Journal of Lady Beatrix Graham, sister of the Marquis of Montrose

JOURNAL OF THE

LADY BEATRIX GRAHAM.

I--Y--

JOURNAL OF THE

LADY BEATRIX GRAHAM,

SISTER OF THE MARQUIS OF

MONTROSE.
™

LONDON :

BELL AND DALDY, YORK STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.

1871.

PR

CH1SWICK PRESS :— PRINTED BY WHITTINGHAM AND WILKINS,
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.

PREFACE.

O give the true history of this little
book will perhaps be the best way
of introducing it to the public.

Strange as it may seem in these
days, it was not written for publication, but
was the delight of years of loving labour,
laid aside and resumed as other avocations
permitted, written and re-written as a labour
of pure love, pruned down from excrescences
and details that the writer believes in while
omitting them, printed for family reading, and
finally, on family verdict launched into the
world.

Some characters have a sort of fascination
lat leads to their contemplation till there
irises a longing on the part of the imagination
throw itself into the times, and assume, as
it were, an individuality, whence to contem-
plate the image at leisure. And thus for the

vi Preface.

convenience of hero worship towards the great
Montrose, the personality of his sister Beatrix
was taken up, and her character lived in for
years, while her supposed diary was made to
record all that (to borrow a favourite term of
Fouque) " seemed as if it must be so."

It will be understood from this that what-
ever history has recorded respecting the
Great Marquess and his family has been ad-
hered to, not so much out of scrupulosity, as
because these were the stand points whence
the web was constructed, the foundations of
the fabric, somewhat as in the case of Lady
Georgiana Fullerton's work, " La Comtesse
de Bonneval," where, on the foundation of the
veritable letters, a wonderfully touching cha-
racter has been built up by the deductions of
sympathetic genius and fancy.

Whether the outline of history has been
satisfactorily filled up, the opinion of the
public must decide. All that here needs to
be said is that all, except a few merely acces-
sary personages, are historical — or at least
genealogical verities — as indeed is testified by
the complicated relationships that no one
would have taken the trouble to invent. Dr.
Wishart's Life of Montrose, or the more full
and modern memoir by Mr. Mark Napier,
will shew the correctness with which the Mar-

Preface. vii

quess's various journeys and adventures have
been followed, while readers of French and
English memoirs of the time will recognise the
authority for more than one anecdote and
trait of the society in which Lady Beatrix and
her brother moved at Paris and in Holland.

It may be as well to state that the Intro-
ductory Remarks, purporting to be by the
Editor, profess to be no more than the narra-
tives of the discovery of MSS. in ancient
cabinets, which used to be the fashionable in-
troduction to old world romances. So much
of the story is told in the character of the said
Editor and finder, abridging and collating the
diary (as was true of its rough copy) that it
has been found expedient to leave this intro-
duction, and surely ever since the time of
Cervantes it has been lawful for a story-teller
to have a Cid Hamet Benen Geli; or at least,
a Jedediah Cleishbotham.

There have been many books of late writ-
ten on this diary plan, but if writing out of
the fulness of the heart be the means of
giving true interest and pleasure then Lady
Beatrix Graham's diary ought to succeed.

C. M. YONGE,

August 2 2nd, 1870.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS,

BY THE EDITOR.

ANY years ago an old manuscript
came into my possession, with which
I was so much pleased that I feel
tempted to make public some ex-
tracts from it, in the hope that this simple re-
cord of bygone joys and sorrows may not be
without interest. To myself, the task of pre-
paring and arranging it has been most plea-
sant, brightening many a winter day, and be-
guiling many a summer one. I have omitted
sundry matters of merely domestic interest,
such as recipes and prescriptions, with various
little details of dress and housekeeping ; and
I have modified the antique orthography,
Lady Beatrix, like her illustrious brother, and
indeed many of the most refined persons of
her day, having had very hazy ideas on that

x Introductory Remarks.

subject Also, I have altered the occasional
Scotticisms, only retaining one here and there,
for fear of losing the raciness of the style if
they were entirely Anglicized.

For the political opinions I will not be re-
sponsible, neither do I agree with them ; but
it would have been strange indeed if the sister
of Montrose had failed to share the burning
enthusiasm that led him to destruction and to
glory, however wasted we may deem it to have
been. To borrow words more eloquent than
any of mine can be —

" Blame we or laud the cause, all human life
Is grander by one grand self-sacrifice;

While earth disputes if righteous be the strife,
The Martyr soars beyond it to the skies."

The original manuscript is written in a le-
gible, pretty Italian hand, in a short, thick, old,
leather-bound book; though many passages
bear marks of haste, the words being abbrevi-
ated till they become somewhat perplexing to
decipher, and in the most important parts
some gaps occur, which I have been enabled
to fill up from letters written by different
members of the family. To explain their
somewhat complicated relationship, I will add
that Montrose had five sisters, of whom Bea-
trix was the youngest but one. The eldest,

Introductory Remarks. xi

Margaret, had been married early to Lord
Napier, son of the inventor of logarithms, and
as she was the eldest of the family, there was
but little difference of age between her younger
sister and her children, Archibald, Margaret
and Lilias, of whom we shall read in the
Journal. Montrose had himself been married
at a very early age to Magdalen, daughter of
the Earl of Southesk, whom he lost after a
short union, at, or soon after the birth of their
third son. It was after her death that he
spent some time in France and Italy.

In the charter chest of the Napier family
is still preserved a deed signed by Montrose
when on the eve of one of his earliest expe-
ditions, wherein, " for the singular and speciall
love and favour quhilk we haiff and bear to
Lady Beatrix Graeme, our lawful sister," he
obliges himself and his heirs to secure to that
lady the sum of twenty thousand marks for
"tocher," provided she married with his
consent.

At the time she began the record of her
varied life, Beatrix was thoroughly restless
and discontented ; for in the words of Carlyle,
" the great Montrose in Scotland was for
many weeks blazing at his highest ; but him
too, David Lesley with dragoons emerging
from the mist of the Autumn morning, on

xii Introductory Remarks.

Philiphaugh near Selkirk, had in one fell hour
utterly trampled out."

These preliminary matters being stated, we
will now leave our Journalist to speak for
herself.

JOURNAL OF LADY BEATRIX.

CHAPTER I.

BEGUN October YE 2nd, MDCXLVI., AT
HAYES HOUSE.

