water-worn pebbles, mixed with fragments of broken shells and minute pieces of wreck, that strewed the opening of the cave. "Was there ever a lovelier evening!" he exclaimed; " the waters above the firmament seem all of a piece with the waters below. And never surely was there a scene of wilder beauty. Only look inwards, and see how the stream of red light seems bounded by the extreme dark- ness, like a river by its banks, and how the reflection of the ripple goes waving in golden curls along the roof!" " I have been admiring the scene for the last half hour," I said ; " Shakspeare speaks of a music that cannot be heard, and I have not yet seen a place where one might better learn to comment on the passage." Both the thought and the phrase seemed new to him. "A music that cannot be heard!" he repeated; and then, after a momentary pause, " you allude to the fact," he continued, " that sweet music, and forms such as these, of silent beauty and grandeur, awaken in the mind emo- tions of nearly the same class. There is something truly exquisite in the concert of to-night." I muttered a simple assent. " See," he continued, " how finely these insulated piles of rock, that rise in so many combinations of form along the beach, break and diversify the red light, and how the 70 TALES OP THE BORDERS. glossy leaves of tlie ivy glisten in the hollows of the pre- cipices above ! And then, how the sea spreads away to the far horizon, a glorious pavement of crimson and gold I — and how the dark Ailsa rises in the midst, like the little cloud seen by the prophet ! The mind seems to enlarge, the heart to expand, in the contemplation of so much of beauty and grandeur. The soul asserts its due supre- macy. And, oh ! 'tis surely well that we can escape from those little cares of life which fetter down our thoughts, our hopes, our wishes, to the wants and the enjoyments of our animal existence ; and that, amid the grand and the sublime of nature, we may learn from the spirit within us that we are better than the beasts that perish!" I looked up to the animated countenance and flashing eyes of my companion, and wondered what sort of a peasant it was I had met with. " Wild and beautiful as the scene is," I said, "you will find, even among those who arrogate to themselves the praise of wisdom and learning, men who regard such scenes as mere errors of nature. Burnet would have told you that a Dutch land- scape, without hill, rock, or valley, must be the perfection of beauty, seeing that Paradise itself could have furnished nothing better." " I hold Milton as higher authority on the subject," said my companion, " than all the philosophers who ever wrote. Beauty, in a tame unvaried flat, where a man would know his country only by the milestones ! A very Dutch Paradise, truly ! " " But woidd not some of your companions above," I asked, " deem the scene as much an error of nature as Burnet himself? They could pass over these stubborn rocks neither plough nor harrow." " True," he replied ; " there is a species of small wisdom in the world that often constitutes the extremest of its folly ; a wisdom that would change the entire nature of RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 71 good, had it but the power, by vainly endeavouring to render that good universal. It would convert the entire earth into one vast corn field, and then find that it had ruined the species by its improvement." " We of Scotland can hardly be ruined in that way for an age to come," I said. " But I am not sure that I understand you. Alter the very nature of good in the attempt to render it universal ! How ?" " I daresay you have seen a graduated scale," said my companion, " exhibiting the various powers of the different musical instruments, and observed how some of limited scope cross only a few of the divisions, and how others stretch nearly from side to. side. Tis but a poor truism, perhaps, to say that similar differences in scope and power obtain among men — that there are minds who could not join in the concert of to-night — who could see neither beauty nor grandeur amid these wild cliffs and caverns, or in that glorious expanse of sea and sky ; and that, on the other hand, there are minds so finely modulated — minds that sweep so broadly across the scale of nature, that there is no object^ however minute, no breath of feeling, how- ever faint, but that it awakens their sweet vibrations — the snow-flake falling in the stream, the daisy of the field, the conies of the rock, the hysop of the wall. Now, the vast and various frame of nature is adapted not to the lesser, but to the larger mind. It spreads on and around us in all its rich and magnificent variety, and finds the full por- traiture of its Proteus-like beauty in the mirror of genius alone. Evident, however, as this may seem, we find a sort of levelling principle in the inferior order of minds, and which, in fact, constitutes one of their grand character- istics — a principle that would fain abridge the scale to their own narrow capabilities — that would cut down the vastness of nature to suit the littleness of their own con- ceptions and desires, and convert it into one tame, uniform. 72 TALES OF THE BORDERS. mediocre good, which would be good but to themselves alone, and ultimately not even that." "I 1 1 link I can now understand you," I said; "you describe a sort of swinish wisdom that would convert the world into one vast sty. For my own part, I have travel- led far enough to know the value of a blue hill, and would not willingly lose so much as one of these landmarks of our mother land, by whicL kindly hearts in distant countries love to remember it." " I daresay we are getting fanciful," rejoined my com- panion ; " but certainly, in man's schemes of improve- ment, both physical and moral, there is commonly a little- ness and want of adaptation to the general good that almost always defeats his aims. He sees and understands but a minute portion — it is always some partial good he would introduce; and thus he but destroys the just pro- portions of a nicely-regulated system of things by exagger- ating one of the parts. I passed of late through a richly- cultivated district of country, in which the agricultural improver had done his utmost. Never were there finer fields, more convenient steadings, crops of richer promise, a better regulated system of production. Corn and cattle had mightily improved ; but what had man, the lord of the soil, become ? Is not the body better than food, and life than raiment? If that decline for which all other things exist, it surely matters little that all these other things prosper. And here, though the corn, the cattle, the fields, the steadings had improved, man had sunk. There were but two classes in the district : a few cold-hearted speculators, who united what is worst in the character of the landed proprietor and the merchant — these were your gentleman farmers ; and a class of degraded helots, little superior to the cattle they tended — these were your farm servants. And for two such extreme classes — necessary result of such a state of things — had this unfortunate, RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 73 though highly-eulogized district, parted with a moral, intelligent, high-minded peasantry — the true boast and true riches of their country." "I have, I think, observed something like what you describe," I said. " I give," he replied, " but one instance of a thousand. But mark how the sun's lower disk has just reached the line of the horizon, and how the long level rule of light stretches to the very innermost recess of the cave! It darkens as the orb sinks. And see how the gauze-like shadows creep on from the sea, film after film ! — and now they have reached the ivy that mantles round the castle of The Bruce. Are you acquainted with Barbour?" " Well," I said ; " a spirited, fine old fellow, who loved his country and did much for it. I could once repeat all his chosen passages. Do you remember how he describes King Robert's rencounter with the English knight ? " My companion sat up erect, and, clenching his fist, be- gan repeating the passage, with a power and animation that seemed to double its inherent energy and force. "Glorious old Barbour!" ejaculated he, when he had finished the description ; " many a heart has beat all the higher when the bale-fires were blazing, through the tutorage of thy noble verses! Blind Harry, too — what has not his country owed to him ! " "Ah, they have long since been banished from our popular literature," I said ; " and yet Blind Harry's 'Wal- lace,' as Hailes tells us, was at one time the very Bible of the Scotch. But love of country seems to be getting old- fashioned among us, and we have become philosophic enough to set up for citizens of the world " "All cold pretence," rejoined my companion; "an effect of that small wisdom we have just been decrying. Cosmopolitism, as we are accustomed to define it, can bo no virtue of the present age, nor yet of the next, nor 74 TALES OF THE BORDERS. perhaps for centuries to come. Even when it shall have attained to its best, and when it may be most safely in- dulged in, it is according to the nature of man, that, instead of running counter to the love of country, it should exist as but a wider diffusion of the feeling, and form, as it were, a wider circle round it. It is absurdity itself to oppose the love of our cotmtry to that of our race." "Do I rightly understand you?" I said. "You look forward to a time when the patriot may safely expand intc the citizen of the world ; but, in the present age, he would do well, you think, to oonfine his energies within the inner circle of country." "Decidedly," he rejoined; "man should love his species at all times, but it is ill with him if, in times like the present, he loves not his country more. The spirit of war and aggression is yet abroad — there are laws to be estab- lished, rights to be defended, invaders to be repulsed, tyrants to be deposed. And who but the patriot is equal to these things ? We are not yet done with the Bruces, the "Wallaces, the Tells, the Washingtons — yes, the Wash- ington, whether they fight for or against us — we are not yet done with them. The cosmopolite is but a puny abortion — a birth ere the natural time, that at once endangers the life, and betrays the weakness of the country that bears him. Would that he were sleeping in his elements till his proper time ! But we are getting ashamed of our country, of our language, our manners, our music, our literature ; nor shall we have enough of the old spirit left us to assert our liberties or fight our battles. Oh, for some Barbour or Blind Harry of the present day, to make us, once more, proud of our country ! " I quoted the famous saying of Fletcher of Salton — "Allow me to make the songs of a country, and I will allow you to make its laws." " Bat here," I said, " is our lugger stealing round Turn* RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 75 berry Head. "We shall soon part, perhaps for ever, and I would fain know with whom I have spent an hour so agreeably, and have some name to remember him by. My own name is Matthew Lindsay; I am a native ol Irvine." " And I," said the young man, rising and cordially grasping the proffered hand, "am a native of Ayr; my name is Robert Burns." CHAPTER II. If friendless, low, we meet together, Then, sir, your hand — my friend and brother! Dedication to G. Eamiiton. A light breeze had risen as the sun sunk, and our lug- ger, with all her sails set, came sweeping along the shore. She had nearly gained the little bay in front of the cave, and the countrymen from above, to the number of perhaps twenty, had descended to the beach, when, all of a sudden, after a shrill whistle, and a brief half minute of commo- tion among the crew, she wore round and stood out to sea. I turned to the south, and saw a square-rigged vessel shooting out from behind one of the rocky headlands, and then bearing down in a long tack on the smuggler. "The sharks are upon us," said one of the countrymen, whose eyes had turned in the same direction — " we shall have no sport to-night." We stood lining the beach in anxious curiosity ; the freeze freshened as the evening fell ; and the lugger, as she lessened to our sight, went leaning against the foam in a long bright furrow, that, catching the last light of evening, shone Hke the milky way amid the blue. Occasionally we could see the flash, and hear the booming of a gun from the other vessel; but the night 76 TALES OP THE BORDERS. fell thick and dark ; the waves too began to lash against the rocks, drowning every feebler sound in a continuous roaring ; and every trace of both the chase and the chaser disappeared. The party broke up, and I was left standing alone on the beach, a little nearer home, but in every other respect in quite the same circumstances as when landed by my American friends on the wild coast of Connaught. "Another of Fortune's freaks!" I ejaculated; "but 'tis well she can no longer surprise me." A man stepped out in the darkness as I spoke, from beside one of the rocks; it was the peasant Burns, my acquaintance of the earlier part of the evening. " I have waited, Mr. Lindsay," he said, " to see whether some of the country folks here, who have homes of their own to invite you to, might not have brought you along with them. But I am afraid you must just be content to pass the night with me. I can give you a share of my bed and my supper, though both, I am aware, need many apologies." I made a suitable acknowledgment, and we ascended the cliff together. " I live, when at home with my parents," said my companion, " in the inland parish of Tarbolton ; but, for the last two months, I have attended school here, and lodge with an old widow woman in the village. To-morrow, as harvest is fast approaching, I re- turn to my father." " And I," I replied, " shall have the pleasure of accom- panying you in at least the early part of your journey, on my way to Irvine, where my mother still lives." We reached the village, and entered a little cottage, that presented its gable to the street, and its side to one of the narrower lanes. " I must introduce you to my landlady," said my com- panion, "an excellent, kind-hearted old woman, with a fund of honest Scotch pride and shrewd good sense in her composition, and with the mother as strong in her heart as RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 77 ever, though she lost the last of her children more than twenty years ago." "We found the good woman sitting beside a small but very cheerful fire. The hearth was newly swept, and the floor newly sanded ; and, directly fronting her, there was an empty chair, which seemed to have been drawn to its place in the expectation of some one to fill it. " You are going to leave me, Robert, my bairn," said the woman, " an' I kenna how I sail ever get on without you ; I have almost forgotten, sin you came to live with me, that I have neither children nor husband." On see- ing me, she stopped short. " An acquaintance," said my companion, " whom 1 have made bold to bring with me for the night ; but you must not put yourself to any trouble, mother ; he is, I daresay, as much accustomed to plain fare as myself. Only, how- ever, we must get an additional pint ofyill from the clachan; you know this is my last evening with you, and was to be a merry ofij at any rate." The woman looked me full ir the face. "Matthew Lindsay!" she exclaimed — "can you have forgotten your poor old aunt Margaret ! " I grasped her hand. " Dearest aunt, this is surely most unexpected ! How could I have so much as dreamed you were vvithin a hun- dred miles of me?" Mutual congratulation ensued. " This," she said, turning to my companion, " is the nephew I have so often told you about, and so often wished to bring you acquainted with. He is, like yourself, a great reader and a great thinker, and there is no need that your proud, kindly heart should be jealous of him ; for he has been ever quite as poor, and maybe the poorer of the two." After still more of greeting and congratulation, the young man rose. " The night is dark, mother," he said, " and the road to 78 TALES OF THE BORDERS.* the clachan a rough one ; besides you and your kinsman will have much to say to one another. I shall just sHp out to the clachan for you ; and you shall both tell me on my return whether I am not a prime judge of ale." " The kindest heart, Matthew, that ever lived," said my relative, as he left the house ; ever since he came to Kirkoswald, he has been both son and daughter to me, and I shall feel twice a widow when he goes away." " I am mistaken, aunt," I said, " if he be not the strongest minded man I ever saw. Be assured he stands high among the aristocracy of nature, whatever may be thought of him in Kirkoswald. There is a robustness of intellect, joined to an overmastering force of character, about him, which I have never yet seen equalled, though I have been intimate with at least one very superior mind, and with hundreds of the class who pass for men of talent. I have been thinking ever since I met with him, of the William Tells and William Wallaces of history — men who, in those times of trouble which unfix the foundations of society, step out from their obscurity to rule the destiny of nations." ■" I was ill about a month ago," said my relative — " so very ill that I thought I was to have done with the world altogether ; and Robert was both nurse and physician to me — he kindled my fire, too, every morning, and sat up beside me sometimes for the greater part of the night. What wonder I should love him as my own child ? Had your cousin Henry been spared to me, he would now have been much about Robert's age." The conversation passed to other matters, and in about half an hour, my new friend entered the room ; when we 6at down to a homely, but cheerful repast. " I have been engaged in argument, for the last twenty minutes, with our pai'ish schoolmaster," he said — u a shrewd, sensible man, and a prime scholar, but one of the RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 7 9 most determined Calvinists I ever knew. Now, there is something, Mr. Lindsay, in abstract Calvinism, that dis- satisfies and distresses me ; and yet, I must confess, there is so much of good in the working of the system, that I would ill like to see it supplanted by any other. I am convinced, for instance, there is nothing so efficient in teaching the bulk of a people to think as a Calvinistic church." " Ah, Robert," said my aunt, " it does meikle mair nor that. Look round ye, my bairn, an' see if there be a kirk in which puir sinful creatures have mair comfort in their sufferings or mair hope in their deaths." "Dear mother," said my companion, "I like well enough to dispute with the schoolmaster, but I must have no dis- pute with you. I know the heart is everything in these matters, and yours is much wiser than mine." "There is something in abstract Calvinism," he con- tinued, "that distresses me. In almost all our researches we arrive at an ultimate barrier, which interposes its wall of darkness between us and the last grand truth, in the series which we had trusted was to prove a master-key to the whole. We dwell in a sort of Goshen — there is light in our immediate neighbourhood, and a more than Egyp- tian darkness all around ; and as every Hebrew must have known that the hedge of cloud which he saw resting on the landscape, was a boundary not to things themselves, but merely to his view of things — for beyond there were cities, and plains, and oceans, and continents — so we in like manner must know that the barriers of which I speak exist only in relation to the faculties which we employ, not to the objects on which we employ them. And yet, notwithstanding this consciousness that we are necessarily and irremediably the bound pr^?ners of ignorance, and that all the great truths He outside o^r orison, we can almost be content that, in most cases, it shoulu be so — 80 TALES OF THE BORDERS. not, however, with regard to those great unattainable truths which lie in the track of Calvinism. They seem too important to be wanted, and yet want them we must— and we beat our very heads against the cruel barrier which separates us from them." " I am afraid I hardly understand you," I said ; — " do assist me by some instance of illustration." " You are acquainted," he replied, " with the Scripture doctrine of Predestination, and, in thinking over it, in connection with the destinies of man, it must have struck you that, however much it may interfere with our fixed notions of the goodness of Deity, it is thoroughly in accordance with the actual condition of our race. As far as we can know of ourselves and the things around us, there seems, through the will of Deity — for to what elsa can we refer it ? — a fixed, invariable connection between what we term cause and effect. Nor do we demand of any class of mere effects, in the inanimate or irrational isr&ld, that they should regulate themselves otherwise than the causes which produce them have determined. The roe and the tiger pursue, unquestioned, the instincts of their several natures; the cork rises, and the stone sinks ; and no one thinks of calling either to account for movements so opposite. But it is not so with the family of man ; and yet our minds, our bodies, our circumstances, are but combinations of effects, over the causes of which we have no control. We did not choose a country for ourselves, nor yet a condition in life — nor did we determine our modicum of intellect, or our amount of passion — we did not impart its gravity to the weightier part of our nature, or give expansion to the lighter — nor are our instincts of our own planting. How, then, being thus as much the creatures of necessity as the denizens of the 'wild and forest — as thoroughly under the agency of fixed, un- alterable causes, as the dead matter around us — why are RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS 81 we yet the subjects of a retributive system, aud account- able for all our actions?" " You quarrel with Calvinism," I said ; " and seem one of the most thorough-going necessitarians I ever knew." " Not so," he replied ; " though my judgment cannot disprove these conclusions, my heart cannot acquiesce in them — though I see that I am as certainly the subject of laws that exist and operate independent of my will, as the dead matter around me, I feel, with a certainty quite as great, that I am a free, accountable creature. It is according to the scope of my entire reason that I should deem myself bound — it is according to the constitution of my whole nature that I should feel myself free. And in this consists the great, the fearfid problem — a problem which both reason and revelation propound; but the truths which can alone solve it, seem to he beyond the horizon of darkness — and we vex ourselves in vain. "lis a sort of moral asymptotes ; but its lines, instead of ap- proaching through all space without meeting, seem receding through all space, and yet meet." "Eobert, my bairn," said my aunt, "I fear you are wasting your strength on these mysteries to your ain hurt. Did ye no see, in the last storm, when ye staid out among the caves till cock-crow, that the bigger and stronger the wave, the mair was it broken against the rocks ?— it's just thus wi' the pride o' man's understanding, when he mea- sures it against the dark things o' God. An' yet it's sae ordered, that the same wonderful truths swirich perplex and cast down the proud reason, should delight and comfort the humble heart. I am a lone, puir woman, Eobert. Bairns an' husband have gone down to the grave, one by one ; an' now, for twenty weary years, I have been child- less an' a widow. But trow ye that the puir lone woman wanted a guard, an' a comforter, an' a provider, through a' the lang mirk nichts, an' a' the cauld scarce winters o' c2 R2 TALES OF THE BORDERS. these twenty years ? No, my bairn — I kent that Himsei* was wi' me. I kent it by the provision He made, an' the care He took, an' the joy He gave. An' how, think you, did He comfort me maist ? Just by the blessed assurance that a' my trials an' a' my sorrows were nae hasty chance matters, but dispensations for my guid, an' the guid o' those He took to Himsel', that, in the perfect love and wisdom o' His nature, He had ordained frae the begin- ning." " Ah, mother," said my friend, after a pause, " you understand the doctrine far better than I do ! There are, I find, no contradictions in the Calvinism of the heart." CHAPTER III. " Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods thick'ning green ; The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar Twined, amorous, round the raptured scene ; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray — Till, too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaimed the speed of winged day." To Mary in Heaven. We were early on the road together; the day, though somewhat gloomy, was mild and pleasant, and we walked slowly onward, neither of us in the least disposed to hasten our parting by hastening our journey. We had discussed fifty different topics, and were prepared to enter on fifty more, when we reached the ancient burgh of Ayr, where our roads separated. u I have taken an immense liking to you, Mr. Lindsay," RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 83 said my companion, as he seated himself on the parapet of the old bridge, " and have just bethought me of a scheme through which I may enjoy your company for at least one night more. The Ayr is a lovely river, and you tell me you have never explored it. "We shall explore it together this evening for about ten miles, when we shall find our- selves at the farm-house of Lochlea. You may depend on a hearty welcome from my father, whom, by the way, I wish much to introduce to you, as a man worth your knowing ; and, as I have set my heart on the scheme, you are surely too good-natured to disappoint me." Little risk of that, I thought ; I had, in fact, become thoroughly enamoured of the warm-hearted benevolence and fascinat- ing conversation of my companion, and acquiesced with the best goodwill in the world. We had threaded the course of the river for several miles. It runs through a wild pastoral valley, roughened by thickets of copsewood, and bounded on either hand by a line of swelling, moory hills, with here and there a few irregular patches of corn, and here and there some little nest-like cottage peeping out from among the wood. The clouds, which during the morning had obscured the entire face of the heavens, were breaking up their array, and the sun was looking down, in twenty different places, through the openings, checkering the landscape with a fantastic, though lovely carpeting of light and shadow. Before us there rose a thick wood, on a jutting promontory, that looked blue and dark in the shade, as if it wore mourning ; while the sunlit stream beyond shone through the trunks and branches, like a river of fire. At length the clouds seemed to have melted in the blue — for there was not a breath of wind to speed them away — and the sun, now hastening to the west, shone in unbroken efful- gence over the wide extent of the dell, lighting up stream and wood, and field and cottage, in one continuous blaze 84 TALES OF THE BORDERS. of glory. We had walked on in silence for the last half hour ; but I could sometimes hear my companion mutter- ing as he went ; and when, in passing through a thicket of hawthorn and honeysuckle, we started from its perch a linnet that had been filling the air with its melody, I could hear him exclaim, in a subdued tone of voice, " Bonny, bonny birdie ! why hasten frae me ? — I wadna skaith a feather o' yer wing." He turned round to me, and I could see that his eyes were swimming in moisture. " Can he be other," he said, " than a good and bene- volent God, who gives us moments like these to enjoy? Oh, my friend, without these sabbaths of the soul, that come to refresh and invigorate it, it would dry up within us ! How exquisite," he continued, " how entire the sympathy which exists between all that is good and fair in external nature, and all of good and fair that dwells in our own ! And, oh, how the heart expands and lightens ! The world is as a grave to it — a closely-covered grave — and it shrinks, and deadens, and contracts all its holier and more joyous feelings under the cold, earth-like pressure. But, amid the grand and lovely of nature — amid these forms and colours of richest beauty — there is a disinter- ment, a resurrection of sentiment ; the pressure of our earthly part seems removed, and those senses of the mind, ii I may so speak, which serve to connect our spirits Avith the invisible world around us, recover their proper tone, and perform their proper office." " Senses of the mind" I said, repeating the phrase ; " the idea is new to me ; but I think I catch your meaning." " Yes ; there are — there must be such," he continued, with growing enthusiasm ; " man is essentially a religious creature — a looker beyond the grave, from the very con- stitution of his mind; and the sceptic who denies it is untrue not merely to the Being who has made and who RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 85 preserves him, but to the entire scope and bent of his own nature besides. Wherever man is — whether he be a wanderer of the wild forest or still wilder desert, a dweller in some lone isle of the sea, or the tutored and full-minded denizen of some blessed land like our own — wherever man is, there is religion — hopes that look forward and upward — the belief in an unending existence, and a land of sepa- rate souls." I was carried away by the enthusiasm of my companion, and felt, for the time, as if my mind had become the mirror of his. There seems to obtain among men a species of moral gravitation, analogous, in its principles, to that which regulates and controls the movements of the plane- tary system. The larger and more ponderous any body, the greater its attractive force, and the more overpowering its influence over the lesser bodies which surround it. The earth we inhabit carries the moon along with it in its course, and is itself subject to the immensely more power- ful influence of the sun. And it is thus with character. It is a law of our nature, as certainly as of the system we inhabit, that the inferior should yield to the superior, and the lesser owe its guidance to the greater. I had hitherto wandered on through life almost unconscious of the exist- ence of this law, or, if occasionally rendered half aware of it, it was only through a feeling that some secret influence was operating favourably in my behalf on the common minds around me. I now felt, however, for the first time, that I had come in contact with a mind immeasurably more powerful than my own ; my thoughts seemed to cast themselves into the very mould — my sentiments to modulate themselves by the very tone of his. And yet he was but a russet-clad peasant — my junior by at least eight years — who was returning from school to assist hip father, an humble tacksman, in the labours of the ap- proaching harvest. But the law of circumstance, so 86 TALES OF THE BORDERS. arbitrary in ruling the destinies of common men, exerts but a feeble control over the children of genius. The prophet went forth commissioned by Heaven to anoint a king over Israel, and the choice fell on a shepherd boy who was tending his father's flocks in the field. We had reached a lovely bend of the stream. There was a semicircular inflection in the steep bank, which waved over us, from base to summit, with hawthorn and hazle ; and while one half looked blue and dark in the shade, the other was lighted up with gorgeous and fiery splendour by the sun, now fast sinking in the west. The effect seemed magical. A little grassy platform that stretched between the hanging wood and the stream, was whitened over with clothes, that looked like snow-wreathes in the hollow ; and a young and beautiful girl watched beside them. "Mary Campbell!" exclaimed my companion, and in a moment he was at her side, and had grasped both her hands in his. "How fortunate, how very fortunate I am!" he said; "I could not have so much as hoped to have seen you to-night, and yet here you are ! This, Mr. Lindsay, is a loved friend of mine, whom I have known and valued for years ; ever, indeed, since we herded our sheep together under the cover of one plaid. Dearest Mary, I have had sad forebodings regarding you for the whole last month I was in Kirkoswald, and yet, after all my foolish fears, here you are, ruddier and bonnier than ever." She was, in truth, a beautiful, sylph -like young woman —one whom I would have looked at with complacency in any circumstances ; for who that admires the fair and the lovely in nature — whether it be the wide-spread beauty of sky and earth, or beauty in its minuter modifications, as we see it in the flowers that spring up at our feet, or the butterfly that flutters over them — who, I say, that RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 87 admires the fair and lovely in nature, can be indifferent to the fairest and loveliest of all her productions? As the mistress, however, of by far the strongest-minded man I ever knew, there was more of scrutiny in my glance than usual, and I felt a deeper interest in her than mere beauty could have awakened. She was, perhaps, rather below than above the middle size ; but formed in such admirable proportion, that it seemed out of place to think of size in reference to her at all. Who, in looking at the Venus de Medicis, asks whether she be tall or short ? The bust and neck were so exquisitely moulded, that they reminded me of Burke's fanciful remark, viz., that our ideas of beauty originate in our love of the sex, and that we deem every object beautiful which is described by soft- waving lines, resembling those of the female neck and bosom. Her feet and arms, which were both bare, had a statue-like symme- try and marble-like whiteness ; but it was on her expres- sive and lovely countenance, now lighted up by the glow of joyous feeling, that nature seemed to have exhausted her utmost skill. There was a fascinating mixture in the expression of superior intelligence and child-like simpli- city ; a soft, modest light dwelt in the blue eye ; and in the entire contour and general form of the features, there was a nearer approach to that union of the straight and the rounded, which is found in its perfection in only the Grecian face, than is at all common in our northern lati- tudes, among the descendants of either the Celt or the Saxon. I felt, however, as I gazed, that when lovers meet, the presence of a third person, however much the friend of either, must always be less than agreeable. " Mr. Burns," I said, " there is a beautiful eminence a few hundred yards to the right, from which I am desirous to overlook the windings of the stream. Do permit me to leave you for a short half hour, when I shall return ; cr, lest I weary you by my stay, 'twere better, perhaps, you 88 TALES OF THE BORDERS. should join me there." My companion greeted the proposal with a good-humoured smile of intelligence ; and, plunging into the wood, I left Mm with his Mary. The sun had just set as he joined me. " Have you ever been in love, Mr. Lindsay ? " he said. "No, never seriously," I replied. "I am, perhaps, not naturally of the coolest temperament imaginable ; but the same fortune that has improved my mind in some little degree, and given me high notions of the sex, has hitherto thrown me among only its less superior specimens. I am now in my eight-and-twentieth year, and I have not yet met with a woman whom I could love." " Then you are yet a stranger," he rejoined, " to the greatest happiness of which our nature is capable, I have enjoyed more heartfelt pleasure in the company of the young woman I have just left, than from every other source that has been opened to me from my childhood till now. Love, my friend, is the fulfilling of the whole law." "Mary Campbell, did you not call her?" I said. "She is, I think, the loveliest creature I have ever seen ; and I am much mistaken in the expression of her beauty, if her mind be not as lovely as her person." " It is, it is," he exclaimed — " the intelligence of an angel with the simplicity of a child. Oh, the delight of being thoroughly trusted, thoroughly beloved by one of the loveliest, best, purest-minded of all God's good crea- tures! To feel that heart beating against my own, and to know that it beats for me only ! Never have I passed an evening with my Mary without returning to the world a better, gentler, wiser man. Love, my friend, is the ful' filling of the whole law. What are we without it ? — poor, vile, selfish animals ; our very virtues themselves, so exclu- sively virtues on our own behalf as to be well nigh as hateful as our vices. Nothing so opens and improves the RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 89 heart, nothing so widens the grasp of the affections, nothing half so effectually brings us out of our crust of self, as a na PPy> well-regulated love for a pure-minded, affectionate- hearted woman I " " There is another kind of love, of which we sailors see somewhat," I said, " which is not so easily associated with good." "Love !" he replied — " no, Mr. Lindsay, that is not the name. Kind associates with kind in all nature ; and love — humanizing, heart-softening love — cannot be the com- panion of whatever is low, mean, worthless, degrading — the associate of ruthless dishonour, cunning, treachery, and violent death. Even independent of its amount of evil as a crime, or the evils still greater than itself which necessarily accompany it, there is nothing that so petrifies the feeling as illicit connection." " Do you seriously think so ? " I asked. " Yes, and I see clearly how it should be so. Neitner sex is complete of itself — each was made for the other, that, like the two halves of a hinge, they may become an entire whole when united. Only think of the scriptural phrase, one flesh — it is of itself a system of philosophy. Eefinement and tenderness are of the woman, strength and dignity of the man. Only observe the effects of a thorough separation, whether originating in accident or caprice. You will find the stronger sex lost in the rudenesses of partial barbarism; the gentler wrapt up in some pitiful round of trivial and unmeaning occupation — dry-nursing puppies, or making pincushions for posterity. But how much more pitiful are the effects when they meet amiss — ■ when the humanizing friend and companion of the man is converted into the light degraded toy of an idle hour ; the object of a sordid appetite that lives but for a moment and then expires in loathing and disgust! The better feelings are iced over at *-keir source, chilled by the freez- 90 TALES OF THE BORDERS. ing and deadening contact — where there is nothing to inspire confidence or solicit esteem ; and, if these pass not through the first, the inner circle — that circle within which the social affections are formed, and from whence they emanate — how can they possibly flow through the circles which he beyond ? But here, Mr. Lindsay, is the farm oi Lochlea, and yonder brown cottage, beside the three elms, is the dwelling of my parents," CHAPTER IV. " From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her lov'd at home, revered abroad." Cotter's Saturday Night. There was a wide and cheerful circle this evening round the hospitable hearth of Lochlea. The father of my friend, g patriarchal-looking old man, with a countenance the most expressive I have almost ever seen, sat beside the wall, on a large oaken settle, which also served to accom- modate a young man, an occasional visitor of the family, dressed in rather shabby black, whom I at once set down as a probationer of divinity. I had my own seat beside him. The brother of my friend (a lad cast in nearly the same mould of form and feature, except, perhaps, that his frame, though muscular and strongly set, seemed in the main less formidably robust, and his countenance, though expressive, less decidedly intellectual) sat at my side. My friend had drawn in his seat beside his mother, a well- formed, comely brunette, of about thirty-eight, whom I might almost have mistaken for his elder sister ; and two or three younger members of the family were grouped behind her. The fire blazed cheerily within the wide and RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 91 open chimney ; and, throwing its strong light on the faces and limbs of the circle, sent our shadows flickering across the rafters and the wall behind. The conversation was animated and rational, and every one contributed his share. But I was chiefly interested in the remarks of the old man, for whom I already felt a growing veneration, and in those of his wonderfully-gifted son. " Unquestionably, Mr. Burns," said the man in black, addressing the farmer, " politeness is but a very shadow, as the poet hath it, if the heart be wanting. I saw, to- night, in a strictly polite family, so marked a presumption of the lack of that natural affection of which politeness is but the portraiture and semblance, that truly I have been grieved in my heart ever since." " Ah, Mr. Murdoch," said the farmer, " there is ever more hypocrisy in the world than in the church, and that, too, among the class of fine gentlemen and fine ladies who deny it most. But the instance " — " You know the family, my worthy friend," continued Mr. Murdoch — " it is a very pretty one, as we say verna- cularly, being numerous, and the sons highly genteel young men ; the daughters not less so. A neighbour of the same very polite character, coming on a visit when I was among them, asked the father, in the course of a con- versation to which I was privy, how he meant to dispose of his sons ; when the father replied that he had not yet determined. The visitor said, that were he in his place, seeing they were all well-educated young men, he would send them abroad ; to which the father objected the indu- bitable fact, that many young men lost their health in foreign countries, and very many their lives. ' True,' did the visitor rejoin; ' but, as you have a number of sons, it will be strange if some one of them does not live and make a fortune.' Now, Mr. Burns, what will you, who know the feelings of paternity, and the incalculable, and 92 TALES OK THE BORDERS. assuredly I may say, invaluable value of human souls, think when I add, that the father commended the hint, as showing the wisdom of a shrewd man of the world!" " Even the chief priests," said the old man, " pronounced it unlawful to cast into the treasury the thirty pieces of silver, seeing it was the price of blood ; but the gentility of the present day is less scrupulous. There is a laxity of principle among us, Mr. Murdoch, that, if God restore us not, must end in the ruin of our country. I say laxity of principle ; for there have ever been evil manners among us, and waifs in no inconsiderable number, broken loose from the decencies of society — more, perhaps, in my early days than there are now. But our principles at least were sound ; and not only was there thus a restorative and con- servative spirit among us, but, what was of not less impor- tance, there was a broad gulf, like that in the parable, between the two grand classes, the good and the evil — a gulf which, when it secured the better class from contami- nation, interposed no barrier to the reformation and return of even the most vile and profligate, if repentant. But this gulf has disappeared, and we are standing unconcern- edly over it, on a hollow and dangerous marsh of neutral ground, which, in the end, if God open not our eyes, must assuredly give way under our feet." " To what, father," inquired my friend, who sat listen- ing with the deepest and most respectful attention, " do you attribute the change ? " " Undoubtedly," replied the old man, " there have been many causes at work ; and, though not impossible, it would certainly be no easy task to trace them all to their several effects, and give to each its due place and impor- tance. But there is a deadly evil among us, though you will hear of it from neither press nor pulpit, which I am disposed to rank first in the number — the affectation of gentility. It has a threefold influence among us : it con- RECOLLECTIONS OF BLTtNS. 9 founds the grand eternal distinctions of right and wrong, by erecting into a standard of conduct and opinion that heterogeneous and artificial whole which constitutes the manners and morals of the upper classes ; it severs those ties of affection and good-will which should bind the middle to the lower orders, by disposing the one to regard whatever is below them with a true contemptuous indif- ference, and by provoking a bitter and indignant, though natural jealousy in the other for being so regarded ; and, finally, by leading those who most entertain it into habits of expense, torturing their means, if I may so speak, on the rack of false opinion — disposing them to think, in their blindness, that to be genteel is a first consideration, and to be honest merely a secondary one — it has the effect of so hardening their hearts, that, like those Carthaginians of whom we have been lately reading in the volume Mr. Murdoch lent us, they offer up their very children, souls and bodies, to the unreal, phantom-like necessities oi" their circumstances." " Have I not heard you remark, father," said Gilbert u that the change you describe has been very marked among the ministers of our church ? " "Too marked and too striking," replied the old man; "and in affecting the respectability and usefulness of so important a class, it has educed a cause of deterioration, distinctly from itself, and hardly less formidable. There is an old proverb of our country — ' Better the head of the commonality than the tail of the gentry.' I have heard you quote it, Robert, oftener than once, and admire its homely wisdom. Now, it bears directly on what I have to remark — the ministers of our church have moved but one step during the last sixty years; but that step has been an all-important one — it has been from the best place in relation to the people, to the worst in relation to the aristocracy." 94 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Undoubtedly, worthy Mr. Burns," said Mr. Murdoch, " there is great truth, according to mine own experience, in that which you affirm. I may state, I trust, without over-boasting or conceit, my respected friend, that my learning is not inferior to that of our neighbour the clergyman — it is not inferior in Latin, nor in Greek, nor yet in French literature, Mr. Burns, and probable it is he would not much court a competition, and yet, when I last waited at the manse regarding a necessary and essential certificate, Mr. Burns, he did not so much as ask me to sit down." "Ah!" said Gilbert, who seemed the wit of the family, " he is a highly respectable man, Mr. Murdoch — he has a tine house, fine furniture, fine carpets — all that constitutes respectability, you know ; and his family is on visiting terms with that of the laird. But his credit is not so respectable, I hear." " Gilbert," said the old man, with much seriousness, " it is ill with a people when they can speak lightly of their clergymen. There is still much of sterling worth and serious piety in the Church of Scotland ; and if the in- fluence of its ministers be unfortunately less than it was once, we must not cast the blame too exclusively on them- selves. Other causes have been in operation. The church, eighty years ago, was the sole guide of opinion, and the only source of thought among us. There was, indeed, but one way in which a man could learn to think. His mind became the subject of some serious impression : — he applied to his Bible, and, in the contemplation of the most im- portant of all concerns, his newly awakened faculties re- ceived their first exercise. All of intelligence, all of moral good in him, all that rendered him worthy of the name of man, he owed to the ennobling influence of his church ; and is it wonder that that influence should be all-powerful from this circumstance alone? But a thorough change RECOLLECTIONS OF BUkNS. 95 has taken place ; — new sources of intelligence have been opened up ; we have our newspapers, and our magazines, and our volumes of miscellaneous reading ; and it is now possible enough for the most cultivated mind in a parish to be the least moral and the least religious ; and hence necessarily a diminished influence in the church, inde- pendent of the character of its ministers." I have dwelt too long, perhaps, on the conversation of the elder Burns ; but I feel much pleasure in thus develop- ing, as it were, my recollections of one whom his powerful- minded son has described — and this after an acquaintance with our Henry Mackenzies, Adam Smiths, and Dugald Stewarts — as the man most thoroughly acquainted with the world he ever knew. Never, at least, have I met with any one who exerted a more wholesome influence, through the force of moral character, on those around him. We sat down to a plain and homely supper. The slave question had, about this time, begun to draw the attention of a few of the more excellent and intelligent among the people, and the elder Burns seemed deeply interested in it. " This is but homely fare, Mr. Lindsay," he said, point- ing to the simple viands before us, " and the apologists of slavery among us would tell you how inferior we are to the poor negroes, who fare so much better. But surely 'man liveth not by bread alone! 1 Our fathers who died for Christ on the hillside and the scaffold wert< noble men, and never, never shall slavery produce such, and yet they toiled as hard, and fared as meanly as we their children." I could feel, in the cottage of such a peasant, and seated beside such men as his two sons, the full force of the re- mark. And yet I have heard the miserable sophism of unprincipled power against which it was directed — a sophism so insulting to the dignity of honest poverty — a thousand times repeated. Supper over, the family circle widened re and th<» 96 TALKS OF THE BOKDERS. hearth ; and the old man, taking down a large clasped Bible, seated himself beside the iron lamp which now lighted the apartment. There was deep silence among us as he turned over the leaves. Never shall I forget his appearance. He was tall and thin, and though his frame was still vigorous, considerably bent. His features were high and massy — the complexion still retained much ol the freshness of youth, and the eye all its intelligence ; but the locks were waxing thin and grey round his high, thoughtful forehead, and the upper part of the head, which was elevated to an unusual height, was bald. There was an expression of the deepest seriousness on the counte- nance, which the strong umbery shadows of the apartment served to heighten ; and when, laying his hand on the page, he half turned his face to the circle, and said, " Let us worship God" I was impressed by a feeling of awe and reverence to which I had, alas ! been a stranger for years. I was affected too, almost to tears, as I joined in the psalm; for a thousand half-forgotten associations came rushing upon me ; and my heart seemed to swell and expand as, kneeling beside him when he prayed, I listened to his solemn and fervent petition, that God might make manifest his great power and goodness in the salvation of man. Nor was the poor solitary wanderer of the deep forgotten. On rising from our devotions, the old man grasped me by the hand. " I am happy," he said, " that we should have met, Mr. Lindsay. I feel an interest in you, and must take the friend and the old man's privilege of giving you an advice. The sailor, of all men, stands most in need of religion. His life is one of continued vicissitude — of unexpected success, or unlooked-for misfortune; he is ever passing from danger to safety, and from safety to danger ; his dependence is on the ever-varying winds, his abode on the unstable waters. And the mind takes a peculiar tone from what is peculiar in the circumstances. RECOLLECTIONS OF BURXS. 97 V-'ith nothing stable in the real world around it on which it may rest, it forms a resting-place for itself in some wild code of belief. It peoples the elements with strange occult powers of good and evil, and does them homage — address- ing its prayers to the genius of the winds, and the spirits of the waters. And thus it begets a religion for itself; — ■ for what else is the professional superstition of the sailor? Substitute, my friend, for this — (shall I call it unavoidable superstition ?) — this natural religion of the sea, the religion of the Bible. Since you must be a believer in the super- natural, let your belief be true ; let your trust be on Him who faileth not — your anchor within the vail ; and all shall be well, be your destiny for this world what it may." We parted for the night, and I saw him no more. Next morning, Robert accompainied me for several miles on my way. I saw, for the last half hour, that he had something to communicate, and yet knew not how to set about it ; and so I made a full stop. "You have something to tell me, Mr. Burns," I said: " need I assure you I am one you are in no danger from trusting." He blushed deeply, and I saw him, for the first time, hesitate and falter in his address. " Forgive me," he at length said — " believe me, Mr. Lindsay, I would be the last in the world to hurt the feel- ings of a friend — a — a — but you have been left among us penniless, and I have a very little money which I have no use for — -none in the least ; — will you not favour me by accepting it as a loan ? " I felt the full and generous delicacy of the proposal, and, with moistened eyes and a swelling heart, availed myself of his kindness. The sum he tendered did not much exceed a guinea; but the yearly earnings of tho peasant Burns fell, at this period of his life, rather below eight pounds. Vol II. D 98 TALES OF THE BOftPKRS CHAPTER V. " Corbies an' clergy are a shot right kittle." — Brigs of Ayr. The years passed, and I was again a dweller on the sea ; but the ill-fortune which had hitherto tracked me like a bloodhound, seemed at length as if tired in the pursuit, and I was now the master of a West India trader, and had begun to lay the foundation of that competency which has secured to my declining years the quiet and comfort which, for the latter part of my life, it has been my happiness to enjoy. My vessel bad arrived at Liverpool in the latter part of the year 1784, and I had taken coach for Irvine, to visit my mother, whom I had not seen for several years. There was a change of passengers at every stage ; but I saw little in any of them to interest me, till within about a score of milps of my destination, when I met with an old respectable townsman, a friend of my father's. There was but another passenger in the coach, a north country gentleman from the West Indies. I had many questions to ask my townsman, and many to answer — and the time passed lightly away. " Can you tell me aught of the Burnses of Lochlea ? " I inquired, after learning that my mother and other rela- tives were well. " I met with the young man Eobert about five years ago, and have often since asked myself what special end providence could have in view in making such a man." " I was acquainted with old William Burns,' 1 said my companion, " when he was gardener at Denholm, an' got intimate wi' his son Robert when he lived wi' us at Tjrrine, a twalmonth syne. The faither died shortly ago, sairly straitened in his means, I'm feared, and no very square wi' the laird — an' ill wad he hae liked that, for an RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 99 honester man never breathed Robert, puir chield, is no very easy either." " In his circumstances ? " I said " Ay, an' waur : — he got entangled wi' the kirk on an unlucky sculduddery business, an' has been writing bitter, wicked ballads on a' the guid ministers in the country ever syne. I'm vexed it's on them he suld hae fallen ; an' yet they hae been to blame too." " Robert Burns so entangled, so occupied !" I exclaimed; *' you grieve and astonish me." " We are puir creatures, Matthew," said the old man ; " strength an' weakness are often next door neighbours in the best o' us ; nay, what is our vera strength taen on the ae side, may be our vera weakness taen on the ither. Never was there a stancher, firmer fallow than Robert Burns ; an' now that he has taen a wrang step, puir chield, that vera stanchness seems just a weak want o' ability to yield. He has planted his foot where it lighted by mishanter, and a' the guid an' ill in Scotland wadna budge him frae the spot." " Dear me ! that so powerful a mind should be so frivo- lously engaged 1 Making ballads, you say? — with what success ? " " All, Matthew lad, when the strong man puts out his strength," said my companion, " there's naething frivolous in the matter, be his object what it may. Robert's baiiads are far, far aboon the best things ever seen in Scotland afore ; we auld folk dinna ken whether maist to blame or praise them, but they keep the young people laughing irae the ae nuik o' the shire till the ither." " But how," I inquired, " have the better clergy ren- dered themselves obnoxious to Burns ? The laws he has violated, if I rightly understand you, are indeed severe, and somewhat questionable in their tendencies ; and even good men often press them too far." 100 TATE8 OF THE BORT>F,TM. "And in the case of Robert," said the old man 5 " oui clergy have been strict to the very letter. They're gnid men an' faithfu' ministers ; btit ane o' them, at least, an' he a leader, has a harsh, ill temper, an' mistakes sometimes the corruption o' the anld man in him for the proper zeal o' the new ane. Nor is there ony o' the ithers wha kent what they had to deal wi' when Robert cam afore them. They saw but a proud, thrawart ploughman, that stood uncow'ring under the glunsh o' a hail session ; and so they opened on him the artillery o' the kirk, to bear down his pride. Wha could hae told them that they were but frushing their straw an' rotten wood against the iron scales o' Leviathan ? An' now that they hae dune their maist, the record o' Robert's mishanter is lying in whity-brown ink yonder in a page o' the session-buik, while the ballads hae sunk deep deep intil the very mind o' the country, and may live there for hunders and hunders o' years." " You seem to contrast, in this business," I said, " our better with what you must deem our inferior clergy. You mean, do you not, the higher and lower parties in our church ? How are they getting on now ? " " Never worse," replied the old man ; "an', oh, it's surely ill when the ministers o' peace become the very leaders o' contention ! But let the blame rest in the right place. Peace is surely a blessing frae Heaven — no a guid wark demanded frae man ; an' when it grows our duty to be in war;, it's an ill thing to be in peace. Our Evangelicals are stan'in', puir folk, whar their faithers stood; an' if they maun either fight or be beaten frae their post, why, it's just their duty to fight. But the Moderates are rinnin' mad a'thegither amang us: signing our auld Confession, just that they may get intil the kirk to preach against it ; paring the New Testament doun to the vera standard o' heathan Plawto ; and sinking ae doctrine after anither, till they leave ahint naething but deism *hat might scunner RECOLLECTIONS OP BURNS. 