T was kind of Aunt Lilias to be-
stow this little book on me, wherein
to write my meditations ; and having
nothing to do, I may as well make
use of it, albeit my meditations are not over-
cheerful now that my brother is gone beyond
the sea, and I have ne'er seen him again, after
all my hopes and prayers, since he dined here
on his way to Dundee, when he was so kindly
and courteous to my aunts, they were even
constrained to be friendly with him. That
seemeth long ago ; and, woe is me ! how long
will it be ere I see him again ? Surely it was
cruel kindness to send me to this dolefull
house, where all is dull and quiet, away from

2 Journal of

the fighting. I might as well have been in
prison, like my young kinswomen, Margaret
and Lilias, who, at any rate, had done what
lay in their power for the Cause ; while, if I
only had the power, how gladly would I have
held Kincardine Castle against the rebels, or
borne intelligence, or done and endured any-
thing, for only a look of approval from Mon-
trose ; but now I am nobody, and my youth
is fast passing away. Yet it is a blessed thing
that he is safe, and those wretched weeks can-
not come over again when we knew not what
had befallen him, and I could not bear to lie
down in my warm bed while he was wander-
ing we knew not where, and all our tidings
came through the pedlars and such-like people.
Oh, how blithe would I have been to wander
with him in the mountains through storm and
peril ! Even Aunt Dorothy prayed for his
safety, and ceased to chide with me on all
occasions, though she would often say how he
would have escaped these judgments had he
served under Argyle (puir body), and upheld
the Covenant. Aunt Lilias was ever proud
of him in her heart, and I was ofttimes grate-
full to her when she would bid me go cut the
lavender, or feed the chickens, or otherwise
contrive excuses to send me out of the room.
I am right glad David Mathertie is safe like-

Lady Beatrix. 3

wise — no thanks to his prudence, most likely.

Continued at Hamburg, Novr. 22nd.

Now, indeed, have I much to write, and
little time to do so. How differently time
passes here in this merry town with the good
Sterlings, away from Hayes House and all
things dismall. And how pleasant 'tis to be
clad in fair garments and of new fashion in-
stead of russet kirtles. Much more hath be-
fallen than I can write since the windy morn-
ing when Margaret and I walked on the
Terrace, and she said, " Seeing ye are sae
disconsolate, wherefore suld ye not take leave
of your aunts, and come abroad with us?"
And when I feared Montrose might be dis-
pleased at my doing so, she bid me consult
with her husband, who removed my scruples.
And now, indeed, we may expect him full
soon to join us here. Oh, I hope we may
not wait long ! I wonder if he will be much
changed by all he hath done and endured.
Sir George Sterling telleth me he never cared
to fare better than his common soldiers, but
would march for hours through the snow,
having broken his fast on nothing more than
a little oatmeal and water, yet was he as
vigourous as any Hielander.

Deer. ist. — In what a flutter have I spent
the morning, for he is coming — perhaps to-

4 journal of

morrow ! I have looked over my new pur-
chases of goodly garments, practised my
songfs, and at last set me down before the

o '

mirrour to see whether or not I be well-
favoured still, but could not make up my
mind, when Margaret entered, and cried,
" Well, ye are commodiously established ! "
I was startled at first, and somewhat abashed,
till we both burst out laughing. I am glad it
was neither of my aunts that surprised me.

2nd. — We waited all this morning in the
parlour that looketh on the street, and at every
noise we heard Margaret and I kept running
to the window till Sir George did wax cross.
At length we heard the horses' hoofs, with
ringing of swords and spurs, and I would have
stayed at the window, but Margaret hurried
me downstairs. I know not why, but I slipped
behind her and her husband, and marked how
my brother came in and lovingly greeted them
in the voice that made my heart to leap. Then
his eyes fell upon me, and he kissed me, say-
ing he was right glad to see me again. We
asked him of all his adventures, and he told
us he had made his escape disguised as secre-
tary to the Reverend Mr. James Woodd, who
once did nearly lose all by not taking prece-
dence ; happily our enemies seem somewhat
purblind. In one Hieland castle where they

Lady Beatrix. 5

were entertained, Montrose sate at the lower
end of the board, which was strewn with salt ;
then a piece of meat was served to each, and
rolled in the salt, without forks or trenchers.
More than once he met old followers, whose
discretion he mistrusted rather than their
loyalty. While he spake I sate by watching
him, and giving thanks in my heart. This
evening I was drest for supper before any-
one, and found him alone in the Saloon. He
spake to me of our last hurried meeting, and
asked how I did like living in exile, and if I
had made progress with mine Italian studies.
Then Sir George and Margaret came in, and
we had much talk of Napier and his wife
Elizabeth, and of Lilias, wishing they could
all join us, and so we could dwell together, as
in the old time or ever the war broke out.

\2th. — My brother hath been received here
with much distinction, and last night we all,
with David Mathertie and Sir Francis Hay,
went to a Masque — a most pretty entertain-
ment, only I did wish I could have taken part
in it myself, whether as Ceres, who was clad
in green vesture, powdered with golden corn,
or as Diana, who wore white garments to her
ankles, which were covered with silver buskins,
and had an half-moon of flashing diamonds
on her forehead. However, I was right glad

6 Journal of

to wear my white satin gown, with falling
cape of lace, and a few violets in my boddice.
I would I could have sent them to Aunt
Lilias, who hath ne'er seen violets at Yule.
All the brave company did honour to Mon-
trose, and truly he was the goodliest and
stateliest there. The gentlemen would have
had him talk politicks with them all the even-
ing had the lady of the house permitted it.

2^rd. — The townspeople are keeping Christ-
mas as a feast, which it is ; and last night, as
I lay awake thinking over our conversation in
the evening, I heard a marvellous sweet strain
of musick far in the distance, but growing
clearer and clearer, till it came under the win-
dows, then passing slowly away down the long
street. It made me think of the poor shep-
herds out in the starlight on the bare hill-side,
and the sudden glory that so startled them ;
and how the wise Magians had followed the
long golden beams of their still, solemn guide
over terrible wildernesses and mighty rivers,
till at last they found the Holy Child. So
thinking, I fell asleep with that strange
musick in mine ears.