101 an infidel. Deed, Matthew, if there comena a change among them, an' that sune, they'll swamp the puir kirk a' thegither. The cauld morality that never made ony ane mair moral, taks nae haud o' the people ; an' patronage, as meikle's they roose it, winna keep up either kirk or manse o' itsel. Sorry I am, sin' Eobert has entered on the quarrel at a', it suld hae been on the wrang side." "One of my chief objections," I said, "to the religion of the Moderate party is, that it is of no use." "A gey serious ane," rejoined the old man; "but may- be there's a waur still. I'm unco vexed for Robert, baith on his worthy faither's account and his ain. He's a fear- some fellow when ance angered, but an honest, warm- hearted chield for a' that ; an' there's mair sense in yon big head o' his, than in ony ither twa in the country." " Can you tell me aught," said the north country gentle- man, addressing my companion, " of Mr. R , the chapel minister in K ? I was once one of his pupils in the far north ; but I have heard nothing of him since he left Cromarty." " Why," rejoined the old man, " he's just the man that, mair nor a' the rest, has borne the brunt o' Robert's fear- some waggery. Did ye ken him in Cromarty, say ye?" " He was parish schoolmaster there," said the gentle- man, " for twelve years ; and for six of these I attended his school. I cannot help respecting him ; but no one ever loved him. Never surely was there a man at once so unequivocally honest and so thoroughly unamiable." "You must have found him a rigid disciplinarian," I said. " He was the most so," he replied, " from the days of Dionysius, at least, that ever taught a school. I remember there was a poor fisher boy among us named Skinner, who, as is customary in Scottish schools, as you must know, blew the horn for gathering the scholars, and kept the 102 TALES OF THE BORDERS. catalogue and the key ; and who, in return, was educated by the master, and received some little gratuity from the scholars besides. On one occasion, the key dropped out of his pocket ; and, when school-time came, the irascible dominie had to burst open the door with his foot. He raged at the boy with a fury so insane, and beat him so unmercifully, that the other boys, gathering heart in the extremity of the case, had to rise en masse and tear him out of his hands. But the curious part of the story is yet to come : Skinner has been a fisherman for the last twelve years ; but never has he been seen disengaged, for a moment, from that time to this, without mechanically thrusting his hand into the key pocket." Our companion furnished us with two or three other anecdotes of Mr. R . He told us of a lady who was so overcome by sudden terror on unexpectedly seeing him, many years after she had quitted his school, in one of the pulpits of the south, that she fainted away; and of another of his scholars, named M'Glashan, a robust, daring fellow of six feet, who, when returning to Cromarty from some of the colonies, solaced himself by the way with thoughts of the hearty drubbing with which he was to clear off all his old scores with the dominie." " Ere his return, however," continued the gentleman, " Mr. R had quitted the parish ; and, had it chanced otherwise, it is questionable whether M'Glashan, with all his strength and courage, would have gained anything in an encounter with one of the boldest and most powerful men in the country." Such were some of the chance glimpses which I gained, at this time, of by far the most powerful of the opponents of Burns. He was a good, conscientious man •, but unfor- tunate in a harsh, violent temper, and in sometimes mis- taking, as my old townsman remarked, the dictates of tha^ temper for those of duty. KECOLI.ECTIONS OF BUKNS. 10? CHAPTER VI. " It's hardly in a body's pow'r To keep at times frae being so in. To see how things are shar'd — Flow best o' chiels are whiles in want, While coofs on countless thousands rant, And kenna how to wair't." — Epistle to Dude. I visited my friend, a few days after my arrival in Irvine, t»t the farm-house of Mossgiel, to which, on the death ut his father, he had removed, with his brother Gilbert and his mother. I could not help observing that his manners were considerably changed : my welcome seemed less kind and hearty than I could have anticipated from the warm-hearted peasant of five years ago, and there was a stern and almost supercilious elevation in his bearing, which at first pained and offended me. I had met with him as he was returning from the fields after the labours of the day; the dusk of twilight had fallen; and, though I had calculf.ted on passing the evening with him at the farm-house of Mossgiel, so dis- pleased was I, that, after our first greeting, I had more than half changed my mind. The recollection of his former kindness to me, however, suspended the feeling, and I resolved on throwing myself on his hospitality for the night, however cold the welcome. "I have come all the way from Irvine to see you, Mr. Burns," I said. "For the last five years, I have thought more of my mother and you than of any other two persons in the country. May I not calculate, as of old, on my supper and a bed ? " There was an instantaneous change in his expression. "Pardon me, my friend," he said, ^asping my hand; "I have, unwittingly, been doing you wrong; one may 104 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. surely be the master of an Indiaman and in possession of a heart too honest to be spoiled by prosperity ! " The remark served to explain the haughty coldness of his manner which had so displeased me, and which was but the unwillingly assumed armour of a defensive pride. " There, brother," he said, throwing down some plough irons which he carried, " send wee Davoc with these to the smithy, and bid him tell Rankin I won't be there to-night. The moon is rising, Mr. Lindsay — shall we not have a stroll together through the coppice?" " That of all things," I replied ; and, parting from Gil' bert, we struck into the wood. The evening, considering the lateness of the season, for winter had set in, was mild and pleasant. The moon at full was rising over the Cumnock hills, and casting its faint light on the trees that rose around us, in their wind- ing-sheets of brown and yellow, like so many spectres, or that, in the more exposed glares and openings of the wood, stretched their long naked arms to the sky. A light breeze went rustling through the withered grass ; and I could see the faint twinkling of the falling leaves, as they came showering down on every side of us. " We meet in the midst of death and desolation," said my companion — "we parted when all around us was fresh and beautiful. My father was with me then, and — and Mary Campbell — and now" " Mary ! your Mary ! " I exclaimed- — " the young — the beautiful — alas ! is she also gone?" M She has left me," he said—" left me. Mary is in her grave !" I felt my heart swell, as the image of that loveliest of creatures came rising to my view in all her beauty, as I had seen her by the river side ; and I knew not what to reply. " Yes," continued my friend, " she's in her grave : — vva RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 105 parted for a few days, to re-unite, as we hoped, for ever ; and, ere these few days had passed, she was in her grave. But I was unworthy of her — unworthy even then ; and now But she is in her grave ! " I grasped his hand. " It is difficult," I said, "to bid the heart submit to these dispensations, and, oh, hew utterly impossible to bring it to listen ! But life — your life, my friend— must not be passed in useless sorrow. I am con- vinced, and often have I thought of it since our last meet- ing, that yours is no vulgar destiny — though I know not to what it tends." 'Downwards!" he exclaimed — "it tends downwards; — I see, I feel it ; — the anchor of my affection is gone, and I drift shoreward on the rocks." " 'Twere ruin," I exclaimed, " to think so !" " Not half an hour ere my father died," he continued, " he expressed a wish to rise and sit once more in his chair ; and we indulged him. But, alas ! the same feeling of uneasiness which had prompted the wish, remained with him still, and he sought to return again to his bed. ' It is not by quitting the bed or the chair,' he said, ' that I need seek for ease : it is by quitting the body.' I am oppressed, Mr. Lindsay, by a somewhat similar feeling of uneasiness, and, at times, would fain cast the blame on the circum- stances in which I am placed. But I may be as far mistaken as my poor father. I would fain live at peace with all mankind — nay, more, I would fain love and do good to them all ; but the villain and the oppressor come to set their feet on my very neck, and crush me into the mire — and must I not resist? And when, in some luckless hour, I yield to my passions — to those fearful passions that must one day overwhelm me — when I yield, and my whole mind is darkened by remorse, and I groan under the discipline of conscience, then comes the odious, abomi- nable hypocrite — the devourer of widows' houses and the 106 TALES OF THE BORDERS. substance of the orphan — and demands that my repentance be as public as his own hollow, detestable prayers. And ean I do other than resist and expose him? My heart tells me it was formed to bestow — why else does every misery that I cannot relieve render me wretched? It tells me, too, it was formed not to receive — why else does the proffered assistance of even a Mend fill my whole soul with indignation? But ill do my circuna* stances agree with my feelings. I feel as if I were totally misplaced in some frolic of nature, and wander onwards in gloom and unhappiness, seeking for my pro- per sphere. But, alas ! these efforts of uneasy miser) are but the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the walls of his cave." I again began to experience, as on a former occasion, the o'ermastering power of a mind larger beyond compari- son than my own ; but I felt it my duty to resist the influence. "Yes, you are misplaced, my friend," I said — "perhaps more decidedly so than any other man I ever knew; but is not this characteristic, in some measure, of the whole species ? We are all misplaced ; and it seems a part of the scheme of deity, that we should work our- selves up to our proper sphere. In what other respect does man so differ from the inferior animals as in those aspirations which lead him through all the progressions of improvement, from the lowest to the highest level of his nature ?" " That may be philosophy, my friend," he replied, " but a heart ill at ease finds little of comfort in it. You knew my father : need I say he was one of the excellent of the earth — a man who held directly from God Almighty the patent of his honours? I saw that father sink broken- hearted into the grave, the victim of legalized oppression — yes, saw him overborne in the long contest which his high spirit and his indomitable love of the right had RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 107 incited him to maintain — overborne by a mean, despicable scoundrel, one of the creeping things of the earth. Heaven knows I did my utmost to assist in the struggle. In my fifteenth year, Mr. Lindsay, when a thin, loose-jointed boy, I did the work of a man, and strained my unknit and overtoiled sinews as if life and death depended on the issue, till oft, in the middle of the night, I have had to fling myself from my bed to avoid instant suffocation — an effect of exertion so prolonged and so premature. Nor has the man exerted himself less heartily than the boy — in the roughest, severest labours of the field, I have never yet met a competitor. But my labours have been all in vain — I have seen the evil bewailed by Solomon — the righteous man falling down before the wicked." I could answer only with a sigh. " You are in the right," he continued, after a pause, and in a more subdued tone : " man is certainly misplaced — the present scene of thing? i? below the dignity of both his moral and intellectual nature. Look round you — (we had reached the summit of a grassy eminence which rose over the wood, and commanded a pretty exten- sive view of the surrounding country) — see yonder scat- tered cottages, that, in the faint light, rise dim and black amid the stubble fields — my heart warms as I look on them, for I know how much of honest worth, and sound, generous feeling shelters under these rooftrees. But why so much of moral excellence united to a mere machinery for ministering to tne ease and luxury of a few of, perhaps, the least worthy of our species — creatures so spoiled by prosperity that the claim of a common nature has no force to move them, and who seem as miserably misplaced aa tne myriads whom they oppress?" " If I'm designed yon lordling'a slave — ■ By nature's law designed — Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind? 108 TALKS OF THB BORDEBS. If not, why am I subject to His cruelty and scorn? Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn ?" " I would hardly know what to say in return, my friend," I rejoined, " did not you, yourself, furnish me with the reply. You are groping on in darkness, and it may be unhappiness, for your proper sphere ; but it is in obedience to a great though occult law of our nature — a law, general as it affects the species, in its course of onward progression — particular, and infinitely more irresistible, as it operates on eveiy truly superior intellect. There are men born to wield the destinies of nations — nay, more, to stamp the impression of their thoughts and feelings on the mind of the whole civilized world. And by what means do we often find them roused to accomplish their appointed work ? At times hounded on by sorrow and suffering, and thus in the design of providence, that there may be less of sorrow and suffering in the world ever after — at times roused by cruel and maddening oppression, that the oppressor may perish in his guilt, and a whole country enjoy the blessings of freedom. If Wallace had not suffered from tyranny, Scotland would not have been free." " But how apply the remark?" said my companion. " Robert Burns," I replied, again grasping his hand, "yours, I am convinced, is no vulgar destiny. Your griefs, your sufferings, your errors even, the oppressions you have seen and felt, the thoughts which have arisen in your mind, the feelings and sentiments of which it has been the subject, are, I am convinced, of infinitely more importance in their relation to your country than to yourself. You are, wisely and benevolently, placed far below your level, that thousands and ten thousands ol your countrymen may be the better enabled to attain to theirs. Assert the dignity of manhood and of genius, and RECOLLECTIONS OE BURNS. 109 there will be less of wrong and oppression in the world ever after." I spent the remainder of the evening in the farm-house of Mossgiel, and took the coach next morning for Liverpool. CHAPTER VIL " His is that language of the heart In which the answering heart would speak — Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, Or the smile light up the check ; And his that music to whose tone The common pulse of man keeps time, In cot or castle's mirth or moan, In cold or sunny clime." — American pott. The love of literature, when once thoroughly awakened in a reflective mind, can never after cease to influence it. It first assimilates our intellectual part to those fine intel- lects which live in the world of books, and then renders our connection with them indispensable, by laying hold of that social principle of our nature which ever leads us to the society of our fellows as our proper sphere of enjoy- ment. My early habits, by heightening my tone of thought and feeling, had tended considerably to narrow my circle of companionship. My profession, too, had led me to be much alone ; and now that I had been several years the master of an Indiaman, I was quite as fond of reading, and felt as deep an interest in whatever took place in the literary world, as when a student at St. Andrew's. There was much in t"ie literature of the period to gratify my pride as a Scot< hman. The despotism, both political and religious, which had overlaid the energies of our country for more than a century, had long been removed, and the national mi^ " had swelled and expanded under a better 110 TALES OF THE BORDERS. system of things, till its influence had become co-exteniive with civilized man. Hume had produced his inimitable history, and Adam Smith his wonderful work, which was to revolutionize and new-model the economy of all the governments of the earth. And there, in my little library, were the histories of Henry and Robertson, the philosophy of Kaimes and Reid, the novels of Smollett and Mackenzie, and the poetry of Beattie and Home. But, if there was no lack of Scottish intellect in the literature of the time, there was a decided lack of Scottish manners ; and I knew too much of my humble countrymen not to regret it. True, I had before me the writings of Ramsay and my unfortu- nate friend Ferguson ; but there was a radical meanness in the first that lowered the tone of his colouring far be- neath the freshness of truth, and the second, whom I had seen perish — too soon, alas ! for literature and his country — had given us but a few specimens of his power when ms hand was arrested for ever. My vessel, after a profitable, though somewhat tedious voyage, had again arrived in Liverpool. It was late in December, 1786, and I was passing the long evening in my cabin, engaged with a whole sheaf of pamphlets and magazines which had been sent me from the shore. The Lounger was, at this time, in course of publication. I had ever been an admirer of the quiet elegance and exquisite tenderness of Mackenzie ; and, though I might not be quite disposed to think, with Johnson, that " the chief glory of every people arises from its authors," I certainly felt all the prouder of my country, from the circumstance that so accomplished a writer was one of my countrymen. I had read this .evening some of the more recent numbers, half disposed to regret, however, amid all the pleasure they afforded me, that the Addison of Scotland had not done for the manners of his country what his illustrious prototype had done for those of England, when my eye fell RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. Ill on the ninety-seventh number. I read the introductory sentences, and admired their truth and elegance. I had felt, in the contemplation of supereminent genius, the plea- sure which the writer describes, and my thoughts reverted to my two friends — the dead and the living. "In the view of highly superior talents, as in that of great and stupendous object*," says the essayist, "there is a sub- limity which fills the soul with wonder and delight — which expands it, as it were, beyond its usual bounds, and which, investing our nature ■with extraordinary powers and extra- ordinary honj'zrs, interests our curiosity and flatters oi»r pride." i read on with increasing interest. It was evident, from the tone of the introduction, that some new luminary had arisen in the literary horizon, and I felt somewhat like a schoolboy when, at his first play, he waits for the drawing up of the curtain. And the curtain at length rose. "The person," continues the essayist, " to whom I allude" — and he alludes to him as a genius of no ordinary class — " is Robert Burns, an Ayrshire ploughman." The effect on my nerves seemed electrical ; I clapped my hands, and sprung from my seat : " Was I not certain of it ! Did I not fore- see it !" I exclaimed. " My noble-minded friend, Robert Burns!" I ran hastily over the warm-hearted and gene- rous critique, so unlike the cold, timid, equivocal notices with which the professional critic has greeted, on their first appearance, so many works destined to immortality. It was Mackenzie, the discriminating, the classical, the elegant, who assured me that the productions of this " heaven-taught ploughman were fraught with the high- toned feeling and the power and energy of expression characteristic of the mind and voice of the poet" — with the solemn, the tender, the sublime ; that they contained images of pastoral beauty which no other writer had ever surpassed, and strains of wild humour which only the 112 TALES OF THE BORDERS. higher masters of the lyre had ever equalled ; and that the genius displayed in them seemed not less admirable in tracing the manners than in painting the passions, or in drawing the scenery of nature. I flung down the essay, ascended to the deck in three huge strides, leaped ashore, and reached my bookseller's as he was shutting up for the night. " Can you furnish me with a copy of Burns' Poem*," I said, "either for love or money?" " I have but one copy left," replied the man, " and here it is." I flung down a guinea, " The change," I said, " I shall get when I am less in a hurry." Twas late that evening ere I remembered that 'tis cus- tomary to spend at least part of the night in bed. I read on and on with a still increasing astonishment and delight, Iraighing and crying by turns. I was quite in a new world ; all was fresh and unsoiled — the thoughts, the descriptions, the images — as if the volume I read was the first that had ever been written ; and yet all was easy and natural, and appealed, with a truth and force irresistible, to the recol- lections I cherished most fondly. Nature and Scotland met me at every turn. I had admired the polished com- positions of Pope, and Gray, and Collins, though I could not sometimes help feeling that, with all the exquisite art they displayed, there was a little additional art wanting still. In most cases the scaffolding seemed incorporated with the structure which it had served to rear ; and, though certainly no scaffolding could be raised on surer principles, I could have wished that the ingenuity which had been tasked to erect it, had been exerted a little fur- ther in taking it down. But the work before me was evi- dently the production of a greater artist ; not a fragment of the scaffolding remained — not so much as a mark to show how it had been constructed. The whole seemed to have RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 113 risen like an exhalation, and, in this respect, reminded me of the structures of Shakspeare alone. I read the inimit- able " Twa Dogs." Here, I said, is the full and perfect realization of what Swift and Dryden were hardy enough to attempt, but lacked genius to accomplish. Here are dogs — bona fide dogs — endowed indeed with more than human sense and observation, but true to character, as the most honest and attached of quadrupeds, in every line. And then those exquisite touches which the poor man, inured to a life of toil and poverty, can alone rightly un- derstand! and those deeply-based remarks on character, which only the philosopher can justly appreciate ! This is the true catholic poetry, which addresses itself not to any little circle, walled in from the rest of the species by some peculiarity of thought, prejudice, or condition, but to the whole human family. I read on : — " The Holy Fair," " Hallow E'en," "The Vision," the "Address to the Deil," engaged me by turns ; and then the strange, up- roarious, unequalled " Death and Dr. Hornbook." This, I said, is something new in the literature of the world. Shakspeare possessed above all men the power of instant and yet natural transition, from the lightly gay to the. deeply pathetic — from the wild to the humorous ; but the opposite states of feeling which he induces, however close the neighbourhood, are ever distinct and separate ; the oil and the water, though contained in the same vessel, remain apart. Here, however, for the first time, they mix and incorporate, and yet each retains its whole nature and full effect. I need hardly remind the reader that the feat has been repeated, and even with more completeness, in the wonderful " Tarn o' Shanter." I read on. " The Cotter's Saturday Night " filled my whole soul — my heart throbbed and my eyes moistened ; and never before did I feel half so proud of my country, or know half so well on what score it was I did best in feeling proud. I had d2 114 TALES OF THE BORDERS. perused the entire volume from beginning to end, ere 1 remembered I had not taken supper, and that it was more than time to go to bed. But it is no part of my plan to furnisn a critique on the poems of my friend. I merely strive to recall the thoughts and feelings which my first perusal of them awakened, and thus only as a piece of mental history. Several months elapsed from this evening ere I could hold them out from me sufficiently at arms' length, as it were, to judge of their more striking characteristics. At times the amazing amount of thought, feeling, and imagery which they contained — their wonderful continuity of idea, without gap or inter- stice — seemed to me most to distinguish them. At times they reminded me, compared with the writings of smoother poets, of a collection of medals which, unlike the thin polished coin of the kingdom, retained all the significant and pictorial roughness of the original die. But when, after the lapse of weeks, months, years, I found them rising up in my heart on every occasion, as naturally as if they had been the original language of all my feelings and emotions — when I felt that, instead of remaining outside my mind, as it were, like the writings of other poets, they had so amalgamated themselves with my passions, my sentiments, my ideas, that they seemed to have become portions of my very self— I was led to a final conclusion regarding them. Their grand distinguishing characteristic is their unswerving and perfect truth. The poejy oi Shakspeare is the mirror of life — that of Burns the expres- sive :md richly modulated voice of human nature. RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. CHAPTER VIIL "Bums was a poor man from Ms birth, and an exciseman from neces- sity; but— I will say it ! — the sterling of his honest worth, poverty could not debase; and his independent British spirit oppression might bend, but could not subdue." — Letter to Mr. Graham. I have been listening for the last half hour to the wild music of an Eolian harp. How exquisitely the tones rise and fall ! — now sad, now solemn — now near, now distant. The nerves thrill, the heart softens, the imagination awakes as we listen. What if that delightful instrument be ani- mated by a living soul, and these finely-modulated tones be but the expression of its feelings ! What if these dying, melancholy cadences, which so melt and sink into the heart, be — what we may so naturally interpret them — the melodious sinkings of a deep-seated and hopeless unhappi- ness ! Nay, the fancy is too wild for even a dream. But are there none of those fine analogies, which run through the whole of nature and the whole of art, to sub ime it into truth ? Yes, there have been such living harps , imong us ; beings, the tones of whose sentiments, the mel )dy of whose emotions, the cadences of whose sorrows, ren: ain to thrill, and delight, and humanize our souls. The} seem born for others, not for themselves. Alas, for the 1 Rpless companion of my early youth ! Alas, for him, the pride of his country, the friend of my maturer manhood I ~But my narrative lags in its progress. My vessel lay in the Clyde for several weeks during tbe summer of 1794, and I found time to indulge myself in a brief tour along the western coasts of the kingdom, from Glasgow to the Borders. I entered Dumfries in a calm, lovely evening, and passed along one of the principal streets. The shadows of the houses on the western side were stretched half-way across the pavement, while, on the side 116 TAi.ES OF THE BORDERS. opposite, the bright sunshine seemed sleeping on the jutting irregular fronts, and high antique gables. There seemed a world of well-dressed company this evening in town ; and I learned, on inquiry, that all the aristocracy of the adjacent country, for twenty miles round, had come in to attend a county ball. They went fluttering along the sunny side ot the street, gay as butterflies — group succeeding group. On the opposite side, in the shade, a solitary individual was passing slowly along the pavement. I knew him at a glance. It was the first poet, perhaps the greatest man, of his age and country. But why so solitary ? It had been told me that he ranked among his friends and associates many of the highest names in the kingdom, and yet to- night not one of the hundreds who fluttered past appeared inclined to recognise him. He seemed too — but perhaps fancy misled me — as if care-worn and dejected; pained, perhaps, that not one among so many of the great should have humility enough to notice a poor exciseman. I stole lip to him unobserved, and tapped him on the shoulder ; there was a decided fierceness in his manner as he turned abruptly round, but, as he recognised me, his expressive countenance lighted up in a moment, and I shall never forget the heartiness with which he grasped my hand. "We quitted the streets together for the neighbouring fields, and, after the natural interchange of mutual con- gratulations — " How is it," I inquired. " that you do not seem to have a single acquaintance among all the gay and great of the country?" " I lie under quarantine," he replied ; " tainted by the plague of liberalism. There is not one of the hundreds we passed to-night whom I could not once reckon among my intimates." The intelligence stunned and irritated me. "How infinitely absurd 1" I said. " Do they dream of sinking you into a common man ?" RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 117 " Even so," he rejoined. " Do they not all know I have been a gauger for the last five years 1" The fact bad both grieved and incensed me long before. I knew, too, that Pye enjoyed his salary as poet laureate of the time, and Dibdin, the song writer, his pension of two hundred a-year, and I blushed for my country. **Yes," he continued — the ill-assumed coolness of his manner giving way before his highly excited feelings — " they have assigned me my place among the mean and the degraded, as their best patronage ; and only yesterday, after an official threat of instant dismission, I was told it was my business to act, not to think. God help me! what lifctfve I done to provoke such bitter insult? I have ever discharged my miserable duty— discharged it, Mr. Lindsay, however repugnant to my feelings, as an honest man ; and though there awaited me no promotion, I was silent. The wives or sisters of those whom they advanced over me had bastards to some of the family, and so their influence was necessarily greater than mine. But now they crush me into the very dust. I take an interest in the struggles of the slave for his freedom ; I express my opinions as if I myself were a free man ; and they threaten to starve me and my children if I dare so much as speak or think." I expressed my indignant sympathy in a few broken sentences ; and he went on with kindling animation : — "Yes, they would fain crush me into the very dust! They cannot forgive me, that, being born a man, I should walk erect according to my nature. Mean-spirited and despicable themselves, they can tolerate only the mean- spirited and the despicable ; and were I not so entirely in their power, Mr. Lindsay, I could regard them with the proper contempt. But the wretches can starve me and my ehildren — and they know it ; nor does it mend the matter that I know in turn, what pitiful, miserable, little creatures they are. What care I for the butterflies of to-night?