26tk. — How far otherwise have I spent this
Christmas than the last! yet were we quiet
enow. In the morning we listened to a
learned discourse from Dr. Wishart ; then

Lady Beatrix. 7

walked about the town ; and after dinner we
played battledore and shuttlecock with the
Master of Mathertie, whom Margaret had
bidden, being alone. He could not keep up
more than thirty, till my brother took the bat-
tledore from him, saying his arm must have
grown stiff in prison, then kept up 300 at a
time, with his strong, steady strokes, till my
hand was all blistered ; nevertheless, as Mar-
garet whispered me that the Master did look
something chagrined, I did challenge him to
a game of chess, wherein he was victor by
reason of my brother looking over and giving
him counsel, though both Sir Francis and
Dr. Wishart did counsel me. While the wassail
was handed round, we told stories of ghosts,
elves, and other bugs,1 roasting chestnuts in
the embers, then sang till nigh upon midnight.

Bug-bears, goblins. — Ed.

CHAPTER II.

January 2nd, 1646-7.

ANY of our old soldiers have
come hither, being in much distress.
My brother and George Sterling
try to find service for them. It is
a pity they should be dispersed, as we may
yet need them to strike a blow for the king,
and it was trouble enough to gather and keep
them together, yet must it be done. Margaret
hath resolved to make her old gowns last yet
this winter, and I will wait ere I purchase
Dante's poem. We have been right busy
making puddings and medicines. Truly I
am glad my aunts did give me some know-
ledge of such matters. By one Major Melvin,
who hath escaped with his life, and little else,
we have received right welcome letters. Lady
Betty Napier is entertaining Lilias at Mer-
chistoun ; they do not say whether Lilias hath
obtained her due provision from the Parlia-

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 9

ment,1 for they are all too happy to be free
again with the children to think of much else.
Woefull are the accounts we hear of Scottish
matters : brave men flying for their lives ; fair
dwellings laid desolate, and all these noble
gentlemen murdered ; whereat I know not if
my brother be more grieved or wroth. Would
I could comfort him, or in any way help our
Cause ; but I have never had the power even
of sending a message or token. Had I but
been near Philiphaugh, I might have brought
word of Leslie's approach better than those
loons the scouts, who swore, with many exe-
crable imprecations, there was no enemy
within eight miles, whereas Leslie was close
at hand in the fog. Well may I be thankful
that we have escaped ; and though our estates
have suffered, yet are we not ruined. They
say Colonel Ogilvie should have been headed,
but that his sister contrived to disguise him in
her raiment. I wish I might have such oppor-
tunity, though, perhaps, my garments might
scarcely be wide enough. Happening to say
this to Dr. Wishart, he prayed me not to
speak thus rashly, adding that ye old Romans

1 Lilias Napier had been compelled to petition the
Scottish Parliament for her inheritance, which step
appears to have been attended with success. — Ed.

io Journal of

would exclaim, " Dii avertite omen," if they
heard anyone uttering ill-omened words.

\$th. — Among those that have fled hither
is one Corporal Gordon, that did four men's
work at Aulderne ; his wife and children are
with him, in sore need. This morning, as
Margaret was busy, I went forth alone to take
them what I could, asking myself the way in
German, in case I should lose it, but found
the street without trouble. The poor children
were all alone in the strange place, too fright-
ened to play, for their parents had gone out
to seek help, leaving the elder sister, who is
but thirteen, in charge; and it went to my
heart when the little things came around me,
as if for protection, and to see their glee when
my basket was unpacked, and a lordly cake
made its appearance. We were all comfort-
able together, when ane heavy step was heard
on ye stair, which made the eldest girl to wax
pale, begging me to go, that I might not meet
that rude man, though she did not look sorry
when I said I would stay. An ill-favoured
fellow came in and made a long speech in low
German and broken English, whereof all I
could make out was yt he wanted money.
It is hard enough to understand a German at
any time, but when he is in a rage ane hurri-
cane would be more intelligible.

Lady Beatrix. n

The little girl took courage to tell him her
father was out, whereat the fellow swore some
full-mouthed German oaths, and presently
began to wax abusive. I would have satisfied
him on the spot, but had not half the sum
upon me, wherefore I bid him follow me home
and there be paid ; but he flew into a rage,
saying, " A pretty story, indeed ! and whiles
I am away will these beggars have packed up
bag and baggage and gone, no man knoweth
where." He would have added more, being
half-seas over, but I bid him go forth of the
room till he could speak after a proper fashion ;
so having muttered a little he slank out. Then
we debated what was to be done. It would
have been better to have ordered him to come
to our house in the evening, but it did not
occur to me ; at last we resolved yt the
children should bar themselves in, whiles the
man could, if it pleased him, keep guard out-
side ye door, and I should hasten home for
the money. As I was making my way along
a noisy street I did all but run against George
Sterling, who looked so amazed I could scarce
help laughing, though he was very grave.
However, he did at once return with me, and
gave the man his rent, together with a sharp
rebuke in German, then conducted me home.
At dinner he related this adventure, and Mar-

12 Journal of

garet was shocked, saying I must never go
alone in such places any more. However,
my brother did commend me, saying he would
escort me himself the next time I went on
such an expedition. Yet should I never have
dreamt there was harm in a discreet person,
as I hope I am, walking quietly through ye
street on lawful business.

February 2nd. — This morning Margaret and
I waded forth through mire six inches deep
with some garments for Mrs. Gordon to make.
I fear I did inwardly murmur not a little at
starting, carrying a packet, whiles I had to
pick my way ; yet was it a pleasant day, with
a chasing and hurrying of white clouds through
the bright blue sky, and a strange spring-like
feeling in the air ; so having concluded our
business and commended the children for their
towardly behaviour, we walked right out into
the country, where we saw the catkins already
on ane hazel bush, and little knops of silver
down on ye willows, besides which there was
much twittering of little birds, the wet grass
glittered in the sunshine, and our way was
strewn with Crowfoot as with golden stars.
When we returned I found on my toilette-
table a large package, and eagerly opened it,
behold! an edition of Dante's poem, bound
in Maroquin. I was at no loss to tell who had

Lady Beatrix. 13

placed it there, but when I prayed my Brother
to add unto his kindness by writing my name
therein, he did at first say nay, alledging that
his handwriting was so crabbed it would only
deface the book ; nevertheless, when I did
much entreat him, he consented, saying he
would write his best hand ; then added :

" What and if we were now to read a Canto
together ?"

Oh, what a delight was that ! Listening to
the deep quiet strength of his voice, I could
almost see the Mountain tops lighted with the
beams of morning, as I have seen them near
our old home ; then the deep awfull way by
twilight through the forest, and the glorified
image of Beatrice. Montrose made me read
her words to Virgilius, and said the sweet
tones of my namesake did seem to come to
me as if by nature. He oft-times pronounceth
my name after the Italian manner ; also he
told me that whatever did greatly interest
Dante, whether of joy or sorrow, he wrote it
in his Divine Poem, so that in some sort it is
true, which I like to think.

*jth. — This morning Montrose read with me
of that strange region where Dante saw the
mighty spirits of old heathen days, who were
not suffered to enter Heaven, yet knew not the

14 Journal of

pains of Hell ; and I asked hint if he thought
they were among the spirits in Prison ?

Montrose: " I hope so ; and this doth mind
me how I was once detained by a storm in a
monastery among the Appennines, where I
beguiled the time with an old book of legencjs,
wherein was one purporting to be narrated by
those spirits of just men that appeared unto
many at our Lord's crucifixion. They de-
scribe the consternation of Hell and Hades,
and tell how the brazen gates were flung
crashing down into the Abyss as the light
streamed dazzling in, and how the Conqueror
bore away with him those rescued ones to
Paradise, where they were met by the peni-
tent thief bearing his cross. Dante alludeth
to this ; his mystical journey likewise took
place about the time of Easter."

I4//L — As we were parting last night, Mar-
garet bade me remember that the morrow
was St. Valentine's Day ; so as I chanced to
waken early, I rose to look forth and see the
morning. All was very still, save where a few
country folk were going towards the market ;
but presently a stalwart figure passed, looking
up earnestly at our windows, and as he slowly
walked by a second time, I knew him for ye
Master of Mathertie. He could not have seen
me, for I kept myself safe behind the curtain ;

Lady Beatrix. 15

but he came ^bravely apparelled in the after-
noon, with a sweet posy of early flowers,
wherefore we made him right welcome, and
Margaret kept him to practise some rounds,
persuading her husband to take the tenor for
lack of a better, which he did very resignedly
•till Sir Francis Hay came in, to whom he
gladly surrendered, and we sang on right mer-
rily, the Master rolling out all the most plain-
tive part of Damon's lamentations as though
he did thoroughly enjoy it ; in midst whereof
my brother entered, and I sang second better
than I have ever done before.

March yd. — Again we have received ad-
vices from home ; Elizabeth writes word that
poor Lilias is not in good cheer; wherefore
she would fain have her to follow us abroad,
thinking that the southern air will be salutary,
as also being out of the way of continually
hearing sad tidings. Archibald will be glad
of her society till his wife can arrange their
affairs, and till he hath an home for her and
the children. I said it would be pleasant to
see Lilias, but Elizabeth would be lonely
without her, to which Margaret replied " she
would doubt Lilias being over cheerful com-
pany." My brother's letter was very import-
ant, being from the Queen's Majestic, who
addresseth him as " Mon Cousin" speaking

i6

Journal of

right graciously of his services — yet was it to
me a bearer of evil tidings, for he saith it is
now high time he should depart for Paris.

^th. — This morning, as soon as might be,
I withdrew into mine own room, and there sate
sewing with an heavie heart till Margaret
knocked at the door and entered, as is her
wont, without waiting for an answer. " Why
Beatrix," she cried, " what ails you ? Ye
have been moping over your books of lost
souls ; I wonder you should like to read such
things."

"Nay, where I read last it was like a strain
of heavenly musick, telling how each morning
he rose in the clear dawn, lighter by the bur-
den of one more sin removed, and ready to
toil higher towards Heaven."

But she cut me short with " You do not
looke much lighter at any rate."

" Alas !" I said, " I cannot help being right
sorry that my Brother is going now."

And she, " I am sorry likewise ; the more
so, that I will lose you both at once." Then
seeing me look amazed, she added, taking up
her work, and sewing diligently the while,
" Your brother hath asked me whether I
thought you would be happy living with him
—well, do not interrupt me ; you can imagine
mine answer. Then he asked whether you

Lady Beatrix. 17

would be content to wander about ye world,
following his fortunes, and I think I said right
when I told him you would like nothing better."

I could scarce believe such joy, and cared
not to shew my delight, lest it should savour
of ingratitude towards my kinswoman and her
worthy husband. She continued, " George and
I will be right sorry to part with you ; yet are
we well pleased that Montrose will have your
company, for there may be troubles in store
for him, and you have quiet, cheerful ways
about you ; moreover his sons must remain
in Scotland with their grandfather."

I began to thank her for all ye kindnesse
shewn me by her and Sir George, but could
not say much, nor indeed would she suffer me
so to do. Presently she said, " You will not
leave us till Wednesday, so there will be time
to look to your arrangements. Your aunts
have taught you many secrets of a gude
housewife, and I know one Mrs. Grant, a
trusty woman, who hath followed her son
abroad, and now he will enlist under the
Emperour ; so I doubt not she will be glad
to go with you into France." Then she did
help me to look over my garments.

After dinner my brother did take me with
him for a ride, and said, " Did ye hear, Beatrix,
of my conference with Margaret this morn-

c

1 8 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

ing ? " I said that I had, but did fear I should
not be companion for him. He answered that
he was the best judge. I truly hope I may be
a companion for him, but I have been kept so
long out of the world. Then he said, " I fear
though we are going to Paris, you will lead
but a solitary life, for albeit I hope to see
company and to find friends there, yet will I
often be obliged to leave you alone, and you
will have no lady dwelling with you." I could
have said I had lived with ladies a long time,
but feared to seem over-bold, so did only tell
him that I liked well to be sometimes alone,
and could always amuse myself, and he re-
plied, " I half fancied so ; " then added that all
was uncertain, but it may be that our exile
will not last very long, and talked of the plea-
sure of returning to our old home, when the
king shall enjoy his own again, and the
traitors shall have received their due reward ;
also we made divers plans for the present time,
and he hath promised to tell me of his travels.
. i o>th. — So busy have I been the last few days
there hath been little time for writing or think-
ing. I have bid farewell to the Gordons, and
have seen Mistress Grant, who is somewhat
stricken in years, of a staid but comely aspect ;
it seems she had lived with my sister Rollock
formerly, and could tell me much about her.

CHAPTER III.
March 2%th. NEAR PARIS.

OW that at length I have a few
minutes to myself, I will gladly
make further use of Aunt Lilias
her little book, for methinks it will
be a joy to me when I am old to read of ye
happy dayes I have passed, that is, supposing
I live to be old, which I do not greatly desire,
unless, by God's grace, my faculties be pre-
served so that I be not in any way decrepit.