— 118 TALES OF THE BOEDEitS. they passed me without the honour of their notice ; and 1, in turn, suffered them to pass without the honour of mine ; and I am more than quits. Do I not know that they and I are going on to the fulfilment of our several destinies ? — they to sleep, in the obscurity of their native insignificance, with the pismires and grasshoppers of all the past, and I to be whatever the millions of my unborn countrymen shall yet decide. Pitiful little insects of an hour ! what is their notice to me ! But I bear a heart, Mr. Lindsay, that can feel the pain of treatment so unworthy ; and I must con- fess it moves me. One cannot always five upon the future, divorced from the sympathies of the present. One cannot always solace one's self under the grinding despotism that would fetter one's very thoughts, with the conviction, how- ever assured, that posterity will do justice both to the oppressor and the oppressed. I am sick at heart ; and were it aot for the poor little things that depend so entirely on my exertions, I could as cheerfully lay me down in the grave as 1 -:ver did in bed after the fatigues of a long day's labour. Heaven help me ! I am miserably unfitted to struggle with even the natural evils of existence — how much more so when these are multiplied and exaggerated by the proud, capricious inhumanity of man I" " There is a miserable lack of right principle and right feeling," I said, " among our upper classes in the present day ; but, alas for poor human nature ! it has ever been so, and, I am afraid, ever will. And there is quite as much of it in savage as in civilized fife. I have seen the exclusive aristocratic spirit, with its one-sided injustice, as rampant in a wild isle of the Pacific as I ever saw it among ourselves." " "lis slight comfort," said my friend, with a melancholy smile, " to be assured, when one's heart bleeds from the cruelty or injustice of our fellows, that man is naturally cruel and unjust, and not less so as a savage than when better taugnt. I knew you, Mr, Lindsay, when you were RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 119 younger and less fortunate; but you have now reached that middle term of life when man naturally takes up the Tory and lays down the Whig ; nor has there been aught in your improving circumstances to retard the change; and so you rest in the conclusion that, if the weak among us suffer from the tyranny cf the strong, 'tis because human nature is so constituted, and the case therefore cannot be helped." "Pardon me, Mr. Burns," I said, "I am not quite so finished a Tory as that amounts to." "I am not one of those fanciful declaimers," he con- tinued, " who set out on the assumption that man is free- born. I am too well assured of the contrary. Man is not free-born. The earlier period of his existence, whether as a puny child or the miserable denizen of an uninformed and barbarous state, is one of vassalage and subserviency. He is not born free, he is not born rational, he is not born virtuous ; he is born to become all these. And woe to the sophist who, with arguments drawn from the unconfirmed constitution of his childhood, would strive to render his imperfect, because immature, state of pupilage a per- manent one ! We are yet far below the level of which our nature is capable, and possess in consequence but a small portion of the liberty which it is the destiny of our species to enjoy. And 'tis time our masters should be taught so. You will deem me a wild Jacobin, Mr. Lindsay ; but per- secution has the effect of making a man extreme in these matters. Do help me to curse the scoundrels ! — my busi- ness to act, not to think ! " We were silent for several minutes. " I have not yet thanked you, Mr. Burns," I at length said, " for the most exquisite pleasure I ever enjoyed. You have been my companion for the last eight years." His countenance brightened. " Ah, here I am boring you with my miseries and my 120 fALES OP THE BORDERS. ill-nature," he replied; "but you must come along with me and see the bairns and Jean ; and some of the best songs I ever wrote. It will go hard if we hold not care at the staff's end for at least one evening. You have not yet seen my stone- puiK-h-howlj nor my Tarn o'Shauter, nor a hundred other line things beside. And yet, vile wretch that I am, I am sometimes so unconscionable as to be unhappy with them all. But come along." We spent this evening together with as much of happi- ness as it has ever been my lot to enjoy. Never was there a fonder father than Burns, a more attached husband, or a warmer friend. There was an exuberance of love in his large heart, that encircled in its flow, relatives, friends, associates, his country, the world ; and, in his kinder moods, the sympathetic influence which he exerted over the hearts of others seemed magical. I laughed and cried this evening by turns ; I was conscious of a wider and warmer expansion of feeling than I had ever experienced before ; my very imagination seemed invigorated by breathing, as it were, in the same atmosphere with his. We parted early next morning — and when I again visited Dumfries, I went and wept over his grave. Forty years have now passed since his death, and in that time many poets have arisen to achieve a rapid and brilliant celebrity; but they seem the meteors of a lower sky ; the flush passes hastily from the expanse, and we see but one great light looking steadily upon us from above. It is Burns who is exclusively the poet of his country. Other writers inscribe their names on the plaster which covers for the time the outside structure of society ; his is engraved, like that of the Egyptian architect, on the ever-during granite within. The fame of the others rises and falls with the uncertain undulations of the mode on which they have reared it ; his remains fixed and permanent, as the human nature on which it is based. Or, to borrow the figures Johnson SECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS. 121 employs in illustrating the unfluctuating celebrity of a scarcely greater poet — " The sand heaped by one flood k scattered by another, but the rock always continues in its place. The stream of time, which is continually washing the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes- without injury, b'j the adamant rrf Shakspeare." 122 TALES OF THE BOKDERS. THE PROFESSOR'S TA),E3- THE CONVIVTALLSTS. We must introduce our readers, -with an apology for our abruptness, into a party of about half-a-dozen young gal- lants, who had evidently been making deep and frequent libations at the shrine of Bacchus. The loud bursts of hearty laughter which rang round the room like so many triple bobmajors, the leering eyes, the familiar diminutives with which the various parties addressed each other, and the frequent locking of hands together in a grasp the force of which was meant to express an ardour of social friendship which words were too weak to convey — all showed that the symposiasts had cleared the fences which prudence or selfishness set up in the sober intercourse of life, and were now, with loosened reins, spurring away over the free wild fields of fancy and fun. An immense quantity of walnut-shells — which .the mercurial compota- tors had been amusing themselves by throwing at each other — lay scattered about the table and on the floor ; two or three shivered wine glasses had been shoved into the centre of the table, the fragments glittering upon a pile of glorious Woodvilles, all speckled over, like Jacob's sheep ; each man had one of the weeds stuck rakishly in the corner of his mouth, and was knocking off the ashes upon his deviled biscuits ; and, to the right of the president's chair, a long straggling regiment of empty bottles gave dumb but elo- quent proof of the bibulous capabilities of the company. Each man was talking vehemently to his neighbour, and every one for himself; in order, as a wag among them said, THE C0NVIVIALI8TS 123 to get through the work quickly, and jump at once to a conclusion. They were, as Sheridan has it, " arguing in platoons." There was one exception, however, to the boisterous mirth of the convivialists, in the person ot Frank Elliot, in celebration of whose obtaining his medical degree the feast had been given. He was leaning back in his chair, gazing, with a slight curl of contempt on his lip, at the rude glee of his associates. He had distinguished himself so highly among his fellow-students, that one of the professors had, in the ceremony of the morning, singled him out, before all his contemporaries, with the highest eulogiums, and had predicted, in the most flattering man- ner, his certain celebrity in his profession. Perhaps the natural vanity which these public honours had created, the bright prospect which lay before him, and his being less excited than his companions — caused him to turn, with disgust, from the silly ribaldry and weak witticisms which circled round his table. Amid the uproar his silence was for some time unheeded ; but at length Harry Whitaker, his old college chum, now lieutenant in his Majesty's navy, and with a considerable portion of broad sailor's humour and slang, observed it, and slapping him roundly on the back, cried, " Hilloa, Frank ! what are you dodging about? — quizzing the rig of your convoy, because they have too much light duck set tc walk steadily through the water?" "Frank ! why, isn't he asleep all this time? I haven't heard his voice this half hour," exclaimed another. " ' Parce meum, quisquis tanges cava marmora somniun Rumpere ; give bibas, sive lavere, tace,' " said Elliot beseechingly. " Come, come," said Harry, " none of your heathenish lingo over the mahogany. Boys ! I move that Frank be made to swallow a tumbler of port for using bad language, 124 TALES OP THE BORDERS. and to make him fit company for the rest of us honest fellows." " Fiat experimentum in corpore vtti™ squeaked a first year inedical student, shoving the lighted end of his cigar, by mistake, into his mouth when he had delivered his sen- tence, and then springing up and sputtering out a mighty oath and a quantity of hot tobacco ashes. "Ashes to ashes," cried Harry, filling up a tumbler to the brim ; " we'll let you off this time, as you're a fire- eater ; but rally round, lads, and see this land shark swal- low his grog." " Nay, but, my friends " began Frank, seeing, with horror, that the party had gathered round him, and that Harry held the glass inexorably in his mouth. " Get a gag rigged," shouted the young sailor; "we'll find a way into his grog shop." " Upon my word, Whitaker," said Frank, with a ludi- crous intonation of voice, between real anger and distress, " this is too hard on one who has filled fairly from the first — to punish him without an inquiry into the justice of the case." " Jeddart justice — hang first, and judge after!" roared a student from the sylvan banks of the Jed. "No freeman can, under any pretence," hiccupped a young advocate, who was unable to rise from his chair, " be condemned, except by the legal decision of his peers, or by the law of the land. So sayeth the Magna Charta — King John — (Aic) — right of all freeborn Englishmen — in- cluding thereby all inhabitants of Great Britain, incorpo* rated at the Union — hie — and Ireland." Whitaker set the tumbler down in despair, finding that his companions, like the generality of raw students, were so completely wedded to their pedantry, that the fine, ii insisted on, would have to go all round. " Let's have a song, Rhirneson," cried Frank, very glad THE CONVTTIALISTS. 125 to escape from his threatened bumper, and still fearful that it might be insisted upon , " a song extempore, as becomes a poet in his cups, and in thine own vein ; for what says Spenser ? — ' For Bacchus' fruit is friend to Phcebus wise ; And when, with wine, the brain begins to sweat, The numbers flow as fast a3 spring doth rise.' " " By Jove, boys ! you shall have it," cried Ehimeson, filling his glass with unsteady hand, and muttering, from the same prince of poets — " ' Who can counsell a thirstie soule, With patience to forbeare the offred bowle ? ' " " That is the pure well of English undenled, old feliov/s, Mid so here goes — ' The Lass we Love I ' Tune — ' Duncan D&ison- " Come, fill your glass, my trusty friend, And fill it sparkling to the brim — A flowing bumper, bright and strong — And push the bottle back again ; For what is man without his drink ? An oyster prison'd in his shell ; A rushlight in the vaults of death ; A rattlesnake without his tail. CHORUS. This world, we know, is full of csn%, And sorrow darkens every day ; But wine and love shall be the sta/s To light us on our weary way. Beyond yon hills there lives a lass, Her name I dare not even speak ; The wine that sparkles in my glass Was ne'er so rosy as her cheek. Her neck is clearer than the spring That streams the water lilies on ; So, here's to her 1 long have loved— The fairest flower in Albion. 126 TAXES OF THE BORDERS. Let. knaves and fools this world divide, As they have done since Adam's time; Let misers by their hoards abide, And poets weave their rotten rhyme; But ye, who, in an hour like this, Feel every pulse to rapture move, Fill high ! each lip the goblet kiss — The pledge shall be — ' The Lass we Love ! ' " After a good deal of roaritorious applause, the young gentlemen began to act upon the hint contained in the song, and each to give, as a toast, the lady of his heart When it came to Elliot's turn, he declared he was unable to fulfil the conditions of the toast, as there was not a woman in the world for whom he had the slightest predilection. " Why, thou personified snowball! thou human icicle! " cried Whitaker. " Say an avalanche," interrupted Frank ; " for, when once my heart is shaken, it will be as irresistible in its course as one of these ' thunderbolts of snow.' " " Still, it's nothing but cold snow, for all that," cried Harry. " Who talks of Frank Elliot and love in the same breath? " cried Rhimeson ; " why, his heart is like a rock, and love, like a torpid serpent, enclosed in it." " True," replied Frank ; " but, you know, these same serpents sting as hard as ever when once they get into the open air; besides, love, as the shepherd in Virgil dis- covered, is an inhabitant of the rocks." " Confound the fellow ! he's a walking apothegm — as consequential as a syllogism ! " muttered Harry ; " bul come now, Frank, let us have the inexpressive she, with- out backing and filling any longer." " Upon my word, Harry, it is out of my power ; but, in few weeks, I hope to " said Elliot. * Hope, Frank, hope, my good fellow, is a courtier very THE CONVIVIALTSTS. 127 pleasant and agreeable in his conversation, but very much given to forget his promises. But I'll tell you, Frank, since you won't give a toast, I will, because I know it will punish you — so, gentlemen " The toast was only suited for the meridian of the place in which it was given, and we will, therefore, be excused from repeating it. But Whitaker had judged rightly that he had punished his friend, who, from the strictness of his education, and a certain delicacy in his opinions respecting women, could never tolerate the desecration of these opinions by the libertine ribaldry which forms so great a part of the conversation of many men after the first bottle. Frank's brow darkened, his keen eye turned with a glance of indignation to Harry ; and he was prevented only by the circumstance of being in his own house, from instantly kicking him out of the room. "Look at Frank now, gentles," continued the young sailor, when the mirth had subsided; "his face is as long as a ropewalk, while every one of yours is as broad as the main hatchway. He has a reverence for women as great as I have for my own tight, clean, sprightly craft ; but because a fellow kicks one of my loose spars, or puts it tc a base use, I'm not to quarrel with him, as if he had called mv vessel a collier, eh ? Frank, ray good fellow, you're too sober ; you're thinking too much of yourself ; you're looking at the world with convex glasses ; and thus the world seems little — you yourself only great ; but, recollect, everybody looks through a convex glass; and that's vanity, Frank :— there, now! the murder's out." " Nay, Harry," cried Bhimeson, goodnaturedly ; for he saw Elliot's nether lip grow white with suppressed passion j " don't push Frank too hard, for charity's sake." "Charity, to be sure!" interrupted Harry; "but con- sider what I must have suffered if I had not got that dead weight pitched overboard. I was labouring in the trough, 123 TALES OF THE BORDERS. man, and would have foundered with that spite in mj hold. Charity begins at home." " Tis a pity that the charity of many persons ends there too," said Frank drily. " Frank's wit is like the King of Prussia's regiment oi death," said the young seaman — " it gives no quarter. But come now, my lads, rig me out a female craft fit for that snow-blooded youngster to go captain of in the voyage of matrimony ; do it shipshape, and bear a hand. I woidd try it myself; but the room looks, to my eyes, as it were filled with dancing logarithms ; and then he's so cold, slow, misty-hearted " " That if," cried Ehimeson, interrupting him, " he ad- dresses a lady as cold, slow, and misty-hearted as himself they may go on courting the whole course of their natural lives, like the assymptotes of a hyperbola, which approach nearer and nearer, ad infinitum, without the possibility oi ever meeting." 11 Ha, ha, ha 1 — ay,*' shouted Harry ; " and if he ad- dresses one of a sanguine temperament, there will be a pretty considerable traffic of quarrels carried on between them, typified and illustrated very well by the constant commerce of heat which is maintained between the poles and the equator, by the agency of opposite currents in the atmosphere. By Jove I Frank, matrimony presents the fire of two batteries at you ; one rakes you fore and aft, and the other strikes between wind and water.* " And pray, Harry, what sort of a consort will you sail with yourself?" inquired Ehimeson. This was, perhaps, a question, of all others, that the young sailor would have wished to avoid answering at that time. He was the accepted lover of the sister of his friend Elliot — and, at the moment he was running Frank down, to be, as he himself might have said, brought up standing, was suffi- ciently disagreeable. THE CONVIVALISTS. 129 " Come, come, Harry," cried the young poet, seeing the sailor hesitate; "let's have her from skysail-mast fid to keel — from starboard to larboard stunsails — from the tip of the flying jib-boom to the tafrrail." "They're all fireships, Rhimeson !" replied Harry, with forced gaiety — for he was indignant at Elliot's keen and suspicious glance — " and, if I do come near them, it shall always be to windward, for the Christian purpose of blow- ing them out of the water." " A libertine," said Frank, significantly, "reviles womea, just in the same way that licentious priests lay the blame of the disrespect with which parsons are treated on the irreligion of the laity." " I don't understand either your wit or your manner, Frank," replied Harry, giving a lurch in his chair ; " but this I know, that I don't care a handful of shakings for either of them ; and I say still, that women are all fire- ships — keep to windward of them — pretty things to try your young gunners at ; but, if you close with them, you're gone, that's all." " I'll tell you what you're very like, just now, Harry," said Frank — who had been pouring down glass after glass of wine, as if to quench his anger — "you're just like a turkey cock after his head has been cut off, which will keep stalking on in the same gait for several yards before he drops." "Elliot! do you mean to insult me?" cried Whitaker, springing furiously from his seat. " I leave that to the decision of your own incomparable judgment, sir," replied Elliot, bowing, with a sneer just visible on his features. " If I thought so, Frank, I would- but it's impossible ; you are my oldest friend." And thr young sailor sat down triui a moody brow. "What would you, sir?" said Elliot, in a tone of calm Vol.. ii. E 130 TALES OF THE BORDERS. contempt ; " bear it meekly, I presume ? Nay, do not look big, and clench your hands, sir, unless, like Bob Acres, you feel your valour oozing out at your palms, and arc striving to retain it!" " I'll tell you what, Elliot," cried the young sailor, again springing to his feet, and seizing a decanter of wine by the neck, " I don't know what prevents me from driving this at your head." " It would be quite in keeping with the rest of your gentlemanly conduct, sir," replied Frank, still keeping his seat, and looking at Harry with the most cool and provok- ing derision ; " but I'll tell you why you don't — you dare not!" "But that you are Harriet Elliot's brother" began Harry, furiously. "Scoundrel!" thundered Elliot, rising suddenly, and making a stride towards the young sailor, while the veins of his brow protruded like lines of cordage ; " utter that name again, before me, with these blasphemous lips" Elliot had scarce, however, let fall the opprobrious Epithet, ere the decanter flew, with furious force, from Whitaker's hand, and, narrowly missing Frank's head, was shivered on the wall beyond. In a moment the young sailor was in the nervous grasp of Frank, who, apparently without the slightest exertion af his vast strength, lifted up the comparatively slight form of Whitaker, and laid him on his back on the floor. " Be grateful, sir," said he, pressing the prostrate youth firmly down with one hand ; " be grateful to the laws of hospitality, which, though you may think it a slight matter to violate, prevent me from striking you in my own house, or pitching you out of the window. Rise, sir, and begone." Harry rose slowly ; and it was almost fearful to see the change which passion had wrought in a few moments on his features. The red flush of drunken rage was entu-ely THE CONVIVIALISTS. 131 gone, and the livid cheek, the pale quivering lip, and col- lected eye, which had usurped its place, showed that the degradation he had just undergone had completely sobered him, and given his passion a new but more malignant character. He stood for a brief period in moody silence, whilst the rest of the young men closed round him and Frank, with the intention of reconciling them. At length he moved away towards the door, pushing his friends rudely aside ; but turning, before he left the room, he said, in a voice trembling with suppressed emotion — " I hope to meet Mr. Elliot where his mere brute strength will be laid aside for more honourable and equitable wea- pons." " I shall be happy, at any place or time, to show my sense of Mr. "Whitaker's late courtesy," replied Frank, bow- ing slightly, and then drawing up his magnificent figure to its utmost height. " Let it be now, then, sir," said the young sailor, step- ping back into the centre of the room, and pointing to a brace of sharps, which, among foils and masks, hung ou one of the walls. " Oh, no, no ! — for God's sake, not now ! " burst from every one except Frank. " It can neither be now nor here, sir," replied he, firmly, motioning Whitaker haughtily to the door. " Gentlemen," said Harry, turning round to his frienda with a loud laugh of derision, " you see that vanity is stronger than valour. Pompey's troops were beaten at the battle of Pharsalia, only because they were afraid of their pretty faces. Upon my soul, I believe Mr. Elliot's hand- some features stand in the way of his gallantry." " Begone, trifler !" cried Frank, relapsing into fury. " Coward ! " shouted the young sailor at the top of his voice. "Ha!" exclaimed Elliot, starting, as if an adder had 132 TALES OF THE BORDERS. stung him ; then, with a convulsive effort controlling his rage, he took down the swords, threw one of them upon the table, and putting his arm into Rhimeson's, beckoned the young sailor to follow him, and left the apartment. As it was in vain that the remainder of the young men attempted to restrain Whitaker, they agreed to accompany him in a body, in order, if possible, to prevent mischief; all but the young advocate whom we have before men- tioned, who, having too great a respect for the law to patronise other methods of redressing grievances, ran off to secure the assistance of the city authorities. The moon, which had been wading among thick masses of clouds, emerged into the clear blue sky, and scattered her silver showers of light on the rocks and green sides of Arthur's Seat, as the young men reached a secluded part in the valley at its foot. " Gracious Heaven ! " exclaimed the young poet to Frank, as they turned to wait for Whitaker and his companions, " how horrible it is to desecrate a scene and hour like this by violence — perhaps, Elliot, by murder ! " Frank did not reply ; his thoughts were at that time with his aged mother and his now unprotected sister ; and he bitterly reflected that to whoever of them, in the approaching contest, wounds or death might fall, poor Harriet would have equally to suffer. But the young sailor, still boiling with rage, at that moment approached, and throwing his cloak on a rock, cried, " Now, sir 1 " and placed himself in atti- tude. Their swords crossed, and, for a brief space, nothing was heard but the hard breathing of the spectators and the clashing of the steel, as the well-practised combatants parried each other's thrusts. Elliot was, incomparably, the cooler of the two, and he threw away many chances in which his adversary placed himself open to a palpable hit, his aim being to disarm his antagonist without wounding THE CONVTVIALISTS. 133 him. An unforeseen accident prevented this. Whitaker, pressing furiously forward, struck his foot against a stone, and falling, received Elliot's sword in his body, the hilt, striking with a deep, quick, sullen sound against his breast. The young sailor fell with a sharp aspiration of anguish ; and his victorious adversary, horrified by the sight, and rendered silent by the sudden revulsion of his feelings, stood, for some time, gazing at his sword, from the point of which the blood drops trickled slowly, and fell on the dewy sward. " Tis the blood of my dearest, oldest friend — of my brother ; and shed by my hand ! " he muttered at length, flinging away the guilty blade. His only answer was the groans of his victim, and the shrill whistle of the weapon as it flew through the air. " Harry, my friend, my brother ! " cried the young man, in a tone of unutterable anguish, kneeling down on the grass, and pressing the already cold clammy hand of his late foe." " Your voice is pleasant to me, Frank, even in death," muttered the young sailor, in a thick obstructed voice. " I have done you wrong — forgive me while I can hear you ; and tell Harriet — oh !" " I do, I do forgive you ; but, oh ! how shall I forgive myself? Speak to me, Harry ! " And Elliot, frantic at the sight of the bloody motionless heap before him, repeated the name of his friend till his voice rose into a scream of agony that curdled the very blood of his friends, and re-echoed among the rocks above, like the voices of tor- tured demons. Affairs were in this situation when the young advocate came running breathless up to them, and saw, at a glance, that he was too late. " Fly, for Heaven's sake ! fly, Elliot ; here is money ; you may need it," he cried ; " the officers will be here instantly, and your exis- tence may be the forfeit of this unhappy chance. Fly ! every moment lost is a stab at your life !" 