Our cousin Napier hath hired an excellent
house for us ; I did not think a man could
have managed so well without counsel : it is
small, and the wainscoat in all ye rooms is
painted white, — the floors well polished, so
that the place looketh clean and cool, but the
window curtains being of scarlet, the appear-
ance is not unbefitting this season — in mine
own chamber, however,-the hangings are white,
and the early light cometh streaming in with

2O

Journal of

ye voices of rooks and ye cheerful singing of
divers little birds ; moreover there is a fair
garden wherein already are primroses gleam-
ing forth like lamps. We have a delicate
prospect of Paris from the upper windows,
with never a wreath of smoke to dim the
scene, and at night the lights of ye citie looke
almost weird. I stand amazed at mine own
good housekeeping, saving that I am some-
thing afraid of my servants, tho' I shew it
not. I wonder what mine aunts are now
doing, and whether they miss me ; perhaps
Aunt Lilias will think kindly of me, though
I deserve it not, for never till I had left them
did I know how good and gentle she hath
been, often pleading for me in my troubles,
even though in her own heart she might blame
me. I miss the great hills with the changing
lights about them, though this place is far
better than Holland in that respect, truly our
journey hither was like travelling over a table,
yet my brother told me that in the summer
those plains are like a great sheet of mosaic,
being variegated with fat pastures, flax, and
all manner of produce. I liked the towns
through which we did pass better than the
open country, being marvellously clean, and
the houses carved with ornamented gables,
reflected in ye blue canals ; also I liked to

Lady Beatrix. 21

see the storks returning to their nests, for the
people say that they bring a blessing, and set
up boxes or tubs on the housetops to the intent
that they may make nests therein. Yet must
they be uncanny birds if it be true yt they will
only build in a Commonwealth. Antwerp
did remind us a little of the Canongate and
High Street of Edinburgh, though, indeed, far
neater — how pleasant it was to listen to the
Cathedral chimes, singing above all the noise
of the street; still more at night, when the
wild music seemed dropping from the stars
like soft spring showers.

Yet was it well we ever came here with
our baggage, for in many parts the country
was flooded, and at one poor hamlet we were
told the road was impassable for our coach ;
my brother would not return to Tournay,
which we had left three hours before, and
we endeavoured to proceed till we found
the water standing some inches deep in the
bottom of the carriage, and on reconnoitring,
found it was like to be worse in front instead
of better. I have heard my brother say a
retreat is more arduous than a battle, and so
we now found it, for the wheels stuck fast
when we would turn, and ye coach had to be
lightened ; wherefore my brother caught me
up in his arms, and carried me to a little

22 Journal of

island of willows, whither Mistress Grant and
the luggage were also conveyed by ye stout,
good-natured country-folk, who gave our poor
horses large lumps of bread dipped in beer,
and worked with a will, my brother directing
them up to his knees in water. Then we
fell back upon the hamlet, where was a sort
of pot-house, with food and fire, but no beds,
so we made our night encampment in the
kitchen ; I lay on the floor, wrapped in clokes,
and my brother sate on a bench with his
shoulders against ye door, having given ye
great chair to poor Mrs. Grant, which he did,
as he told me, to still her bemoanings. She
was soon asleep, and then I could fully enjoy
the adventure, for I woke at intervals, and
could watch the warm ruddy light glancing on
the rows of shining delft ware, the tall clock,
and the spinning wheel, while my brother sat
with folded arms before the door like a tower
of strength. He had his pistols ready, and
had bidden me to keep my watch and rings out
of sight, as, though the people of the house
were civil and honest, he could not tell what
company might happen there in ye night ; how-
ever, all was still, save the wind and the rain
outside ; and the next morning, being fair, we
were able to proceed in a barge, which was
well, as there was but one Dutch cheese

Lady Beatrix. 23

left in the place, off which we did break our
fast All the good people came out to see
us off, as our detention had been a rare god-
send to them. We left Mrs. Grant to bring
up the rear with our equipage when the dyke
should be repaired, as she would on no account
risk her life in ye barge, so bid me farewell,
hoping she might ever see me again, whereat I
laughed, and she said, "Such levity ill doth
become your ladyship at this solemn moment."
Then my brother comforted her, saying, " I
can swim and your lady is no great weight, so
you will not see me without her."

As we floated slowly onward he told me I
would make a good soldier's wife ; and on my
saying I would like nought better than to go
on a campaign, he made answer that this was
good practice, yet he did not think I would
much enjoy ane Hieland march in winter
weather. Then I did perswade him to beguile
the way with telling me of his adventures, and
he related his march on Inverlochy; how he
was roused at midnight by Ian Lorn, ye bard
of Keppoch, with news that the Campbells
were wasting Lochaber ; "Wherefore," said
he, " we did try back by the Tarff to Corry-
arrick, up ye beds of torrents, over moor and
mountain, through snowed-up pathless ways,
where we could find no guides but cowherds,

24 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

and they scarce acquainted with a place but
six miles from their own dwellings. Ian Lorn
was marched at the head of our columns,
bound with cords, having staked his life on
the truth of his intelligence, for I could at
first scarce believe Argyle dared follow me
through Lochaber. We came within sight of
the enemy on ye second evening, and stood
to our arms in the snow, as did they, all night,
which was moonlight and very clear, having
skirmishes all the night till break of day, when
ye first signals were given, and the Rebels
fought as men deserving to fight in a better
cause. Our men soon came to push of pike
and dint of sword, which the Rebels could no-
ways stand, and were driven into utter ruin ;
but some brave gentlemen took shelter in the
castle, and surrendered honourably to me.
Meanwhile Ian Lorn stood on a hill to see
the battel, and hath composed a song, which
I hope we may hear one day from himself."

I said I wished I had been with him, whereat
he laughed, saying, " I would soon have seen
you running down among the pikes to save
some rebel from his desert." And I : " Yet
have I heard that you saved many, even in
ye heat of battel."

" I did it," said he, " to -teach the churls
better manners than they have learnt"

CHAPTER IV.

March

Y brother hath taken me already
to see the Church of Nostre Dame,
and then we walked along the
merry bustling Quais to visit our
nephew, Archibald Napier, who gladly made
us welcome, saying he is but lonely, and he
feareth it will be long ere he can send for his
wife and children ; yet doth he hope to be
able to receive his sister Lilias, who is to cross
ye seas when she can find ane escort. After
dinner he went with us to see ye church
whence the Tocsin sounded on yt deadly eve
of St Bartholomew, and we walked in the
fair pleasure-gardens of the Thuileries. My
brother was even remarking that he would
speedily apply for an. audience of ye Queen,
when a company of 'ladies came forth on ye
terrace at a little distance, and herself at their

26 Journal of

head. She did recognise my brother, an
sent one of ye ladies to bring him to he
giving him her hand to kiss. After they ha
conversed awhile my Brother bade Archibal
and me approach, and introduced us. Sh
spake kindly, saying she should expect us a
a grand ball the queen her sister would giv<
shortly, and that she would undertake to fin
me partners. When I would have thanke
her, she said : " Avecque vostre bonne mine,
mon enfant, je riy trouveray aulcune difficult.
Then she introduced me to a kind middl
aged lady, Madame de Motteville, who w
so courteous (as were ye others) that I forgo
my imperfect French, and talked with the
freely.

Our queen is of right stately bearing, thoug
small in stature and plain in her apparel. M
heart yearns towards her, she looks so care
worn, and my brother saith far older tha
when he saw her last.

April 2nd. — My brother having gone thi;
morning to wait on the Cardinal, I took Mis
\ tress Grant with me to see ye village churc
and churchyard, which latter seemed to me i
a disgracefull condition, the ground bare an
stony, and no such pretty inscriptions as over
ye tombs in Germany, only something about
" regrets tternels" which did seem to me equi-

JE

1

Lady Beatrix. 27

vocal. Mrs. Grant was shocked at the litter
of wreaths and little images, which are left
about till they drop to pieces, and at the
nettles allowed to grow among the rose-trees;
but on entering the church my spleen vanished,
for some aged women were kneeling there on
chairs, praying devoutly ; so we stole out in
silence, and met a dark, comely young woman
carrying a chaplet, which she laid on a little
grave, then quietly walked into the church.
Methinks it is well thus to be able to enter
the house of prayer even from the bright busy
streets of the citie, for I saw the same thing
at Nostre Dame ; but when I made some re-
mark of the sort to Mrs. Grant, she answered,
" There is nothing to prevent the heart being
lifted up from ye very market-place."

Yet may it sometimes be well to leave the
shops and noise and ye meeting of acquaint-
ance, and to go apart into a cool quiet place
even for a moment.

This church was plain enough, but cheerful
and sunny as life seems to be here. How dif-
ferent is this little homely building from ye
stately places full of golden gloom, with lofty
arches rising one beyond another, and mys-
terious vaulted ways, and the tombs having
sculptured images of their occupants lying
thereon, with calm sleeping faces and hands

28

Journal of

folded in prayer, their good swords yet beside
them.

When I am gay and cheerful I like well th(
little country church, where the sun streameth
in, and we can watch the swallows as they
wheel past the window ; yet when aught
troubles me I feel a strange longing for those
dim lofty cathedrals, whose grandeur doth at
once rebuke and soothe us ; and there woulc
I be buried, only near a window, that ye sun
and moon might shine in on my grave ; 01
else under the open sky, with the long grass
waving over me, gleaming with wild flowers,
as the wind goes whispering through.

4^. — I would Montrose were not alwaies at
ye court. He returned well pleased the first
day, and bid me make ready a court dress,
saying he would have me look my best amonj
the great ladies, and I was not to trouble my-
self about ye cost, as he would see to that ;
but now he ever cometh back grave and care-
worn, sitting silent long after, or else gentle-
men come in and talk politiques all the even-
ing. To judge from what they say, our Cause
is more unprosperous than ever. Many per-
sons of quality hath visited us, whom I have
entertained in my brother's absence. Still I
would I could see more of him ; truly we were
more together at Hamburgh.

Lady Beatrix. 29

fc. — I feel abashed when I look back on
that I wrote last, and think of my murmuring
temper. My brother was all day engaged
with his secretary, reading and writing cy-
phered dispatches ; but in the evening, just
when he seemed inclined to talk with me, in
came Sir Edward Nicholas and Mr. Culpep-
per, whereat I was not a little startled, having
prepared enough supper for two, but doubting
whether it would go further. There was no
opportunity to procure more, wherefore I was
fain to take scarce anything myself ; and being
tired with setting the house in order, I became
sleepy afterwards in the Withdrawing-room.
I had hoped this might not be observed, but
after a moment of forgetfulness I was roused
by feeling Montrose his keen eye upon me.
After the gentlemen were gone he said,

" How was it, Beatrix, ye treated my guests
with so little ceremony ?"

I answered indeed I was sorry, and had I
but known they were coming, I would have
made all due preparations ; to which he re-
plied he had warned me that morning to
expect them ; and when I said indeed I had
not known of it, he told me he would be loath
to contradict any lady. Whereat I gathered
courage to reply, " Alas, if you will not be-
lieve me, it avails not to say more."

30 Journal of

He stood silent, looking earnestly upon me
for a moment, and then was far kinder than I
can repeat, telling me it was likely enough he
had omitted to forewarn me, for he was sore
troubled at the turn things were taking, and
bidding me be comforted, for that he of all
men should be indulgent to one surprised at
a disadvantage.1 At length I was able to say
how sorry I was to have added unto his vexa-
tions, and he,

" Doubtless our discussions were not enter-
taining."

I prayed him not to think me indifferent to
our Cause, and he did assure me he knew
better ; but " woe worth the day, all talking
thereon is now sad enough ; ye may imagine
it is intolerable to see how the Queen is
swayed by such fellows as Jermyn and Jack
Ashburnham, and the other fools who would
have her take Argyle to her friend."

Thereat I thought mine ears must have
deceived me ; and he, " Well may you be
astounded ; and all that hath been done and
suffered in vain ! "

Then did I see on his face a look even of
anguish. After awhile I said, "Surely it was

f

1 Probably an allusion — half sad, half playful— to the
morning of Philiphaugh. — Ed.

Lady Beatrix. 31

not in vain you held the enemy at bay so
long ? "

" True ; yet think of the noble lives sacri-
ficed— young Gordon, Kilpont, Spottiswoode
— aye, and my own poor boy, whom I was
forced to carry with me into the mountains
lest he should be made an hostage, as were
his younger brothers the very week after I
had lost him ; but the toil and fatigue were
too much, so that he died in midst of my vic-
tories. A noble lad he was — quick-witted,
and of brave spirit. How would he entreat
me to take him with me into battle. I never
would ; yet he died."