134 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Be it so," replied the wretched young man, rising and gazing with folded arms down upon his victim 5 "what have I to do with life ?— he has ceased to live. I will not leave him." His friends joined in urging Elliot to instant flight ; but he only pointed to the body, and said, in the low tones of calm despair : " Do you think I can leave him now, and thus? Let those fly who are in love with life; I shall remain and meet my fate." "Frank Elliot!" muttered the wounded man, reviving from the fainting fit into which he had fallen ; " come near to me, for I am very weak, and swear to grant the request I have to make, as you would have my last moments free from the bitterest agony." Elliot flung himself on the ground by the side of his friend, and, in a voice broken by anguish, swore to attend to his words. " Then leave this spot immediately," said the young sailor, speaking slowly and with extreme diffi- culty ; " and should this be my last request — as I feel it must be — get out of the country till the present unhappy affair is forgotten ; and moreover, mark, Frank — and, my friends, attend to my words : — I entreat, I command you to lay the entire blame of this quarrel and its consequences on me. One of you will write to my poor father, and say it was my last request that he should consider Elliot inno- cent, and that I give my dying curse to any one who shall attempt to revenge my death. Ah ! that was a pang ! How dim your faces look in the moonlight ! Your hand, dearest Frank, once more ; and now away ! Keep this, I charge you, from my Harriet — my Harriet ! God ! " And, with 3 shudder, that shook visibly his whole frame, the unfor- tunate youth relapsed into insensibility. There was a brief pause, during which the feelings of the spectators may be better imagined than described, though, assuredly, admiration of the generous anxiety of the young sailor tc THE COtfVIVIALISTS. 135 do justice to his friend -was the prevailing sentiment of their minds. At length the stifled sound of voices, and the dimly seen forms of two or three men stealing towards them, within the shadow of the mountain, roused them from their reverie ; and Ehimeson, who had not till now spoken, entreated Elliot to obey the dying request of his friend, and fly before the police reached them. " I have not before urged you to this," he said, " lest you should think it was from a selfish motive ; for, as your second, I am equally implicated -with you in this unhappy affair ; but now" continued he, with melancholy emphasis, "there is nothing to be gained and everything to be hazarded by remaining." The generous argument of the poet at length overcame Elliot's resolution ; he bent down quickly and kissed the cold lips of his friend, then waving a silent adieu to the others, he quitted the melancholy scene. The police — for it proved to be they — were within a hundred yards of the spot when the young men left the rest of the group, and, instantly emerging from the shadow which had till now partially concealed them, the leader of the party directed one of his attendants to remain with the body, and set off, with two or three others, in pursuit of the fugitives. " Follow me," cried Rhimeson, when he saw this move- ment of the pursuers; and springing as he spoke towards the entrance of a narrow defile which lay entirely in the shadow of the mountain. A deep convulsive sob burst from the pent-up bosom of Elliot ere he replied : " Leave me to my fate, my friend ; I cannot fly ; the weight of his blood crushes me ! " "This is childish, unjust," said Rhimeson, with strong emotion ; " but once more, Frank, will you control this weakness and follow me, or will you slight the last wish of one friend, and sacrifice another, by remaining ? for with- out you I will not stir. Now, choose." 136 TALKS OF THE BORDERS. " Lead on," said Elliot, rousing himself with a convul- sive effort ; and, striking into the gloom, the two young men sped forward with a step as fleet as that of the hunted deer. Their pursuers having seen them stand, had slackened their pace, or it is probable the fugitives would have been captured before Ehimeson had prevailed on his friend to fly ; but now, separating so as to intercept them if they deviated from the direct path, the policemen raised a loud shout and instantly gave chase. But the young poet, in his solitary rambles amid the noble scenery of Arthur's Se»* and the adjoining valleys, had become intimately acquainted with every path which led through their romantic re- cesses ; and he now sped along the broken footway which skirted the mountain-side with as much confidence as if he had trod on a level sward in the light of noonday. Elliot, having his mind diverted by the necessity of look- ing to his immediate preservation — for the path, strewed with fragments of rock, led along what might well be termed a precipice, of two or three hundred feet in height — roused up all his energies, and followed his friend with a speed which speedily left their pursuers far behind. Thus they held on for about a quarter of an hour, gradually and obliquely ascending the mountain side, until the voices of the policemen, calling to each other far down in the valley, proved that they had escaped the immediate danger which had threatened them. Still, however, Ehimeson kept on, though he relaxed his pace in order to hold some communication with his companion. " We have distanced the bloodhounds for the nonce, Frank," he said ; " these ale-swilling rascals cannot set a stout heart to a stey brae ; but whither shall we go now ? Edinburgh, perhaps Scotland, is too hot to hold us, and the point is how to get out of it. What do you advise ?" " I am utterly careless about it, Rhimeson ; do as you think best," replied Elliot, in a tone of deep despondency. THE CONVTVTATJSTS. 137 " Cheer up, cheer up ! my dear Frank," said the young poet, feigning a confidence of hope which his heart belied. " Whitaker may still recover ; he is too gallant a fellow to be lost to us in a drunken brawl ; and even if the worst should happen, it must still keep you from despair to reflect that you were forced into this rencontre, and that it was an unhappy accident, resulting from his own violence and not your intention, which deprived him of his life." Elliot stopped suddenly, and gazing down from the height which they had now reached into the valley, seemed to be searching for the spot where the fatal accident had taken place, as if to assist him in the train of thought which his friend's words had aroused. The dark group of human beings were seen dimly in the moonlight, moving with a elow pace along the hollow of the gorge towards the city, bearing along with them the body of the young sailor. " Dear, dear Frank," said Rhimeson, deeply commiserat- ing the anguish which developed itself in the clasped up- lifted hands and shuddering frame of his unhappy friend, " bear up against this cruel accident like a man — he may still recover." Elliot moved away from the ridge which overlooked the valley, muttering, as if unconsciously — " 'Action is momentary — The motion of a muscle this way or that ; Suffering is long, obscure, and infinite!'* How profound and awful is that sentiment ! " The sound of a piece of rock dislodged from the moun tain side, and thundering and crashing down the steep, awakened Rhimeson from his contemplation of Elliot's grief; and, springing again to the brink of the almost pre- cipitous descent, he saw that one of their pursuers had trept up by the inequalities of the rock, and was within a few yards of the summit. * Wordsworth. 138 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Dog !" cried the young man, heaving off a fragment of rock, and in the act of dashing it down upon the unpro- tected head of the policeman, "offer to stir, and I will scatter your brains upon the cliffs ! " A shrill cry of terror burst from the poor fellow's lips as he gazed upwards at the frightful attitude of his enemy, and expected every moment to see the dreadful engine hurled at his head. The cry was answered by the shouts of his companions, who, by different paths, had arrived within a short distance of the fugitives. " Retire miscreant ! or I will send your mangled carcass down to the foot without your help," shouted Rhimeson, swinging the huge stone up to the extent of his arms. His answer was a pistol shot, which, whistling past his cheek, struck the uplifted fragment of rock with such force as to send a stunning feeling up to his very shoulders. The stone fell from his benumbed grasp, and, striking the edge of the cliff, bounded innocuous over the head of the policeman, who, springing upwards, was within a few feet of Rhimeson before he had fully recovered himself. " Away !" he cried, taking again the path up the mountain, and closely followed by Elliot, who, daring the few moments in which the foregoing scene was being enacted, had remained almost motionless — " Away ! give tiiem a flying shot at least," continued he, feeling all the romance of his nature aroused by the circumstances in which he was placed. The policeman, however, who had only fired in self-defence, refrained from using his other pistol, now that the danger was past ; but grasping it firmly in his hand, he followed the steps of the young men with a speed stimulated by the desire of revenge, and a kind of pro- fessional eagerness to capture so daring an offender. But, in spite of his exertions, the superior agility of the fugitives gradually widened the distance between them ; and at length, as they emerged from the rocky ground upon the THE CONVIVIALISTS. 139 smooth short grass, where a footfall could not be heard, the moon became again obscured by dark clouds, and Rhimeson, whispering his companion to observe his motions, turned short off the path they had been following, and struck eastward among the green hills towards the sea. They could hear the curse of the policeman, and the click of his pistol lock, as if he had intended to send a leaden messenger into the darkness in search of them. But the expected report did not follow ; and, favoured by the continued obscurity of the night, they were, in a short time, descending the hill behind Duddingstone, which lies at the opposite extremity of the 'King's Park. Still con- tinuing their route eastward, they walked forward at a rapid pace, consulting on their future movements. The sound of wheels rapidly approaching, interrupted their conversation. It was the south mail. In a short time they were flying through the country towards Newcastle, at the rate of ten miles an hour, including stoppages. Elliot was at the river side, search- ing for a vessel to convey them to some part of the con- tinent, and Rhimeson was dozing over a newspaper in the Turk's Head in that town, when a policeman entered, and, mistaking him for Elliot, took him into custody. How their route had been discovered, Rhimeson knew not ; but he was possessed of sufficient presence of mind to personate his friend, and offer to accompany the police officer in- stantly back to Edinburgh, leaving a letter and a con~ siderable sum of money for Elliot. In a few minutes, the generous fellow leaped into the post-chaise, with a heart as light as many a bridegroom when flying on the wings of love and behind the tails of four broken-winded hacks to some wilderness, where " transport and security en- twine" — the anticipated scene of a delicious honey-moon, Elliot, while in search of a vessel, had fallen in with a young man whom he had known as a medical student at 140 TALES OF THE BORDERS. Edinburgh, and who was now about to go as surgeon of a Greenland vessel, in order to earn, during the summer, the necessary sum for defraying his college expenses. He accompanied Elliot to his inn, and heard, during the way, the story of his misfortunes. It is unnecessary to describe Frank's surprise and grief at the capture of his friend, Ehimeson. At first, he determined instantly to return and relieve him from durance. But, influenced by the en- treaties contained in Ehimeson's note, and by the argu- ments of the young Northumbrian, he at length changed this resolution, and determined on accepting the situation of surgeon in the whaling vessel for which his present companion had been about to depart. Frank presented the Northumbrian with a sum more than equal to the expected profits of the voyage, and received his thanks in tones wherein the natural roughness of his accent was increased to a fearful degree by the strength of his emotion. All things being arranged, Frank shook his acquaintance by the hand, and remarked that it would be well for him to keep out of the way for a while. So bidding the man of harsh aspirations adieu, he made his way to the coach, and, in twenty-four hours, was embarked in the Labrador, with a stiff westerly breeze ready to carry him away from all that he loved and dreaded. Let the reader imagine that six months have passed over — and let him imagine, also, if he can, the anguish which the mother and sister of Elliot suffered on account of his mysterious disappearance. It was now September. The broad harvest moon was shining full upon the bosom of Teviot, and glittering upon the rustling leaves of the woods that overhang her banks, and pouring a flood of more golden light upon the already golden grain that waved- ripe for the sickle — along the margin of the lovely stream , the stars, few in number, but most brilliant, had taken their places in the sky ; the owl was whooping from the THE CONTIVIALI3T3. 141 ivied tower ; the corn-craik was calling drowsily ; now and then the distant baying of a watch-dog startled the silence, otherwise undisturbed, save by the plaintive murmuring of the stream, which, as it flowed past, uttered such querulous sounds, that, as some one has happily expressed it, "one was almost tempted to ask what ailed it." A traveller was moving slowly up the side of the river, and ever and anon stopping, as if to muse over some particular object. It was Elliot. He had returned from Greenland, and, in disguise, had come to the place of his birth — to the dwelling of his mother and his sister ; he had heard that liis mother was ill — that anxiety, on his account, had reduced her almost to the grave — and that she was now but slowly recovering. He had been able to acquire no information respecting Whitaker ; and the weight of his friend's blood lay yet heavy on his soul, for he considered himself as his murderer. It was with feelings of the most miserable anxiety that he approached the place of his birth. The stately beeches that lined the avenue which led to his mother's door were in sight ; they stooped and raised their stately branches, with all the gorgeous drapery of leaves, as if they welcomed him back ; the very river seemed to utter, in accents familiar to him, that he was now near the hall of his fathers. Oh ! how is the home of our youth enshrined in our most sacred affections ! by what multitudinous fibres is it entwined with our heart- strings! — it is part of our being — its influences remain with us for ever, though years spent in foreign lands divide us from " our early home that cradled life and love." Elliot was framed to feel keenly these sacred influences — and often, even after brief absences from home, he had expe- rienced them in deep intensity ; but now the throb of exultation was kept down by the crushing weight of re- morse, and the gush of tenderness checked by bitter fears. He entered the avenue which led up to the house, Yonder 142 TALES OF THE BORDERS. were the windows of his mother's chamber — there was a light in it. He would have given worlds to have seen before him the interior. As he quickened his pace, he heard the sound of voices in the avenue. He turned aside out of the principal walk ; and, standing under the branches of a venerable beech, which swept down almost to the ground, and fully concealed him, he waited the approach of the speakers, in hopes of hearing some intelligence respecting his family. Through the screen of the leaves he presently saw that it was a pair of lovers, for their arms were locked around each other, and their cheeks were pressed together as they came down the avenue — treading as slowly as though they were attempting to show how much of rest there might be in motion. " To-morrow, then, my sweet Harriet," said the young man, " I leave you ; and though it is torture to me to be away from your side, yet I have resolved never again to see you until I have made the most perfect search for your brother ; until I can win a dearer embrace than any I have yet received, by placing him before you." " Would to heaven it may be so !" replied the young lady ; " but my mother — how will I be able to support her when you are gone, dearest Henry ? She is kept up only by the happy strains of hope which your very voice creates. How shall I, myself unsupported, ever keep her from despondency ? Oh ! she will sink — she will die ! Remain with us, Henry ; and let us trust to providence to restore my brother to us — if he be yet alive !" " Ask it not, my beloved Harriet, I beseech you," said the young man, " lest I be unable to deny you. If your brother, as is likely, has sought some foreign land, and remains in ignorance of my recovery from the wounds I received from him, how shall I answer to myself— how shall I even dare to ask for this fair hand — how shall I ever hope to rest upon your bosom in peace — if I do not THE CONVIVIALISTS. 143 use every possible means to discover him? my dear Elliot — friend of my youth — if thou couldest translate the language of my heart, as it beats at this moment — if thou couldest hear my sacred resolve !" — " Whitaker, my friend ! Harriet, my beloved sister !" cried Elliot, bursting out from beneath the overspreading beech, and snatching his sister in his arms — " I am here — ■ I see all — I understand the whole of the events — how much too graciously brought about for me, Father of mercies ! I acknowledge. Let us now go to my mother." It is in scenes such as this that we find how weak words are to describe the feelings of the actors — the rapid transi- tion of events — the passions that chase one another over the minds and hearts of those concerned, like waves in a tempest. Nor is it necessary. The reader who can feel and comprehend such situations as those in which the actors in our little tale are placed, are able to draw, from their own hearts and imaginations, much fitter and more rapidly sketched portraitures of the passions which are awakened, the feelings that develop themselves in such situa- tions and with such persons, than can be painted in words. The harvest moon was gone, and another young moon was in the skies, when Whitaker, and the same young lady of whom we before spoke, trode down the avenue, locked in each other's arms, and with cheek pressed to cheek. They talked of a thousand things most interesting to per- sons in their situation — for they were to be married on the morrow — but, perhaps, not so interesting to our readers, many of whom may have performed in the same scenes. Elliot's mother was recovered; and he himself was happy, or, at least, he put on all the trappings of happi- ness ; for, in a huge deer-skin Esquimaux dress, which he had brought from Greenland, he danced at his sister's wedding until the great bear had set in the sea, and the autumn sun began to peer through the shutters of the drawing-room of his ancient hall. 144 TALES OP THE BORDER*. PHILIPS GREY. " Death takes a thousand shap«e t Borne on the wings of sullen slow disease, Or hovering o'er the field of bloody fight, In calm, in tempest, in the dead of night, Or in the lightning of the summer moon ; In all how terrible !" Among the many scenes of savage sublimity which the lowlands of Scotland display, there is none more impres- sive in its solitary grandeur, than that in the neighbour- hood of Loch Skene, on the borders of Moffatdale. At a considerable elevation above the stea, and surrounded by the loftiest mountains in the south of Scotland, the loch has collected its dark mass of waters, astonishing the lovers of nature by its great height above the valley which he has just ascended, and, by its still and terrible beauty, over- powering his mind with sentiments of melancholy and awe. Down the cliffs which girdle in the shores of the loch, and seem to support the lofty piles of mountains above them, a hundred mountain torrents leap from rock to rock, flash- ing and roaring, until they reach the dark reservoir be- neath. A canopy of grey mist almost continually shrouds from the sight the summits of the hills, leaving the im- agination to guess at those immense heights which seem to pierce the very clouds of heaven. Occasionally, how- ever, this veil is withdrawn, and then you may see the sovereign brow of Palmoodie encircled with his diadem of snow, and the green summits of many less lofty hills arranged round him, like courtiers uncovered before their monarch. Amid this scene, consecrated to solitude and the most sombre melancholy, no sound comes upon the mountain breeze, save the wail of the plover, or the whir PHILIPS GREY. 145 of the heathcock's wing, or, haply, the sullen plunge of a trout leaping up in the loch. At times, indeed, the solitary wanderer may be startled by the scream of the grey eagle, as dropping with the rapidity of light from his solitary cliff* he shoots past, en- raged that his retreat is polluted by the presence of man, and then darts aloft into the loftiest chambers of the sky 5 or, dallying with the piercing sunbeams, is lost amid their glory.* At the eastern extremity of the loch, the super- fluous waters are discharged by a stream of no great size, but which, after heavy showers, pours along its deep and turbid torrent with frightful impetuosity. After running along the mountain for about half a mile, it suddenly precipitates itself over the edge of a rocky ridge which traverses its course, and, falling sheer down a height of three hundred feet, leaps and bounds over some smaller precipices, until, at length, far down in Moffatdale, it entirely changes its character, and pursues a calm and peaceful course through a fine pastoral country. Standing * Round about the shores of Loch Skene the Ettrick Shepherd herded the flocks of his master, and fed his boyish fancies with the romance and beauty which breathes from every feature of the scene. One day, when we were at Loch Skene on a fishing excursion with him, he pointed up to the black crag over- hanging the water, and said — "You see the edge o' that cliff; I ance as near dropped frae it intil eternity as I dinna care to think o'. I was herdin' aboot here, and !ang and lang I thocht o' speelin' up to the eyry, frae which I could hear the young eagles screamin' as plain as my ain bonny Mary Gray (his youngest daughter) when she's no pleased wi' the colley ; but the fear o' the auld anes aye keepit me frae the attempt At last, ae day, when I was at the head o' the cliff, and the auld eagle away frae the nest, I took heart o' grace, and clambered down (for there was nae gettin' up). Weel, sir, I was at the maist kittle bit o' the craig, wi' my foot on a bit ledge just wide enough to bear me, and sair bothered wi* my plaid and stick, when, guid saf s ! I heard the boom o' the auld eagle's wings come whaff, whaffing through the air, and in a moment o' time she brought me sic a whang wi' her wing, as she rushed enraged by, and then turning short again and fetching me anither, I thought I was gane for ever; but providence gave me presence o' mind to regain my former resting- place, and there flinging off my plaid, I keepit aye nobbing the bird wi' my stick till I was out o' danger. It was a fearsome time!" It would have been dread- ful had the pleasure which " Kilrueny," " Queen Hynde," and the hundred other beautiful creations which the glorious old bard has given us, been all thus destroyed " at one fell swoop." E 2 146 TALES OF THE BORDERS. on the Drew of a mountain which overlooks the fall, the eye takes in at once the whole of the course which we have described ; and, to a poetical mind, which recognises in mountain scenery the cradle of liberty and the favourite dwelling-place of imagination, the character of the stream seems a type of the human mind : stormy, bounding, and impetuous, when wrapped up in the glorious feelings which belong to romantic countries ; peaceful, dull, and monotonous, amid the less interesting lowlands. Yet, after indulging in such a fancy for a time, another reflec- tion arises, which, if it be less pleasing and poetical, is, perhaps, more useful — that the impetuous course of the mountain torrent, though gratifying to the lover of nature, is unaccompanied with any other benefit to man, while the stream that pursues its unpretending path through the plains, bestows fertility on a thousand fields. Such thoughts as these, however, only arise in the mind when it has become somewhat familiar with the surrounding scenes. The roar of the cataract, the savage appearance of the dark rocks that border the falling waters, and that painful feeling which the sweeping and inevitable course of the stream produces, at first paralyze the mind, and, for some time after it has recovered its tone, occupy it to the exclusion of every other sentiment. And now, gentle reader, let us walk toward the simple stone seat, which some shepherd boy has erected under yon silvery-stemmed birch tree, where the sound of the water- fall comes only in a pleasant monotone, and where the most romantic part of old Scotland is spread beneath our feet. There you see the eternal foam of the torrent, with- out being distracted with its roar ; and you can trace the course of the stream till it terminates in yon clear and pellucid pool at the foot of the hill, which seems too pure for aught but — " A mirror and a bath for beauty's youngest daughters ; " PHILIPS GREY. 147 yet, beautiful in its purity as it seems, it is indeed the scene of the following true and terrible tale : — Philips Grey was one of the most active young shepherds in the parish of Traquair. For two or three years he had carried off the medal given at the St. Eonan's border games to him who made the best high leap ; and, at the last meeting of the games, he had been first at the running hop-step-and-jump ; had beat all competitors in running • and, though but slightly formed, had gained the second prize for throwing the hammer — a favourite old Scottish exercise, but almost unknown in England. Athletic sports were, indeed, his favourite pursuit, and he cidtivated them with an ardour which very few of our readers will be able to imagine. But among the shepherds, and, indeed, all inhabitants of pastoral districts, he who excels in these sports possesses a superiority over his contemporaries, which cannot but be gratifying in the highest degree to its possessor. His name is known far and wide ; his friendship is courted by the men ; and his hand, either as a partner in a country dance, or in a longer "minuet of the heart," marriage, is coquetted for by the maidens: he, in fact, possesses all the power which superiority oi intellect bestows in more populous and polished societies. But it is by no means the case, as is often said, that ardour in the pursuit of violent sports is connected with ignorance or mediocrity of intellect. On the contrary, by far the greater number of victors at games of agility and strength, will be found to possess a degree of mental energy, which is in fact, the power that impels them to corporeal excitement and is often the secret of their success over more muscular antagonists. Philips Grey, in particular, was a striking instance of this fact. Notwithstanding his passion for athletic sports, he had found time, while on the hill-side tending his flock, or in the long winter nights, to make himself well acquainted with the Latin classics. This is 148 TALES OF THE BORDERS. by no means uncommon among the Scottish peasantry. Smith, and Black, and Murray, are not singular instances of self-taught scholars ; for there is scarce a valley in Scotland in which you will not hear of one or more young men of this stamp. Philips also played exquisitely on the violin, and had that true taste for the simple Scottish melody which can, perhaps, be nowhere cultivated so well as among the mountains and streams which have frequently inspired them. Many a time, when you ask the name of the author of some sweet ballad which the country girl is breathing amongst these hills, the tear will start into her eye as she answers — " Poor Philips Grey, that met a dreadful death at the Grey Mare's Tail." With these admirable qualities, Philips unfortunately possessed a mood of mind which is often an attendant on genius — he was subject to attacks of the deepest melancholy. Gay, cheerful, humorous, active, and violent in his sports as he was, there were periods when the darkest gloom over- shadowed his mind, and when his friends even trembled for his reason. It is said that he frequently stated his belief that he should die a dreadful death. Alas ! that this strange presentiment should have indeed been pro- phetic ! It is not surprising that Philips Grey, with his accomplishments, should have won the heart of a maiden somewhat above his own degree, and even gained the consent of her father to his early marriage. The old man dwelt in Moffatdale; and the night before Philips' wedding- day, he and his younger brother walked over to his in- tended father-in-law's house, in order to be nearer the church. That night the young shepherd was in his gayest humour; his bonny bride was by his side, and looking more beautiful than ever ; he sang his finest songs, played his favourite tunes, and completely bewitched his companions. All on a sudden, while he was relating some extraordinary feat of strength which had been performed by one of his acquaint- PHILIPS GREY. 149 ances, he stopped in the middle of the story, and exchangee the animation with which he was speaking for silence and a look of the deepest despair. His friends were horror- struck; but as he insisted that nothing was the matter with him, and as his younger brother said that he had not been in bed for two nights, the old man dismissed the family, saying — " Gang awa to bed, Philips, my man, and get a sound sleep ; or if you do He wauken a wee bittie, it's nae great matter : odd ! it's the last nicht my bonny Marion '11 keep ye lying wauken for her sake. Will't no, my bonnie doo ? " " Deed, faither, I dinna ken," quoth Marion, simply, yet archly ; and the party separated. Philips, however, walked down the burn side, in order to try if the cool air would dissipate his unaccountable anxiety. But, in spite of his efforts, a presentiment of some fatal event gathered strength in his mind, and he involuntarily found himself revolving the occurrences of his past life. Here he found little to condemn, for he had never received an unkind word from his father, who was now in the grave ; and his mother was wearing out a green and comfortable old age beneath his own roof. He had brought up his younger brothers, and they were now in a fair way to succeed in life. He could not help feeling satisfied at this, yet why peculiarly at this time he knew not. Then came the thought of his lovely Marion, and the very agony which at once rushed on his heart had well nigh choked him. Immediately, however, the fear which had hung about him seemed to vanish ; for, strange and mysterious as it was, it was not sufficiently powerful to withstand the force of that other horrible imagination. So he returned to the house, and was surprised to find himself considering how his little property should be dis- tributed after his death. When he reached the door, he stopped for a moment, overcome with this pertinacity in 150 TALES OP THE BORDERS. the supernatural influence which seemed exercised over him ; and at length, with gloomy resolution, entered the house. His brother was asleep, and a candle was burning on the table. He sank down into a chair, and went on with his little calculations respecting his will. At length, having decided upon all these things, and having fixed upon the churchyard of St. Mary's for his burial place, he arose from his chair, took up the candle and crossed the room towards his brother, intending to convey his wishes to him. The boy lay on the front side of one of those beds with sliding doors, so common in Scotland ; and beyond him there was room for Philips to lie down. Something bright seemed gleaming in the dark recess of the bed. He ad- vanced the candle, and beheld — oh, sight of horror! — a plate upon what bore the shape of a coffin, bearing the words — "Philips Grey, aged 23." For a moment he gazed steadily upon it, and was about to stretch out his hand towards it, when the lid slowly rose, and he beheld a mutilated and bloody corpse, the features of which were utterly undistinguishable, but which, by some unearthly impulse, he instantly knew to be his own. Still he kept a calm and unmoved gaze at it, though the big drops of sweat stood on his brow with the agony of his feelings ; and, while he was thus contemplating the dreadful reve- lation, it gradually faded away, and at length totally vanished. The power which had upheld him seemed to depart along with the phantom ; his sight failed him, and he fell on the floor. Presently he recovered, and found himself in bed, with his brother by his side chafing his temples. He explained everything that had occurred, seemed calm and collected, shook his head when his brother attempted to explain away the vision, and finally sank into a tranquil sleep. Whether the horrible resemblance of his own coffin and PHILIPS GREY. 151 mutilated corpse was in reality revealed to him by the agency of some supernatural power, or whether it was (as sceptics will say) the natural effect of his hypochondriac state of mind, producing an optical deception, we will not take upon us to determine ; certain, however, it is, that with a calm voice and collected manner he described to his brother James, a scene the dreadful reality of which was soon to be displayed. In the morning Philips awoke, cheerful and calm, the memory of last night's occurrences seeming but a dreadful dream. On the grass before the door he met his beloved Marion, who, on that blessed Sabbath, was to become his wife. The sight of her perfect loveliness, arrayed in a white dress, emblem of purity and innocence, filled his heart with rapture ; and as he clasped her in his arms, every sombre feeling vanished away. It is not our intention to describe the simplicity of the marriage ceremony, or the happiness which filled Philips Grey's heart during that Sabbath morning, while sitting in the church by the side of his lovely bride. They returned home, and, in the afternoon, the young couple, together with James Grey and the bride's-maid, walked out among the glades of Craigieburn wood, a spot rendered classic by the immortal Burns. Philips had gathered some of the wild flowers that sprang among their feet — the pale primrose, the fair anemone, and the droop- ing blue bells of Scotland — and wove them into a garland. As he was placing them on Marion's brow, and shading back the long flaxen tresses that hung across her cheek, he said, gaily — "There wants but a broad water lily to place in the centre of thy forehead, my sweet Marion ; for where should the fairest flower of the valley be, but on the brow of its queen ? Come with me, Jamie, and in half an hour we will bring the fairest that floats on Loch Skene." So, kissing the cheek of his bride. Philips and hi? brother 152 TALES OF THE BORDERS. eet off up the hill with the speed of the mountain deer. They arrived at the foot of the waterfall, panting, and excited with their exertions. By climbing up the rocks close to the stream, the distance to the loch is considerably shortened ; and Philips, who had often clambered to the top of the Bitch Craig, a high cliff on the Manor Water, proposed to his brother that they should " speel the height." The other, a supple agile lad, instantly con- sented. " Gie me your plaid then, Jamie, my man — it will maybe fash ye," said Philips ; " and gang ye first, and keep weel to the hill side." Accordingly the boy gave his brother the plaid and began the ascent. While Philips was knotting his brother's plaid round his body above his own, a fox peeped out of his hole half way up the cliff, and thinking flight advisable, dropped down the precipice. Laughing till the very echoes rang, Philips followed his brother. Confident in his agility, he ascended with a firm step till he was within a few yards of the summit. James was now on the top of the precipice, and looking down on his brother, and not knowing the cause of his mirth, ex- claimed — "Daursay, callant, ye're fey."* In a moment the memory of his last night's vision rushed on Philips Grey's mind, his eyes became dim, his limbs powerless, he dropped off the very edge of the giddy precipice, and his form was lost in the black gulf below. For a few minutes, James felt a sickness of heart which rendered him almost insensible, and sank down on the grass lest he should fall over the cliff. At length, gathering strength from very terror, he advanced to the edge of the cataract and gazed downwards. There, about two-thirds down the fall, he could perceive the remains of his brother, mangled ana mutilated; the body being firmly wedged between two projecting points of rock, whereon the descending water " Fey," a Scottish word, expressive of that unaccountable and violent mirth which is supposed frequently to portend sudden death.— En PHILIPS GREY. 153 streamed, while the bleeding head hung dangling, and almost separated from the body — and, turned upwards, discovered to the horrified boy the starting eye-balls of his brother, already fixed in death, and the teeth clenched in the bittei agony wnic^ had tortured his pass- ing spirit. It is scarcely necessary to detail the consequences of this cruel accident. Assistance was procured, and the mangled body conveyed to the house of Marion's father, whence, a few short hours ago, the young shepherd had issued in vigour and happiness. When the widowed bride saw James Grey return to them with horror painted on his features, she seemed instantly to divine the full extent of her misfortune ; she sank down on the grass, with the unfinished garland of her dead lover in her hand, and in this state was carried home. For two days she passed from one fit to another ; but on the night of the second day she sank into a deep sleep. That night, James Grey was watching the corpse of his brother; the coffin was placed on the very bed where they had slept two nights ago. The plate gleamed from the shadowy recess, and the words — " Philips Grey, aged 23," were distinctly visible. While James was reflecting on the prophetic vision of his brother, a figure, arrayed in white garments, entered the room and moved towards the dead body. It was poor Marion. She slowly lifted the lid of the coffin, and gazed long and intently on the features of her dead husband. Then, turning round to James, she uttered a short shrill shriek, and fell backwards on the corpse. She hovered between fife and death for a few days, and at length expired. She now lies by the side of her lover, in the solitary burial ground of St. Mary's. Such is the event which combines, with others not less dark and terrible, to throw a wild interest around those 154 TALES OF THE BORDERS. gloomy rocks. Many a time you will hear trie story from the inhabitants of those hills ; and, until fretted away by the wind and rain, the plaid and the bonnet of the unfor- tunate Philips Grey hung upon the splintered precipice to attest the truth of the tale. DONALD QORM. 155 DONALD GOEM. In a remote corner of Assynt, one of the most remote and savage districts in the Highlands of Scotland, there is a certain wild and romantic glen, called Eddernahulish. In the picturesqueness of this glen, however, neither wood nor rock has any share ; and, although it may be difficult to conceive of any place possessing that character without these ordinary adjuncts, it is, nevertheless, true, that Eddernahulish, with neither tree nor precipice, is yet strikingly picturesque. The wide sweep of the heath-clad hills whose gradual descents form the spacious glen, and the broad and brawling stream careering through its centre, give the place an air of solitude and of quiet repose that, notwithstanding its monotony, is exceedingly im- pressive. On gaining any of the many points of elevation that command a view of this desolate strath, you may descry, towards its western extremity, a small, rude, but massive stone bridge, grey -with age ; for it was erected in the time of that laird of Assynt who rendered himself for ever infamous by betraying the Duke of Montrose, who had sought and obtained the promise of his protection, to his enemies. Close by this bridge stands a little highland cottage, of, however, a considerably better order than the common run of such domiciles in this quarter of the world ; and be- speaking a condition, as to circumstances, on the part of its occupants, which is by no means general in the Highlands. "Well what of ihis cottage?" says the impatient reader. 156 TALES OP THE BORDERS. " What of it?" say we, with the proud consciousness of having something worth hearing to tell of it. " Why, was it not the birthplace of Donald Gorm ? " "And, pray, who or what was Donald Gorm?" "We were just going to tell you when you interrupted us ; and we will now proceed to the fulfilment of that intention." Donald Gorm was a rough, rattling, outspoken, hot- headed, and warm-hearted highlander, of about two-and- thirty years of age. Bold as a lion, and strong as a rhinoceros, with great bodily activity, he feared nobody ; and having all the irascibility of his race, would fight with anybody at a moment's notice. Possessing naturally a great flow of animal spirits and much ready wit, Donald was the life and soul of every merry-making in which he bore a part. In the dance, his joyous whoop and haloo might be heard a mile off; and the hilarious crack of his finger and thumb, nearly a third of that distance. Donald, in short, was one of those choice spirits that are always ready for anything, and who, by the force of their in- dividual energies, can keep a whole country-side in a stir. As to his occupations, Donald's were various — sometimes farming, (assisting his father, with whom he lived,) some- times herring fishing, and sometimes taking a turn at harvest work in the Lowlands — by which industry he had scraped a few pounds together ; and, being unmarried, with no one to care for but himself, he was thus comparatively independent — a circumstance which kept Donald's head at its highest elevation, and his voice, when he spoke, at the top of its bent. The tenor of our story requires that we should now advert to another member of Donald's family. This is a brother of the latter's, who bore the euphonious and high- flavoured patronymic of Duncan Dhu M'Tavish Gorm, or, simply, Duncan Gorm, as he was, for shortness, called, DONALD GORM. 157 although certainly baptized by the formidable list of names just given. This Duncan Gorm was a man of totally different character from his brother Donald. He was of a quiet and peaceable disposition and demeanour — steady, sober, and conscientious ; qualities which were thought to adapt him well for the line of life in which he was placed. This was as a domestic servant in the family of an exten- sive highland proprietor, of the name of Grant. In this capacity Duncan had, about a year or so previous to the precise period when our story commences — which, by the way, we beg the reader to observe, is now some ninety years past — gone to the continent, as a personal attendant on the elder son of his master, whose physicians had re- commended his going abroad for the benefit of his health. It was, then, about a year after the departure of Duncan and his master, that Donald's father received a letter from his son, intimating the death of his young master, which had taken place at Madrid, and, what was much more sur- prising intelligence, that the writer had determined on settling in the city just named, as keeper of a tavern or wine-house, in which calling he said he had no doubt he would do well. And he was not mistaken ; in about six months after, his family received another letter from him, informing them that he was succeeding beyond his most sanguine expectations — and hereby hangs our tale. On Donald these letters of his brother's made a very strong impression ; and, finally, had the effect of inducing him to adopt a very strange and very bold resolution. This was neither more nor less than to join his brother in Madrid — a resolution from which it was found impossible to dissuade him, especially after the receipt of Duncan's second letter, giving intimation of his success. With most confused and utterly inadequate notions, therefore, of either the nature, or distance, or position of 1M8 TALES OF THE BORDERS. the country to which he was going, Donald made pre- parations for his journey. But they were merely such preparations as he would have made for a descent on the Lowlands, at harvest time. He put up some night-caps, stockings, and shirts in a bundle, with a quantity of bread and cheese, and a small flask of his native mountain dew. This bundle he proposed to suspend, in the usual way, over his shoulder on the end of a huge oak stick, which he had carefully selected for the purpose. And it was thus prepared — with, however, an extra supply of his earnings in his pocket, of which he had a vague notion he would stand in need — that Donald contemplated commencing his journey to Madrid from the heart of the Highlands of Scotland. In one important particular, however, did Donald's outfit on this occasion, differ from that adopted on ordinary occasions. On the present, he equipped him- self in the full costume of his country — kilt, plaid, bonnet and feather, sword, dirk, and pistols ; and thus arrayecL his appearance was altogether very striking, as he was both a stout and exceedingly handsome man. Before starting on his extraordinary expedition, Donald had learned which was the fittest seaport whereat to em- bark on his progress to Spain ; and it was nearly all he had learned, or indeed cared to inquire about, as to the place of his destination. For this port, then, he finally set out; but over his proceedings, for somewhere about three weeks after this, there is a veil which our want of knowledge of facts and circumstances will not enable us to withdraw. Of all subsequent to this, however, we are amply informed ; and shall now proceed to give the reader the full benefit of that information. Heaven knows how Donald had fought his way to Madrid, or what particular route he had taken to attain this consummation ; but certain it is, that, about the end of the three weeks mentioned, the identical Donald Gorm DONALD GORM. 151 of whom we speak, kilted and hosed as he left Edderna- hulish, with a huge stick over his shoulder bearing a bundle suspended on its farthest extremity, was seen, early in the afternoon, approaching the gate of Alcala, one of the principal and most splendid entrances into the Spanish capital. Donald was staring about him, and at everything he saw, with a look of the greatest wonder and amazement; and strange were the impressions that the peculiar dresses of those he met, and the odd appearance of the buildings within his view, made upon his unsophisticated mind and bewildered sensorium. He, in truth, felt very much as if he had by some accident got into the moon, or some other planet tnan that of which he was a born inhabitant, and as if the beings around him were human only in form and feature. The perplexity and confusion of his ideas were, indeed, great — so great that he found it impossible to reduce them to such order as to give them one single distinct impres- sion. There were, however, two points in Donald's charac- ter, which remained wholly unaffected by the novelty oi his position. These were his courage and bold bearing. Not all Spain, nor all that was in Spain, could have de- prived Donald of these for a moment. He was amazed, but not in the least awed. He was, in truth, looking rather fiercer than usual, at this particular juncture, in consequence of a certain feeling of irritation, caused by what he deemed the impertinent curiosity of the passers- by, who, no less struck with his strange appearance than he with theirs, were gazing and tittering at him from all sides — treatment this, at which Donald thought fit to take mortal offence. Having arrived, however, at the gate oi Alcala, Donald thought it full time to make some inquiries as to where his relative resided. Feeling impressed with the propriety of this step, he made up to a group of idle equivocal- looking fellows, who, wrapped up in long buttoned 1.7>8 TALES OP THE BORDERS. dilapidated cloaks, were lounging about the gate; and, plunging boldly into the middle of them, he delivered him- self thus, in his best English : — " I say, freens, did you'll know, any of you, where my broder stops?" The men, as might be expected, first stared at the speaker, and then burst out a-laughing in his face. They, of course, could not comprehend a word of what he said ; a circumstance on the possibility of which it had never struck Donald to calculate, and to which he did not now advert. Great, therefore, was his wrath, at this, appa- rently, contemptuous treatment by the Spaniards. His highland blood mounted to his face, and with the same rapidity rose his highland choler. Donald, in truth, already contemplated doing battle in defence of his insulted consequence, and at once hung out his flag of defiance. " You tarn scarecrow-lookin rascals ! " he sputtered out, in great fury, at the same time shaking his huge clenched brown fist in the faces of the whole group, their numbers not in the least checking his impetuosity — " You cowartly, starvation-like togs ! I've a goot mind to make smashed potatoes o' the whole boilin o' ye. Tarn your Spanish noses and whiskers ! " The fierce and determined air of Donald had the effect of instantly restoring the gravity of the Spaniards, who, totally at a loss to comprehend what class of the human species he represented, looked at him with a mingled ex- pression of astonishment and respect. At length, one of their number discharged a volley of his native language at Donald ; but it was, apparently, of civil and good-natured import, for it was delivered in a mild tone, and accom- panied by a conciliatory smile. On Donald, the language was, of course, utterly lost — he did not comprehend a word of it ; but not so the indications of a friendly disposi- DONALD GORM. 161 tion to which Ave have alluded ; these he at once appre- ciated, and they had the effect of allaying his wrath a little, and inducing him to make another attempt at a little civil colloquy. "Well," said Donald, now somewhat more calmly, "I was shust ask you a ceevil question, an' you kwgh in my face, which is not ceeviL In my country we don't do tha to anybody, far Less a stranger. Noo, may pe, ^ou'll not know my broder, and there's no harm in that — none at all ; but you should shust have say so at once, an' there would be no more apout it. Can none of you speak Gaelic?" To this inquiry, which was understood to be such, there was a general shaking of heads amongst the Spaniards. " Oich, oich, it must be a tarn strange country where there's no Gaelic. But, never mind — you cannot help your misfortunes. I say, lads, will ye teuk a tram. Hooch, hurra ! prof, prof! Let's get a dram." And Donald flung up one of his legs hilariously, while he gave utterance to these uncouth expletives, which he did in short joyous shouts. "Where will we go, lads? Did you'll know any decen' public-house, where we'll can depend on a goot * tram?" To this invitation, and to the string of queries by which it was accompanied, Donald got in reply only a repetition of that shake of the head which intimated non-comprehen- sion. But it was an instance of the latter that surprised him more than all the others. " Well, to be surely," he said, " if a man'll not under- stand the offer of a tram, he'll understand nothing, and it's no use saying more. Put maybe you'll understand the sign, if not the word." And, saying this, he raised his closed hand to his lips and threw back his head, as if tak- ing off a caulker of his own mountain dew ; pointing, at the same time, to a house which seemed to him to have Vol. II. F 162 TALES OF THE BORDERS. the appearance of one of public entertainment. To Donald's great satisfaction, he found that he had now made himself perfectly intelligible ; a fact which he recog- nised in the smiles and nods of his auditory, and, still more unequivocally, in the general movement which they made after him to the " public-house." to which he imme- diately directed his steps. At the head, then, of this troop of tatterdemallions, and walking with as stately a step as a drum -major, Donald may be said to have made his entrance into Madrid ; and rather an odd first appearance of that worthy there, it cer- tainly was. On entering the tavern or inn which he had destined for the scene of his hospitalities, he strode in much in the same style that he would have entered a public-house in Lochaber — namely, slapping the first person he met on the shoulder, and shouting some merry greet- ing or other appropriate to the occasion. This precisely Donald did in the present instance, to the great amazement and alarm of a very pretty Spanish girl, who was perform- ing the duty of ushering in customers, inclusive of that of subsequently supplying their wants. On feeling the enor- mous paw of Donald on her shoulder, and looking at the strange attire in which he was arrayed, the girl uttered a scream of terror, and fled into the interior of the house. Unaccustomed to have his rude but hearty greetings re- ceived in this way, or to find them producing an effect so contrary to that which, in his honest warm-heartedness, he intended them to produce, Donald was rather taken aback by the alarm expressed by the girl; but soon re- covering his presence of mind — " Oich, oichl" he said, laughing, and turning to his ragged crew behind him, " ta lassie's frightened for Shon Heelanman. Puir thing ! It's weel seen she's no peen procht up in Lochaber, or maype's no been lang in the way o' keepin a public. It's — DONALD GOR3I. 168 u ' Haut awa, bite awa, Haut awa frae me, Tonal ; What care I for a' your wealth, An' a' that ye can gie, Tonal?'" And, chanting this stanza of a well-known Scottish ditty, at the top of his voice, Donald bounced into the first open door he could find, still followed by his tail. These having taken their seats around a table which stood in the centre of the apartment, he next commenced a series of thunder- ing raps on the board with the hilt of his dirk, accom- panied by stentorian shouts of, " Hoy, lassie ! House, here ! Hoy, hoy, hoy!" a summons which was eventually answered by the landlord in person, the girl's report of Donald's appearance and salutation to herself having de- terred any other of the household from obeying the call of so wild and noisy a customer. " Well, honest man," said Donald, on the entrance cf his host, " will you pe bringing us two half mutchkins of your pest whisky. Here's some honest lads I want to treat to a tram." The landlord, as might be expected, stared at this strange guest, in utter unconsciousness of the purport of his de- mand. Kecollecting himself, however, after a moment, his professional politeness returned, and he began bowing and simpering his inability to comprehend what had been addressed to him. " What for you'll boo, boo, and scrape, scrape there, you tarn ass!" exclaimed Donald, furiously. "Co and pring us the whisky. Two half mutchkins, I say." Again the polite landlord of the Golden Eagle, which was the name of the inn, bowed his non-comprehension of what was said to him " Cot's mercy ! can you'll not spoke English, either ?" shouted Donald, despairingly, on his second rebuff, and at the same time striking the table impatiently with his 164 TALES OF THE BORDERS. clenched fist. " Can you'll spoke Gaelic, then ?" he added ; and, without waiting for a reply, he repeated his demand in that language. The experiment was unsuccessful Mine host of the Golden Eagle understood neither Gaelic nor English. Finding this, Donald had once more recourse to the dumb show of raising his hand to his mouth, as if in the act of drinking ; and once more he found the sign perfectly intelligible. On its being made, the landlord instantly retired, and in a minute after returned with a couple of bottles in hand, and two very large-sized glasses, which he placed on the table. Eyeing the bottles con- temptuously : — " It's no porter ; it's whisky 111 order," exclaimed Donald, angrily, conceiving that it was the former beverage that had been brought him. " Porter's drink for hoes, and not for human podies." Finding it wholly impossible, however, to make this sentiment under- stood, Donald was compelled to content himself with the liquor which had been brought him. Under this convic- tion, he seized one of the bottles, filled up a glass to the brim, muttering the while " that it was tarn white, strange- looking porter," started to his feet, and, holding the glass extended in his hand, shouted the health of his ragged company, in Gaelic, and bolted the contents. But the effect of this proceeding was curious. The moment the liquor, which was some of the common wine of Spain, was over Donald's throat, he stared wildly, as if he had just done some desperate deed— swallowed an adder by mistake, or committed some such awkward oversight. This expres- sion of horror was followed by the most violent sputterings and hideous grimaces, accompanied by a prodigious assem- blage of curses of all sorts, in Gaelic and English, and sometimes of an equal proportion of both. " Oich, oich ! poisoned, by Cot ! — vinekar, horrid vine- kar ! Lanlort, I say, what cursed stuffs is this you kive us ?" And again Donald sputtered with an energy and perse- DONALD GORM. 165 verance that nothing but a sense of the utmost disgust and loathing could have inspired. Both the landlord and Donald's own guests, at once comprehending his feelings regarding the wine, hastened, by every act and sign they could think of, to assure him that he was wrong in enter- taining so unfavourable an opinion of its character and qualities. Mine host, filling up a glass, raised it to his mouth, and, sipping a little of the liquor, smacked his lips, in token of high relish of its excellences. He then