I asked if the poor child did suffer much,
and was told,

" No, he went off in a fever ; a short, sharp
attack."

" Were you able to be with him ?"

" Sir George and Napier so helped me that
I was often by his side. The poor lad's head
kept running upon his Latin exercises, and
the old dog and his pony at home."

" I hope he knew you."

" Yes, thank God, he did. How would he
look up at me, his eyes large and bright with
fever. I took his head on mine arm, and
bathed his forehead, wherefore he tried to
thank me, even when his speech was failing."

32 Journal of

He added that James and Robert are
brave boys likewise ; insomuch that, when
they thought to exchange the elder for some
rebel prisoner, the lad refused to be liberated,
in order that his father's cause might not lose
the benefit of a captive.

" But hark ! " said he, " the church clock is
striking twelve, and I have kept you too long
from your bed ;" and he led me up the stairs
to my chamber-door, where he drew me to
him, and kissed me, saying, " God bless you."

6//£. — This morning I was awakened early
by the sun shining on mine eyelids ; the birds
were singing, and there was strange happi-
nesse in my heart, till suddenlie the fear came
upon me that my brother might repent having
so opened his mind to me the night before;
wherefore I did anxiously expect his first
greeting, and was glad, indeed, when he
saluted me with a more chearfull countenance
than of late ; also he gave me a few letters to
write out fairly for him, saying his correspon-
dents would think he had hired a better
amanuensis. In the afternoon he had me to
ride with him, and we devised titles by which
friends and foes might be named without
detection, should our letters fall into hostile
hands ; this will save much trouble in cypher-
ing. Montrose will be called "^Venture faire"

Lady Beatrix. 33

and Hamilton have we named "Captaine Luck-
lesse" We could scarce find a name ill enough
for Leslie, but have fixt on "The Executioner"
and Argyle shall be "Merchant of Middle
burgh'' or "Ye Ruling Elder"

As we returned home after a good gallop
on the turf, I could scarcely believe it was but
last autumn I sat musing whiles Aunt Dorothy
was chiding me, and Aunt Lilias, seeking to
make things better, did but make them worse ;
till at last, unable to bear it any longer, I
ran out and away beyond sight of the house,
through the wood, and down to the river,
wishing I were free to depart, like those clear
waves, or the swallows flying far beyond the
sea. How I longed to throw myself upon a
horse, and ride as hard as he would go, or to
fling my voice in some wild song, or in any-
way to work out the restless life that I felt in
me, and to be glad and gay, ere the dew of
my youth was all dried up ; and, thinking of
Mountrose, I wept bitterly, for I had always
fancied he would come and bear me away.
Then I had to go in, and the first thing that
met mine eyes was my poor little goldfinch,
who chirped when he saw me ; but I remem-
bered how he had fluttered and beat against
the bars when he was first brought to me, and
thought I must let him go free ; yet he was

D

34 Journal of

beginning to know me, and it seemed as
though we were companions in prison. So I
took him in my hand from the cage, and
kissed his little head ; then held him forth of
the window, and let him fly away. Then
came into my mind ye words of holy David,
when he said, " O that I had wings like a
dove, then would I flee away and be at rest ;"
but I would not have flown away to seek for
rest, nay, but to mix in all the stir and tumult
of the war. Poor little bird ! he was wont still
to hover about me in my walks ; I wonder if
he hath missed me yet.

But now how different ! I have just had
my court dress tried on me for the last time,
as I hope. The milliner would fain have cut
it in front as though I were only made to be
seen, whereat I did exclaim in such French
as I could command on the sudden, and have
carried my point ; and now I look forward to
appearing in my white brocade, with the blue
breast knot and pearls ; yet do I half dread
the ball, though I shall be right proud to
walk in with Mountrose, and think my ap-
pearance will not be unbecoming his sister.
Here is the Master of Mathertie, come over
from Hamburg. I suppose he hath more
hopes of obtaining employment here ; but

Lady Beatrix. 35

Mountrose saith he shall come with us in ye
coach, so I may be sure of a cavalier, if ye
Queen forgets her promise.

8//L — And now is the great day come and
gone ! neither was it so awfull after all. We
took up Archibald Napier and Mr. Madertie.
I had feared my brother would let one of
them give me his hand ; but he did lead me
in himself through a great croud both of
French and English. I felt like a new recruit
first going into battel. At length we saw our
Queen seated, in a murray-coloured velvet
robe, who received us all kindly ; then pre-
sented us to her sister, the Regent, a most
majestic lady, faire and comely. Our queen
was as good as her word, for she made me
dance with Monsieur de Turenne, of whom I
have heard my brother speak so often. He
is a noble gentleman, more composed in de-
meanour than most French cavaliers, which
may be caused by a slight impediment he
hath in his speech, so that he saith little but
what is worth saying. He told me how he
had often heard of Mountrose his exploits,
and did pray me to introduce him after the
dance. As we stood together, there came to
us a little swarthy man, with eyes quick as
lightning, albeit near-sighted; it was the

36 Journal of

Coadjutor De Retz. He lamented that his
profession hindered him from dancing, though
they say it doth not hinder him from many
other things. Seeing Monsieur de Turenne,
he asked him whether he did remember the
adventure befell them one night in a coach ;
and when I was fain to hear, he did tell us
how they were returning late at night from
a party, with divers ladies and another gentle-
man ; suddenly the coach stopped, and the
lackeys being questioned, crossed themselves,
declaring that they saw a band of Demons
in the road before them. Whereupon one
lady began telling her rosary, and another con-
fessing her sins to the Cardinal; but Mon-
sieur de Turenne alighted, sword in hand,
saying, as calmly as though he were ordering
dinner, " Let us see the affair." Monsieur de
Retz followed him, but could see nothing
clearly ; at last they made out some black
figures, who, on their approach, humbly
prayed not to be molested, being only a few
poor monks walking two by two in the moon-
light. All laughed at one another; but it
was no laughing matter to that poor young
gentleman with them, for he was paying court
to the lady of the rosary, who was so shocked
at his cowardice that she would scarce speak
civilly to him again, which Mr. Mathertie said

Lady Beatrix. 37

did serve him right. Monsieur de Turenne
said he had alwaies expected, if he should
ever see a ghost, to be much alarmed, yet was
he by no means uneasy. The little cardinal
owned for his part he had never thought to
be frightened by aught ghostly, yet on that
occasion he felt terrified enough, though none
found it out. Then the Coadjouteur made me
observe a tall, fair young lady, telling me she
might one day be his queen, or mine, unless
the Princess of Conde" should die speedily, in
which case she will be like to marry ye
Prince. " Then," I exclaimed, " may she
never be queen over us!" but the Cardinal
could not understand why I should be
shocked at these plans being settled whiles
the poor Princess was yet living ; however he
did not blame Mademoiselle, saying it was
all court gossip, and that I could not imagine
how much evill is spoken there continually,
and what quarrells there are among the fine
ladies ; but I can scarce believe him, all
seemeth so pleasant and stately.