handed the glass round the company, all of whom tasted and approved, after the same expressive fashion ; and thus, without a word being said, a collective opinion, hollow against Donald, was obtained. "Well, well, trink the apominations, and be curst to you!" said Donald, who perfectly understood that judg- ment had gone against him, " and much goot may't do you ! but mysel would sooner trink the dirty bog water of Sleevrechkin. Oich, oich ! the dirts ! But I say, lanlort, maype you'll have got some prandies in the house ? I can make shift wi' that when there's no whisky to be cot." Fortunately for Donald, mine host of the Golden Eagle at once understood the word brandy, and, understanding it, lost no time in placing a measure of that liquor before him ; and as little time did Donald lose in swallowing an immense bumper of the inspiring alcohol. " Ay," said Donald, with a look of great satisfaction, on performing this feat, " that's something like a human Christian's trink. No your tarn vinekar, as would colic a horse." Saying this, he filled up and discussed another modicum of the brandy ; his followers, in the meantime, having done the same duty by the two bottles of wine, which were subsequently replaced by other two, by the order of their hospitable entertainer. On Donald, however, his libations were now beginning to produce, in a very marked manner, their usual effects. He was first getting 166 TALES OF THE BORDERS. into a state of high excitation ; thumping the table violently with his fist, and sputtering out furious discharges of Gaelic and English, mingled in one strange and unintel- ligible mess of words, and seemingly oblivious of the fact that not a syllable of what he said could be comprehended by his auditory. This, then, was a circumstance which did not hinder him from entertaining his friends with a graphic description of Eddernahulish, and a very animated account of a particular deer-chase in which he had once been engaged. In short, in the inspiration of the hour, Donald seemed to have entirely forgotten every circum- stance connected with his present position. He appeared to have forgotten that he was in a foreign land ; forgotten the purpose that brought him there ; forgotten his brother ; forgotten those associated with him were Spaniards, not Atholemen ; in truth, forgotten everything he should have recollected. In this happy state of obfuscation, Donald continued to roar, to drink, and to talk away precisely as he was wont to do in Rory M'Fadyen's " public" in Kilni- chrochokan. From being oratorical, Donald became musi- cal, and insisted on having a song from some of his friends ", but failing to make his request intelligible, he volun- teered one himself, and immediately struck up, in a strong nasal twang, and with a voice that made the whole house ring : — " Ta Heelan hills are high, high, high, An' ta Heelan miles are long ; But, then, my freens, rememper you, Ta Heelan whisky's strong, strong, strong ! Ta Heelan whisky's strong, u And who shall care for ta length o' ta mil*, Or who shall care for ta hill, If he shall have, 'fore he teukit ta way, In him's cheek one Heelan shill ? In hiin's cheek one Heelan shill 1 DONALD GORM. 167 " An' maype he'll pe teukit twa ; I'll no say is no pe tree ; And what although it should pe fout ? I3 no pussiness you or me, me, me — Is no pussiness you or me." Suiting the action to, at least, the spirit of the song, Donald tossed off another bumper of the alcohol, which had the rather odd effect of recalling him to some sense of his situation, instead of destroying, as might have been expected, any little glimmering of light on that subject which he might have previously possessed. On discussing the last glass of brandy — " Now, lads," said Donald, " I must pe going. It's gettin late, and I must find oot my brother Tuncan Gorm, as decen' a lad as between this and Eddernahulish." Having said this, and paid his reckoning, Donald began shaking hands with his friends, one after the other, previous to leaving them ; but his friends had no intention whatever of parting with him in this way. Donald had incautiously exposed his wealth when settling with the landlord ; and of his wealth, as well as his wine, they determined on having a share. The ruffians, in short, having communi- cated with each other, by nods and winks, resolved to dog him ; and, when fitting place and opportunity should pre- sent themselves, to rob and murder him. Fortunately for Donald, however, they had not exchanged intelligence so cautiously as to escape his notice altogether. He had seen and taken note of two or three equivocal acts and motions of his friends ; but had had sufficient prudence, not only to avoid all remark on them, but to seem as if he had not observed them. Donald, indeed, could not well conceive what these secret signals meant ; but he felt convinced that they meant "no goot;" and he therefore determined on keeping a sharp look-out, not only while he was in the presence of his boon companions, but after he should have 168 TALES OF THE BORDERS. left tliem; for lie had a vague notion that they might possibly follow him for some evil purpose. Under this latter impression — which had occurred to him only at the close of their orgie, no suspicion unfavour- able to the characters of his guests having before struck him— Donald, on parting from the latter at the door of the inn in which they had been regaling, might have been heard muttering to himself, after he had got to some little distance : — " Tarn rogues, after all, I pelieve." Having thus distinctly expressed his sentiments regard- ing his late companions, Donald pursued his way, although he was very far from knowing what that way should be. Street after street he traversed, making frequent vain inquiries for his " broder, Tuncan Gorm," until midnight, when he suddenly found himself in a large, open space, intersected by alleys formed by magnificent trees, and adorned by playing fountains of great beauty and elegance. Donald had got into the Prado, or public promenade of Madrid ; but of the Prado Donald knew nothing ; and much, therefore, did he marvel at what sort of a place he had got into. The fountains, in particular, perplexed and amazed him ; and it was while contemplating one of these, with a sort of bewildered curiosity, that he saw a human figure glide from one side to the other of the avenue in which the object of his contemplation was situated, and at the distance of about twenty yards. Donald was startled by the apparition ; and, recollecting his former associates, clapped his right hand instinctively on the hilt of his broadsword, and his left on the butt of a pistol— one of those stuck in his belt — and in this attitude awaited the re-appearance of the skulker ; but he did not make him- self again visible. Donald, however, felt convinced that there was danger at hand, and he determined to keep himself prepared to encounter it. DONALD GORM. 109 " Some o' ta vinekar-drinking rascals," muttered Donald. " It was no honest man's drink ; nor no goot can come o' a country where they swallow such apominable liquors." Thus reasoned Donald with himself, as he stood vigilantly scanning the localities around him, to prevent a sudden surprise. While thus engaged, four different persons, all at once, and as if they had acted by concert, started each from behind a tree, and approached Donald from four different points, with the purpose, evidently, of distracting his attention. At once perceiving their intention, and not doubting that their purposes were hostile, the intrepid Celt, to prevent himself being surrounded, hastily retreated to a wall which formed part of the structure of the fountain on which he had been gazing, and, placing his back against it, awaited, with his drawn sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, the approach of his enemies, as he had no doubt they were. "Well, my friends," said Donald, as they drew near him, and discovered to him four tall fellows, swathed up to the eyes in their cloaks, and each with a drawn sword in his hand, "what you'll want with me?" No answer having been returned to this query, and the fellows con- tinuing to press on, although now more cautiously, as they had perceived that their intended victim was armed, and stood on the defensive : " Py Shoseph ! " said Donald, " you had petUr keep your distance, lads, or my name's no Tonal Gorm if I don't gif some of you a dish of crowdy." And, as good as his word, he almost instantly after fired at the foremost of his assailants, and brought him down. This feat performed, instead of waiting for the attack of the other three, he instantly rushed on them sword in hand, and, by the impetuosity of his attack, and fury of his blows, rendered all their skill of fence useless. With his huge weapon and powerful arm, both of which he plied with a rapidity and force which there was no resisting, he broke 170 TALES OF THE HORDEKS. through their guards as easily as he would have beat down so many osier wands, and wounded severely at every blow. It was in vain that Donald's assailants kept retiring before him, in the hope of getting him at a disadvantage — of find- ing an opportunity of having a cut or a thrust at him. No time was allowed them for any such exploit. Donald kept pressing on, and showering his tremendous blows on them so thickly, that not an instant was left them for aggression in turn. They were, besides, rapidly losing relish for the contest, from the ugly blows they were getting, without a possibility of returning them. Finding, at length, that the contest Avas a perfectly hopeless one, Donald's assailants fairly took to their heels, and ran for it ; but there was one of their number who did not run far — a few yards, when he fell down and expired. His hurts had been mortal. " Oich, oich, lad!" said Donald, peering into the face of the dead man, " you'll no pe shust that very weel, I'm thinkin. The heelan claymore '11 not acree with your Spanish stomach. But it's goot medicine for rogues, for all that." Having thus apostrophized the slain man, Donald sheathed his weapon, muttering as he did so : " Ta cowartly togs can fight no more's a turkey hens." And, cocking his bonnet proudly, he commenced the task of finding his way back to the city ; a task Avhich, after a good many unnecessary, but, from his ignorance of the localities, unavoidable deviations, he at length accom- plished. Donald's most anxious desire now was to find a " pub- lic " in which to quarter for the night ; but, the hour being late, this was no easy matter. Every door was shut, and the streets lonely and deserted. At length, however, our hero stumbled on what appeared to him to b* something of the kind he wanted, although he could have wished it to have been on a fully smaller and humbler scale. This was a large hotel, in which every DONALD GORM. 171 window was blazing with light, and the rooms were filled with mirthful music. Donald's first impression was that it was a penny wedding upon a great scale. It was, in truth, a masquerade ; and as the brandy which he had drunk in the earlier part of the evening was still in his head, he proposed to himself taking a very active part in the proceedings. On entering the hotel, however, which he did boldly, he was rather surprised at the splendours of various kinds which greeted his oyes — marble stairs, gor- geous lamps, gilt cornices, &c, &c, and sundry other indications of grandeur which he had never seen equalled even in Tain or Dingwall, to say nothing of his native parish of Macharuarich, and he had been in his time in every public-house of any repute in all of them. These cir- cumstances did not disabuse Donald of his original idea of its being a penny -wedding. He only thought that they conducted these things in greater style in Spain than in Scotland, and with this solution of the difficulty, sug- gested by the said splendours, Donald mounted the broad marble staircase, and stalked into the midst of a large apartment filled with dancers. The variety and elegance of the dresses of these last again staggered Donald's belief in the nature of the merry-making, and made him doubt whether he had conjectured aright. These doubts, how- ever, did not for an instant shake his determination to have a share in the fun. It was a joyous dancing party, and that was quite enough for him. In the meantime he contented himself with staring at the strange but splen- did figures by whom he was surrounded, and who were, in various corners of the apartment, gliding through the " mazy dance." But if Donald's surprise was great at the costumes which he was now so intently marking, those who displayed them were no less surprised at that which he exhibited. Donald's strange, but striking attire, in truth, had attracted all eyes ; and much did those 172 TALES OF THE BORDERS. who beheld it wonder in all the earth to what country it belonged. But simple wonder and admiration were not the only sensations which Donald's garb produced on the masquers. His kilt had other effects. It drove half the ladies screaming out of the apartment, to its wearer's great surprise and no small displeasure. The guise which Donald wore, however, and which all believed to have been donned for the occasion, was, on the whole, much approved of, and the wearer, in more than one instance, complimented for his taste in having selected so novel and striking a garb. But even his warmest applauders objected to the scantiness of the kilt, and hinted that, for decorum's sake, this part of his dress should have been carried down to his heels. This improvement on his kilt was suggested, in the most polite terms, to Donald himself, by a Spanish gentleman, who spoke a little English, and who had ascer- tained that our hero was a native of Great Britain, and whom he believed to be a man of note. To this sugges- tion Donald made no other reply than by a look of the utmost indignation and contempt. The Spanish gentle- man, whose name was Don Sebastanio, seeing that his remark had given offence, hastened to apologise for the liberty he had taken — assuring Donald that he meant nothing disrespectful or insulting. This apology was just made in time, as the irritable Celt had begun to entertain the idea of challenging the Spaniard to mortal combat. As it was, however, his good nature at once gave way to the pacific overture that was made him. Seizing the apologist by the hand, with a gripe that produced some dismal contortions of countenance on the part of him on whom it was inflicted — " Is no harm done at all, my friend. You'll not know no petter, having never peen, I dare say, in our country, or seen a heelanman pefore." The Spaniard declared he never had had either of these DONALD GORM. 173 happinesses, and concluded by inviting Donald to an adjoin- ing apartment to have some refreshment — an invitation which Donald at once obeyed. " Now, my good sir," said his companion, on their entering a sort of refectory where were a variety of tables spread with abundance of the good things of this life and of Madrid, " what shall you prefer ? " " Herself s not fery hungry, but a little thirsty," said Donald, flinging himself down on a seat in a free-and-easy way, with his legs astride, so as to allow free suspension to his huge goat-skin purse, and doffing his bonnet, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead — " Herselfs no fery hungry, but a little thirsty ; and she'll teukit, if you please, a fery small drop of whisky and water." The Spaniard was nonplussed. He had never even heard of whisky in his life, and was therefore greatly at a loss to understand what sort of liquor his friend meant. Donald, perceiving his difficulty, and guessing that it was of the same nature with the one which he had already experienced, hastily transmuted his demand for whisky into one for brandy, which was immediately supplied him, when Donald, pouring into a rummer a quantity equal to at least six glasses, filled up with water, and drank the whole off, to the inexpressible amazement of his companion, who, however, although he looked unutterable things at the enormous draught, was much too polite to say anything. Thus primed a second time, Donald, seeing his new friend engaged with some ladies who had unexpectedly joined him, returned alone to the dancing apartment, which he entered with a whoop of encouragement to the performers that startled every one present, and for an instant arrested the motions of the dancers, who could not comprehend the mounng of his uncouth cries. Ee- gardless of this effect of his interference in the pro- ceedings of the evening, Donald, with a countenance 174 TALES OF THE BORDERS. beaming with hilarity, and eyes sparkling -with wild and reckless glee, took up a conspicuous position in the room, and from thence commenced edifying the dancers by a series of short abrupt shouts or yells, accompanied by a vigorous clapping of his hands, at once to intimate his satisfaction with the performances, and to encourage the performers themselves to further exertions. Getting gra- dually, however, too much into the spirit of the thing to be content with being merely an onlooker, Donald all at once capered into the middle of the floor, snapping his fingers and thumbs, and calling out to the musicians to strike up " Caber Feigh ; " and, without waiting to hear whether his call was obeyed, he commenced a vigorous exhibition of the highland fling, to the great amazement of the bystanders, who, instantly abandoning their own pursuits, crowded around him to witness this to them most extraordinary performance. Thus occupied, and thus situated — the centre of a " glittering ring " — Donald continued to execute with unabated energy the various strongly-marked movements of his national dance, amidst the loud applauses of the surrounding spectators. On con- cluding — " Oich, oich ! " exclaimed Donald, out of breath with his exertion, and looking laughingly round on the circle of bystanders. "Did ever I think to dance ta heelan fling in Madrid ! Och, no, no ! Never, by Shoseph ! But, I dare say, it'll pe the first time that it was ever danced here." From this moment Donald became a universal favourite in the room, and the established lion of the nisht. Where- ever he went he was surrounded with an admiring group, and was overloaded with civilities of all kinds, including frequent offers of refreshment ; so that he speedily found himself in most excellent quarters. There was, however, one drawback in his happiness. He could get no share in DONALD GORM. 175 tlie dancing excepting what he chose to perform solus, as there was nothing in that way to be seen in the room in the shape of a reel, nor was there a single tune played of which he could make either head or tail — nothing but "your foreign trash, with neither spunk nor music in them." Determined, however, since his highland fling had been so much approved of, to give a specimen of the highland reel, if he could possibly make it out, Donald, as a first step, looked around him for a partner ; and see- ing a very handsome girl seated in one of the corners of the apartment, and apparently disengaged, he made up to her, and, making one of his best bows, solicited the honour of her joining him in a reel. Without understanding the language in which she was addressed, but guessing that it conveyed an invitation to the floor, the young lady at once arose and curtsied an acquiescence, when Donald, taking her gallantly by the hand, led her up to the front of the orchestra, in order that he might bespeak the appropriate music for the particular species of dance he contemplated. On approaching sufficiently near to the musicians — " Fittlers," he shouted, at the top of his voice, " I say, can you'll kive us ' Rothiemurchus' Rant,' or the ' Trucken Wives of Fochabers ?' " Then turning to his partner, and flinging his arms about her neck in an ecstacy of Highland excitation, capering at the same time hilariously in anticipation of the coming strain— "Them's the tunes, my lass, for putting mettle in your heels." A scream from the lady with whom Donald was using these unwarrantable personal liberties, and a violent attempt on her part to escape from them, suddenly ar- rested Donald's hilarity, and excited his utmost surprise In the next instant he was surrounded by at least half-a- 176 TALES OF THE BORDERS. dozen angry cavaliers, amongst whom there was a bran- dishing of swords and much violent denunciation, all directed against Donald, and excited by his unmannerly rudeness to a lady. It was some seconds before Donald could comprehend the meaning of all this wrath, or believe that he was at once the cause and the. object of it. But on this becoming plaia— " Well, shentlemen," he said, " I did not mean any- thing wrong. No offence at all to the girl. It was just the fashion of my country ; and I'm sorry for it." To this apology of Donald's, of which, of course, not a word was understood, the only reply was a more fiercr flourishing of brands, and a greater volubility and vehe- mence of abuse ; the effect of which was at once to arouse Donald's choler, and to urge him headlong on extremities. " Well, well," he said, " if you'll not have satisfaction any other way than py the sword, py the sword you shall have it." And instantly drawing, he stood ready to encounter at once the whole host of his enemies. What might have been the result of so unequal a contest, had it taken place, we cannot tell — and this simply because no encounter did take place. At the moment that Donald was awaiting the onset of the foe — a proceeding, by the way, which they were now marvellously slow in adopting, notwithstanding the fury with which they had opened the assault, a party of the king's guard, with fixed bayonets, rushed into the apartment, and bore Donald forcibly out into the street, where they left him, with angry signs that if he attempted to return, he would meet with still worse treatment. Donald had prudence enough to perceive that any attempt to resent the insult that had been offered him — seeing that it was perpetrated by a dozen men armed with musket and bayonet — would be madness, and therefore contented DONALD GORM. 177 himself with muttering in Gaelic some expressions of high indignation and contempt. Having delivered himself to this effect, he proudly adjusted his plaid, and stalked majestically away. It was now so far advanced in the morning that Donald abandoned all idea of seeking for a bed, and resolved on prosecuting an assiduous search for his brother. This he accordingly commenced, and numerous were the calls at shops, and frequent the inquiries he made for Tuncan Gorm ; but unavailing were they all. No one understood a word of what he addressed to them ; and thus, of course, no one could give him the information he desired. It was in vain, too, that Donald carefully scanned every sign that he passed, to see that it did not bear the anxiously looked for name. On none of them did it appear. They were all, as Donald himself said, Fouros, and Beuros, and Lebranos, and Dranos, and other outlandish and unchristian-like names. Not a heeland or lowland shopkeeper amongst them. No such a decent and civilized name to be met with as Gorm, or Brolachan, or M'Fadyen, or Macharuarich, or M'Cuallisky. Tired and disappointed, Donald, after wandering up and down the streets for several hours, bethought him of adjourning to a tavern to have something to eat, and pro- bably something to drink also. Seeing such a house as he wanted, he entered, and desired the landlord to furnish him with some dinner. In a few seconds two dishes were placed before him ; but what these dishes were, Donald could not at all make out. They resembled nothing in the edible way he had ever seen before, and the flavour was most alarming. Nevertheless, being pretty sharp-set, he resolved to try them, and for this purpose drew one of the dishes towards him, when, having peered as curiously and cautiously into it for a few seconds as if he feared it would leap up in his face and bite him, and curling his nose the 178 TALES OF THE L50RDERS. while into strong disapprobation of its odour, he lifted several spoonfuls of the black greasy mess on his plate. At this point Donald found his courage failing him ; but, as his host stood behind his chair and was witness to all his proceedings, he did not like either to express the excessive disgust he was beginning to feel, nor to refuse tasting of what was set before him. Mustering all his remaining courage, therefore, he plunged his spoon with desperate violence into the nauseous mess, which seemed to Donald to be some villanous compound of garlic, rancid oil, and dough ; and raising it to his lips, shut his eyes, and boldly thrust it into his mouth. Donald's resolution, however, could carry him no farther. To swallow it he found utterly impossible, now that the horrors of both taste and smell were full upon him. In this predicament, Donald had no other way for it but to give back what he had taken ; and this course he instantly followed, adding a large interest, and exclaiming — " My Cot ! what sort of a country is this? Your drinks is poison, and your meats is poison, and everything is apominations apout you. Oich, oich ! I wish to Cot I was back to Eddernahulish again ; for I'll pe either poisoned or murdered amongst you if I remain much longer here. That's peyond all doubt." And having thus expressed himself, Donald started to his feet, and was about to leave the house without any farther ceremony, when the landlord adroitly planted himself between him and the door, and demanded the reckoning. Donald did not know precisely what was asked of him, but he guessed that it was a demand fo? payment, and this demand he was determined to resist, on the ground that what he could not eat he ought not to be called on to pay for. Full of this resolution, and having no doubt that he was right in his conjecture as to the landlord's purpose in preventing his exH-— • DONALD GORM 179 "Pay for ta apominations I " said Donald, wrathfully. ** Pay for ta poison ! It's myself will see you at Jericho first. Not a farthing, not one tarn farthing, will I pay you for ta trash. So stand out of the way, my friend, pefore worse comes of it." Saying this, Donald advanced to the door, and seizing its guardian by the breast, laid him gently on his back on the floor, and stepping over his prostrate body, walked deliberately out of the house, without further interrup- tion, mine host not thinking it advisable to excite further the choler of so dangerous a customer, and one who had just given him so satisfactory a specimen of his personal prowess. Another day had now nearly passed away, and Donald was still as far, to all appearance, from finding the object of his search as ever he had been. He was, more- over, now both hungry and thirsty ; but these were evils which he soon after succeeded in obviating for the time, by a more successful foray than the last. Going into another house of entertainment, he contrived to make a demand for bread and cheese intelligible — articles which lie had specially condescended on, that there might be "no mistake ; " and with these and a pretty capacious measure of brandy, he managed to effect a very tolerable passover. Before leaving this house, Donald made once more the already oft but vainly-repeated inquiry, whether he knew (he was addressing his landlord) where one Duncan Gorm stopped. It did not now surprise Donald to find that his inquiry was not understood ; but it did both surprise and delight him when his host, who had abruptly left the room for an instant, returned with a person who spoke very tolerable English. This man was a muleteer, and had re- sided for some years in London, in the service of the Spanish ambassador. His name — a most convenient one for Donald to pronounce — was Mendoza Ambrosius. On being intro- duced to this personage, Donald expressed the utmost 180 TALES OF THE BORDERS. delight at finding in him one who spoke a Christian language, as he called it ; and, in the joy of his heart with his good fortune, ordered in a jorum of brandy for the entertainment of himself and Mr. Ambrosius. The liquor being brought, and several horns of it discussed, Donald and his new friend got as thick as " ben' leather." And on this happy understanding being established, the former began to detail, at all the length it would admit of, the purpose of his visit to Madrid, and the occurrences that had befallen him since his arrival ; prefacing these par- ticulars with a sketch of his history, and some account of the place of his nativity ; and concluding the whole by asking his companion if he could in any way assist him to find his brother, Duncan Gorm. The muleteer replied, in the best English he could command, that he did not know the particular person inquired after, but that he knew the residences of two or three natives of Britain, some of whom, he thought it probable, might be acquainted with his brother ; and that he would have much pleasure in conducting him to these persons, for the purpose of ascertaining this. Donald thanked his friend for his civility ; and, in a short time thereafter, the brandy having been finished in the interim, the two set out together on their expedition of inquiry. It was a olear, moonlight night ; but, although it was so, and the hour what would be considered in this country early, the streets were nearly deserted, and as lonely and quiet as if Madrid were a city of the dead. This stillness had the effect of making the smallest sound audible even at a great distance, and to this stillness it was owing that Donald and his friend suddenly heard, soon after they had set out, the clashing of swords, intermingled with occa- sional shouts, at a remote part of the street they were traversing. "What's tat?" exclaimed Donald, stopping abruptly, DONALD GORM. 181 and cocking his ears at the well-known sound of clashing steel. His companion, accustomed to such occurrences, replied, with an air cf indifference, that it was merely some street brawl. " It'll pe these tarn vinekar drinkers again," said Donald, with a lively recollection of the assault that had been made upon himself; " maybe some poor shentleman's in distress. Let us go and see. my tear sir." To this proposal, the muleteer, with a proper sense of the folly of throwing him- self in the way of mischief unnecessarily, would at first by no means accede; but, on being urged by Donald, agreed to move on a little with riim towards the scene of conflict. This proceeding soon brought them near enough to the combatants to perceive that Donald's random conjectiire had not been far wrong, by discovering to them one person, who, with his back to the wall, was bravely defending himself against no fewer than four assailants, all being armed with swords. " Did not I tell you so 1 " exclaimed Donald, in great excitation, on seeing how matters stood. " Noo, Maister Tozy Brozey, shoulder to shoulder, my tear, and we'll as- sist this poor shentleman." Saying this, Donald drew his claymore, and rushed headlong on to the rescue, calling on Tozy Brozy to follow him; but Tozy Brozy's feelings and impulses carried him in a totally different direction. Fearing that his friend's interference in the squabble might have the effect of directing some of the blows his way, he fairly took to his heels, leaving Donald to do by himself what to himself seemed needful in the ease. In the mean- time, too much engrossed by the duty before him to mind much whether his friend followed him or not, Donald struck boldly in, in aid of the " shentleman in distress," exclaiming, as he did so — " Fair play, my tears I Fair play's a shewel everywhere, and I suppose here too." And, saying this, with ono 182 TALES OF THE BORDERS. thundering blow that fairly split the skull of the unfortu nate wight on whom it fell in twain, Donald lessened the number of the combatants by one. The person to whose aid he had thus so unexpectedly and opportunely come, seeing what an effectual ally he had got, gave a shout of triumphant joy, and, although much exhausted by the violence and length of his exertions in defending himself, instantly became the assailant in his turn. Inspired with new life and vigour, he pressed on his enemies with a fury that compelled them to give way ; and, being splendidly seconded by Donald, whose tremendous blows were falling with powerful effect on those against whom they were directed, the result was, in a few seconds, the flight of the enemy ; who, in rapid succession, one after the other, took to their heels, although not without carrying along with them several authentic certificates of the efficiency of Donald's claymore. On the retreat of the bravos — for such they were — the person whom Donald had so efficiently served in his hour of need, flew towards him, and, taking him in his arms, poured out a torrent of thanks for the prompt and gallant aid he had afforded him. But, as these thanks were ex- pressed in Spanish, they were lost on him to whom they were addressed. Not so, however, the indications of grati- tude evinced in the acts by which they were accompanied. These Donald perfectly understood, and replied to them as if their sense had been conveyed to him in a language which he comprehended. " No thanks at all, my tear sir. A Heelantman will always assist a freend where a few plows will do him goot. You would shust do the same to me, I'm sure. But," added Donald, as he sheathed his most serviceable weapon, " this is the tarn place for fechtin' I have ever seen. I thocht our own Heelants pad enough, but this is ten times worse, py Shoseph ! I have no peen more than four-and- DONALD GORM. 183 twenty hours in Ma-a-treed, and I'll have peen in tree fecht already." More of this speech was understood by the person to whom it was addressed, than might have been expected under all these circumstances. This person was a Spanish gentleman of rank and great wealth, of the name of Don Antonio Nunnez, whose acquirements included a very competent knowledge of the English language, which, although he spoke it but indifferently, he understood very well. Yet it certainly did require all his knowledge of it, to recognise it in the shape in Avhich Donald presented it to him. This, however, to a certain extent, he did, and, in English, now repeated his sense of the important obliga- tion Donald had conferred on him. But it was not to words alone that the grateful and generous Spaniard meant to confine his acknowledgments of the service that had been rendered him. Having ascertained that Donald was a perfect stranger in the city, he insisted on his going home with him, and remaining with him during his stay in Madrid, and further requesting that he would seek at his hands, and no other's, any service or obligation, of whatever nature it might be, of which he should stand in need during his stay. To these generous proffers, Donald replied, that the greatest service that could be done him was to inform him where he could find his brother, Duncan Gorm. Don Antonio first expressed surprise to learn that Donald had a brother in Madrid, and then his sorrow that he did not know, nor had ever heard of such a person. " He'll keep a public," said Donald. "What is that, my friend?" inquired Don Antonio. " Sell a shill, to be sure — I'll thocht everybody know that," eaid Donald, a good deal surprised at the other's ignorance. " Shill? shill?" repeated the Spaniard — "and pray, my friend, what is a shill?" 184 TALES OF THE BORDERS. " Cot pless mel don't you'll know what a shill is?" re- joined Donald, with increased amazement. " If you'll come with me to Eddernahulish, I'll show you what a shill is, and help you to drink it too." " Well, well, my friend," said Don Antonio. " I'll get an explanation of what a ' shill ' is from you afterwards ; but, in the meantime, you'll come with me, if you please, as I am anxious to introduce you to some friends at home ! " Saying this, he took Donald's arm, in order to act as his conductor, and, after leading him through two or three streets, brought him to the door of a very large and hand- some house. Don Antonio having knocked at this door, it was immediately opened by a servant in splendid livery, who, on recognising his master — for such was Donald's friend — instantly stepped aside, and respectfully admitted the pair. In the vestibule, or passage, which was exceed- ingly magnificent, were a number of other serving men in rich liveries, who drew themselves up on either side, in order to allow their master and his friend to pass ; and much did they marvel at the strange garb in which that friend appeared. Don Antonio now conducted Donald up the broad marbled staircase, splendidly illuminated with a variety of elegant lamps, in which the vestibule termin- ated ; and, on reaching the top of the first flight, ushered him into a large and gorgeously-furnished apartment, in which were two ladies dressed in deep mourning. To these ladies, one of whom was the mother, the other the sister of Don Antonio, the latter introduced his amazed and awe-stricken companion, as a person to whom he was indebted for his life. He then explained to his relations what had occurred, and did not fail to give Donald's promptitude and courage a due share of his laudations. With a gratitude not less earnest than his own had been, the motfc-my whole soul became entranced — the tear-drop swam in my eyes — it was one of Scotland's sweetest ditties — " Th 3 Broom o' the Cowden- knowes." No one who has not heard, unexpected, in a foreign land the songs he loved in his youth, can appre- ciate the thrill of pleasing ecstasy that carries the mind, as it were, out of the body, when the ears catch the well- known sounds. Next day I was all anxiety to see the individual who had so fascinated me the evening before. I found her all that my imagination had pictured her. A new feeling possessed me. In vain I called pride to my aid — I could not drive her from my thoughts. Sleeping or waking, her voice and form were ever present. I left the town for a time to free myself from these unwelcome feelings, pleas- ing as they were. I felt angry at myself for harbouring them , but all my endeavours were vain — go where I would, I was with my Mary on the Cowdenknowes. I know not how it was. I had loved with more ardour in my first passion, and been more the victim of impulse; a dreamy sensation occupied my mind, and my whole existence seemed concentrated in her alone; now, my mind felt cool and collected — I weighed every fault and excellence ; still I was hurried on, and felt like one placed in a boat in the current of a river, pulling hard to get out of the stream in vain. I at length laid down my oars, and yielded to the impulse. In short, I made up my mind to win the esteem and love of Mary ; nor did I strive in vain. Mv humble attentions were kindly received, and dear to my heart is the remembrance of the tiinK 1 ^lances I first 272 TALES OF THE BORDERS. detected in her full bluck eyes. For some weeks I sought an opportunity to declare my love. She evidently shunned being alone with me; and I often could discern, when I came upon her by surprise, that she had been weeping. Some secret sorrow evidently oppressed her mind, and, at times, I have seen ht r beautiful face suffused with scarlet and her eyes become wet with tears, when my pompous landlady spoke of the ladies of Europe and " the true white- blooded females of America." I dreamed not at this time of the cause; but the truth dawned upon me afterwards. It was on a delightful evening, after one of the most sultry days in this climate, I had wandered into the garden to enjoy the evening breeze, with which nothing in these northern climes will bear comparison; the fire-fiies sported in myriads around, and gave animation to the scene ; the fragrance of plants and the melody of birds filled the senses to repletion. I wanted only the presence of Mary to be completely happy. I heard a low warbling at a short dis- tance, from a bower covered with clustering vines. It was Mary's voice! I stood overpowered with pleasure — she sung again one of our Scottish tunes. As the last faint cadence died away, I entered the arbour; the noise of my approach made her start from her seat ; she was hurrying away in confusion, when I gently seized her hand, and requested her to remain, if it were only for a few moments, as I had something to impart of the utmost importance to us both. She stood; her face was averted from my gaze; I felt her hand tremble in mine. Now that the opportunity I so much desired had been obtained, my resolution began to fail me. We had stood thus for sometime. " Sir, I must not stay here longer," she said. " Good evening!" " Mary," said I, " I love you. May I hope to gain your regard by any length of service? Allow me to hope, and I shall be content." THE FORTUNES OP WILLI AM WIGHTON. i73 " I must not listen to this language," she replied. " Do not hope. There is a barrier between us that cannot be removed. I cannot be yours. I am unworthy of your regard. Alas ! P am a child of misfortune." " Then," said I, " my hopes of happiness are fled for ever. So young, so beautiful, with a soul so elevated as I know yours to be., you can have done nothing to render you unworthy of me. For heaven's sake, tell me what that fatal barrier is. Is it love ?" " I thank you," she replied. " Yon me but justice. A thought has never dwelt upon my mind for which I have cause to blush ; but Nature has placed a gulf between you and me, you will not pass." She paused, and the tears swam in her eyes. "For mercy's sake, proceed!" I said. " There is black blood in these veins" she cried, in agony. A load was at once removed from my mind. I raised her hand to my lips: — " Mary, my love, this is no bar. I come from a country where the aristocracy of blood is unknown, where nothing degrades man in the eyes of his fellow-man but vice." »Why more ? Mary consented to be mine, and we were shortly after wed. I was blessed in the possession of one of the most gentle of beings. We had been married about six or seven weeks, when business called me from Charleston to one of the northern States. I resolved to take Mary with me, as I was to go by sea; and our arrangements were completed. The vessel was to sail on the following day. I was seated with her, enjoying the cool of the evening, when a stranger called and requested to see me on business of importance. I immediately went to him, and was struck with the coarse- ness of his manners, and his vulgar importance. I bowed, and asked his business, l 2 274 TALES OF THE BORDERS. 11 You have a woman in this house," said he, " called Mary De Lyle, I guess." " I do not understand the purport of your question," said I. "What do you mean?" " My meaning is pretty clear," said he. " Mary De Lyle is in this house, and she 'a my property. If you offer to carry her out of the Stated I will have her sent to jail, and you fined. That is right fe-head, I guess." "Wretch," said I, in a voice hoarse with rage, "get out of my house, or I will crush you to death. Begone !" I believe I would have done him some fearful injury, had he not precipitately made his escape. In a frame of mind I want words to express, I hurried to Mary, and sank upon a seat, with my face buried in my hands. She, poor thing, came trembling to my side, and implored me to tell her what was the matter. I could only answer by my groans. At length, I looked imploringly in her face : — " Mary, is it possible that you are a slave ? " said I. She uttered a piercing shriek, and sank inanimate at my feet. ' I lifted her upon the sofa; but it was long before she gave symptoms of returning life. As soon as I could leave her, I went to a friend to ask his advice and assistance. Through him, I learned that what I feared was but too true. By the usages and laws of the State, she was still a slave, and liable to be hurried from me and sold to the highest bidder, or doomed to any drudgery her master might put her to, and even flogged at will. There was only one remedy that could be applied; and the specific was dollars. My friend was so kind as negotiate with the ruffian. One thousand was demanded, and cheerfully paid. I carried the manumission home to my sorrowing Mary. From her I learned, as she lay in bed — her beautiful face buried in the clothes, and her voice choked by sobs — that the wretch who had called on me was her own father, whose avarice could not let slip this THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGHTOK. 275 opportunity of extorting money. With an inconsistency often found in man, he had given Mary one of the btirt oi educations, and for long treated her as a favoured child, during the life of her mother, who was one of his slaves, a woman of colour, and with some accomplishments, which the had acquired in a genteel family. At her death, Mary had gone as governess to my landlady; but, until tho day of her father's claim, she had never dreamed of being a slave. I allowed the vessel to sail without me, wound up my affairs, and bade adieu for ever to the slave States. Tis now twenty years since I purchased a wife, after I had won her love, and I bless the day she was made mine ; for I have had uninterrupted happiness in her and her offspring. The slave is now the happy wife and mother of five lovely children, who rejoice in their mother After remaining some years in Leeds, I returned to Edinburgh. Widow Neil was dead; but one day I discovered, by mere chance, that the murder I committed m. her house wm on a sheep. 276 TALES OF THE BORDERS. MY BLACK COAT; OR. THE BREAKING OF THE BRIDE'S CHINA. Gentle reader, the simple circumstances I am about tu relate to you, hang upon what is termed — a bad omen There are few amongst the uneducated who have not a degree of faith in omens ; and even amongst the better educated and well informed there are many who, while they profess to disbelieve them, and, indeed, do disbelieve them, yet feel them in their hours of solitude. I have known individuals who, in the hour of danger, would have braved the cannon's mouth, or defied death to his teeth, who, nevertheless, would have buried their heads in the bedclothes at the howling of a dog at midnight, or spent a sleepless night from hearing the tick, tick, of the spider, or the untiring song of the kitchen-fire musician — the jolly little cricket. The age of omens, however, is drawing to a close; for truth in its progress is trampling delusion of every kind under its feet ; yet, after all, though a belief in omens is a superstition, it is one that carries with it a por- tion of the poetry of our nature. But to proceed with our story. Several years ago I was on my way from B to Edinburgh ; and "being as familiar with every cottage, tree, shrub, and whin-bush on the Dunbar and Lauder roads as with the face of an acquaintance, I made choice of the less-frequented path by Longformacus. I always took a secret pleasure in contemplating the dreariness of wild spreading desolation ; and, next to looking on the THE BREAKING O* THE BRIDE'S CHINA. 277 ■ea when its waves dance to the music of a hurricane, I loved to gaze on the heath-covered wilderness, where the blue horizon only girded its purple bosom. It was nc. season to look upon the heath in the beauty of barrenness, yet I purposely diverged from the main road. About an . hour, therefore, after I had descended from the region 01 the Lammermoors, and entered the Lothians, I became sensible I was pursuing a path which was not forwarding my footsteps to Edinburgh. It was December; the sun had just gone down ; I was not very partial to travelling in darkness, neither did I wish to trust to chance for find- ing a comfortable restingplace for the night. Perceiving a farm-steading and water-mill about a quarter of a mile from the road, I resolved to turn towards them, and make inquiry respecting the right path, or, at least, to request to be directed to the nearest inn. The " town," as the three or four houses and mill were called, was all bustle and confusion. The female inhabi- tants were cleaning and scouring, and running to and fro. I quickly learned that all this note of preparation arose from the "maister" being to be married within three days. Seeing me a stranger, he came from his house towards me. He was a tall, stout, good-looking, jolly- faced farmer and miller. His manner of accosting me partook more of kindness than civility ; and his inquiries were not free from the familiar, prying curiosity which prevails in every corner of our island, and, I must say, in the north in particular. " Where do you come fra, na — if it be a fair question ? " inquired he. " From B ," was the brief and merely civil reply. " An' hae ye come frae there the day?" he continued. " Yes," was the answer. " Ay, man, an' ye come frae B , do ye?" added he; u then, nae doot, ye'll ken a person they ca' Mr. ? " 278 TALKS OF THE BORDERS. "Did lie come originally from Dunse?" returned I, mentioning also the occupation of the person referred to. '•The vera same," rejoined the miller; "are ye ac- quainted wi' him, sir ? " " I ought to be," replied I ; " the person you speak of is merely my father." " Your faither 1 " exclaimed he, opening his mouth and eyes to their full width, and standing for a moment the picture of surprise — " Gude gracious ! ye dinna say sae ! — is he really your faither ? Losh, man, do you no ken, then, that I'm your cousin ! Ye've heard o' your cousin, Willie Stewart." " Fifty times," replied I. " "Weel, I'm the vera man," said he — " Gie's your hand; for, 'odsake, man, I'm as glad as glad can be. This is real extraordinar'. I've often heard o' you — it will be you that writes the buiks — faith ye'll be able to mak something o' this. But come awa' into the house — ye dinna stir a mile far'er for a week, at ony rate." So saying, and still grasping my hand, he led me to the farm-house. On crossing the threshold — " Here, lassie," he cried, in a voice that made roof and rafters ring, " bring ben the speerits, and get on the kettle — here's a cousin that I ne'er saw in my life afore." A few minutes served mutually to confirm and explain our newly-discovered relationship. " Man," said he, as we were filling u second glass, " ye've just come in the very nick o' time ; an' I'll tell ye how. Ye see I'm gaun to be married the day after the Jhorn ; an' no haein' a friend o' ony kin-kind in this quar- ter, I had to ask an acquaintance to be the best man. Now, this was vexin' me mair than ye can think, particu- larly, ye see, because the sweetheart has aye been hinting to me that it wadna be lucky for me no to hae a bluid relation for a best man. For that matter, indeed, luck THE BREAKING OP THE BRIDE'S CHINA. 279 here, luck there, I no care the toss up o' a ha'penny about omens mysel' ; but now that ye've fortunately come, I'm a great deal easier, an' it will be ae craik out o' the way, for it will please her ; an' ye may guess, between you an' me, that she's worth the pleasin', or I wadna had her ; so I'll just step ower an' tell the ither lad that I hae a cousin come to be my best man, an' he'll think naething o't." On the morning of the third day, the bride and her friends arrived. She was the only child of a Lammermoor farmer, and was in truth a real mountain flower — a heath blossom ; for the rude health that laughed upon her cheeks approached nearer the hue of the heather bell, than the rose and vermillion of which poets speak. She was comely withal, possessing an appearance of considerable strength, and was rather above the middle size — in short, she was the very belle ideal of a miller's wife ! But to go on. Twelve couple accompanied the happy miller and his bride to the manse, independent of the married, middle-aged, and grey-haired visitors, who fol- lowed behind and by our side. We were thus proceeding onward to the house of the minister, whose blessing was to make a couple happy, and the arm of the blooming bride was through mine, when I heard a voice, or rather let me say a sound, like the croak of a raven, exclaim — " Mercy on us ! saw ye e'er the like o' that ! — the best man, I'll declare, has a black coat on ! " " An' fJiat's no lucky ! " replied another. "Luckg-'I" responded the raven voice — "just perfectly awfu' ! I wadna it had happened at the weddin' o' a bairn o' mine for the king's dominions." I observed the bride steal a glance at my shoulder; I felt, or thought I felt, as if she shrunk from my arm ; and when I spoke to her, her speech faltered. I found that my cousin, in avoiding one omen, had stumbled upon another, in my black coat. I was wroth with the rural 280 TALES OF THE BORDERS. prophetess, and turned round to behold her. Her little grey eyes, twinkling through spectacles, were wink, wink- ing upon my ill-fated coat. She was a crooked (forgive me for saying an ugly), little, old woman; she was u bearded like a pard," and walked with a crooked stick mounted with silver. (On the very spot* where she then was, the last witch in Scotland was burned.) I turned from the grinning sibyl with disgust. On the previous day, and during part of the night, the rain had fallen heavily, and the Broxburn was swollen to the magnitude of a little river. The manse lay on the opposite side of the burn, which was generally crossed by the aid of stepping-stones, but on the day in question the tops of the stones were barely visible. On crossing the burn the foot of the bride slipped, and the bridegroom, in his eagerness to assist her, slipped also — knee-deep in the water. The raven voice was again heard — it was another omen. The kitchen was the only room in the manse large enough to contain the spectators assembled to witness the ceremony, which passed over smoothly enough, save that, when the clergyman was about to join the hands of the parties, I drew off the glove of the bride a second or two before the bridesmaid performed a similar operation on the hand of the bridegroom. I heard the whisper of the crooked old woman, and saw that the eyes of the other women were upon me. I felt that I had committed another omen, and almost resolved to renounce wearing " blacks " for the future. The ceremony, however, was concluded; we returned from the manse, and everything was forgotten, save mirth and music, till the hour arrived for tea. The bride's mother had boasted of her " daughter's double set o' real china " during the afternoon ; and the * The last person burned for witchcraft in Scotland wa» at Spot— the seen* of wr present story THE BREAKING OF THE BRIDE'S CHINA. 281 female part of the company evidently felt anxious to examine the costly crockery. A young woman was enter- ing with a tray and the tea equipage — another, similarly laden, followed behind her. The " sneck " of the door caught the handle of the tray, and down went china, waiting-maid, and all ! The fall startled her companion — their feet became entangled— both embraced the floor, and the china from both trays lay scattered around them in a thousand shapes and sizes! This was an omen with a vengeance 1 I could not avoid stealing a look at the sleeve of my black coat. The bearded old woman seemed in- spired. She declared the luck of the house was broken ! Of the double set of real china not a cup was left — not an odd saucer. The bridegroom bore the misfortune as a man ; and, gently drawing the head of his young partner towards him, said — "Never mind them, hinny — let them gang — we'll get mair." The bride, poor thing, shed a tear; but the miller threw his arm round her neck, stole a kiss, and she blushed and smiled. It was evident, however, that every one of the company regarded this as a real omen. The mill-loft was prepared for the joyous dance ; but scarce had the fantastic toes (some of them were not light ones) begun to move through the mazy rounds, when the loft-floor broke down beneath the bounding feet of the happy-hearted miller ; for, unfor- tunately, he considered not that his goodly body was heavier than his spirits. It was omen upon omen — the work of breaking had begun — the " luck " of the young couple was departed. Three days after the wedding, one of the miller's carts was got in readiness to carry home the bride's mother. On crossing the unlucky burn, to which we have al- ready alluded, the horse stumbled, fell, and broke its 282 TALES OS" THE BONDERS. knee, and had to be taken back, and anothflr put in its place. " Mair breakings ! " exclaimed the now almost heart- broken old woman. " Oh, dear sake 1 how will a' this end for my puir bairn ! " I remained with my new-found relatives about a week ; and while there the miller sent his boy for payment of an account of thirty pounds, he having to make up money to pay a corn-factor at the Haddington market on the follow- ing day. In the evening the boy returned. " Weel, callant," inquired the miller, " hae ye gotten the siller?" " No." replied the youth. "Mercy me!" exclaimed my cousin, hastily, "hae ye no gotten the siller? Wha did ye see, or what did thej say?" " I saw the wife," returned the boy ; " an' she said — ' Siller ! laddie, what's brought ye here for siller ? — I dare- say your maister's daft ! Do ye no ken we're broken ! I'm sure a'body kens that we broke yesterday ! " " The mischief break them ! " exclaimed the miller, rising and walking hurriedly across the room — " thi3 is breaking in earnest." I may not here particularize the breakings that followed. One misfortune succeeded another, till the miller broke also. All that he had was put under the hammer, and he wandered forth with his young wife a broken man. Some years afterwards, I met with him in a different part of the country. He had the management of exten- sive flour mills. He was again domg well, and had money in his master's hands. At last there seemed to be an end of the breakings. We were sitting together when a third person entered, with a rueful countenance. " Willie," said he, with the tone of a speaking sepulchre, "hae ye heard the news?" THE BREAKING OF THE BRIDE'S CHINA. 288 "What news, now?" inquired the miller, seriously. u Tiie maister's brokecl" rejoined the other. " An' my fifty pounds ?" responded my cousin, in a voice of horror. " Are broken wi' him, 7 * returned the stranger. " Oh, gude gracious ! " cried the young wife, wringing her hands, " I'm sure I wish I were out o' this world ! — will erer thir breakings be done ! — what tempted my mother to buy me the cheena?" " Or me to wear a black coat at your wedding," thought I. A few weeks afterwards a letter arrived, announcing that death had suddenly broken the thread of life of her aged father, and her mother requested them to come and take charge of the farm which was now theirs. They went. The old man had made money on the hills. They got the better of the broken china and of my black coat. Fortune broke in upon them. My cousin declared that omens were nonsense, and his wife added that she ''really thought there was naething in them, But it was lang an' mony a day," she added, " or I could get your black coat ar.d my mother's cheena out o' my mind." They began to prosper and they prosper stilL CRD OK VOLinu*. II - UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 386 806 urn