After we had set down our two friends,
being alone in ye coach, my Brother did ask
me which I had liked the best of my partners ;
and on my naming Monsieur de Turenne, he
remarked that my Lord Digby was still hand-
somer ; to which I replied that I did not much

38 Journal of

affect proper men, seeing they do not take so
much pains to be agreeable as those that are
plainer favoured. He laughed, and asked
whether the Master of Madertie be too well-
favoured to find grace in mine eyes ? I said
he was like his namesake, ruddy and of a fair
countenance, and certainly doth not presume
upon his good looks. I marvell that my
Brother careth not for dancing ; none could
tread a measure in more princely fashion.
He had said, if our queen forgot her promise,
sooner than I should be left out, he would
lead me forth once himself; and I marked,
when I first did appear before him in my
brave attire, he glanced me over from head to
foot, and did look no waies displeased.

\2.th. — It is now time to return the visits
have been paid us. Sometimes we go to-
gether, and strange it was at noon to be
ushered into the very bed-chamber of Madame
de Bourbon. She, however, appeared noways
disconcerted, and my brother no more than
she was ; in fact, these French ladies will lie
abed all day for no reason but a slight rheum
or a little heat of the air. They are very cour-
teous to me, yet do I more enjoy friendly
intercourse with our fellow-exiles ; and it is
pleasant to know other ladies, to go a shop-
ping with them, or to gossip together.

Lady Beatrix.

39

Meanwhile the garden is waxing trim and
gay. I think it is one man's work to keep
all the beau-pots filled with daffodils and the
fireplaces with green branches.

CHAPTER V.

April \bth.

AST night my brother sate long
time in consultation with Archibald
Napier, Sir Edward Nicholas, and
others who had supped here ; I
having quitted them, waited in ye summer
parlour, with ye cat on my lap, learning by
heart Mr. Drummond's sonnet —

" The sunne is fair e, when he with crimson crown,
And flaming rubies, leaves his eastern bed;
Faire is Thaumantias in her chrystal gown,
When clouds engemnfd shew azure, green and red:
To western worlds, when wearied day goes down,
And from heaveris windows each starre shews her head,
Earth's silent daughter, Night, is fair e, though brown;
Faire is ye moon, though in Lane's livery clad :
The spring is fair e when it doth paint Aprile;
Faire are ye meades, the woodes, theflouds are fair e ;
Faire looked Ceres with her yellow haire,
And apples-queen when rose-cheeked she doth smile.
That heauen, and earth, and seas, are faire, is true ;
Yet true that all please not so mvch as you — "

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 41

that it, with other sweet voices, may keep me
company when I walk or sit alone. At length
my brother came to me, and marvelled I was
not yet gone to bed, adding, " Our conference
hath been both tedious and unprofitable."
Then walking to the window, he looked out,
and said, "If ye are not sleepy we will go
forth awhile and see ye stars." In truth I
needed no urging thereunto, so we went into
the soft night air ; so still was it we might
almost hear the herbs growing. He told me
how one of ye Pleiades had disappeared from
heaven, and of the wild tales of the Greeks,
that she had fled like a comet, with dishevelled
hair, to the North Pole, there to mourn away
from her sisters ; and how in the land of Egypt
have stood the mysterious Pyramids, thro' sun
and starlight, more than three thousand years ;
and of the portal in ye side of one whence the
Polar star was seen in days of old, but now it
can be seen from thence no longer. I thought
of that verse in Holy Writ, " Canst thou bind
ye sweet influences of Pleiades or loosen the
bands of Orion ?" and he showed me how
the Chaldean shepherds on their unbounded
plains, in the old forgotten days after the
Flood, had marked the constellations that
seemed to bring in winter and summer. I
said even yet Orion walketh forth, all glit

42 Journal of

tering in arms, like a Destroying Angel of
winter ; but now he setteth very mildly in the
vernal sky. And he told me he had heard
from Dr. Wishart, how that the Hebrew name
for ye Pleiades signifieth all that is desirable
and lovely ; then he taught me to discern
apart ye divers constellations, finding that I
knew none save the Wain. I could not
choose but exclaim how wrong it seemed to
give such names, as of whales, snakes, and
such-like, to ye glorious starres ; and he
agreed with me as regarded those instances,
though he liked to think that the images of
old mythology yet linger in the skies, where
we may still see ye fair Andromeda with her
proud mother, and Perseus, most knightly of
all the heroes ; whiles the star in the Lion's
Heart is called after the noble martyr Re-
gulus. " You will allow, too," said he, " that
such names as Arcturus, Aldebaran, Antares,
have a grand mystical sound."

I said I did also like the name of Lyra, for
that it did mind me of Shakespeare's words,
that the stars continually sing like angels.
He rehearsed to me that passage, adding,
" Yea, Shakespeare is right :

" But while this muddy vesture of decaye
Doth grossly hedge vs z'n, we cannot heare if."

I said I had ever thought one great joy of

Lady Beatrix. 43

ye Future Life would be ye knowledge of
those things are hidden from us now, and he
told me he doth often look forward to con-
versing with those mighty soules whom here
he knoweth only by books, being persuaded,
as it is written, " Every man shall be judged
according to his light ;" that the virtuous
among the heathen shall find a place in
heaven. I asked him also what it was Dr.
Wishart had been saying one day concern-
ing the swiftness and mightie distance of the
stars ? whereupon he told me such things as
surpass the power of ye mind to take them in,
and I am half sorry they are soe far from us.
Moreover, he spake of a learned Florentine,
one Messer Galileo, who, together with one
Kepler, a Dane, hath declared that ye earth
moveth round the sunne ! yea, likewise that
the stars are larger than the earth ! Also
that when he was in Italy he had obtained an
introduction to the said Messer Galileo, who
had shown him an optical instrument of his
invention, which did after a marvellous man-
ner make the things that were far off seem to
be near ; my Brother had therefore looked at
the moon, and was well-nigh startled to see
how large she appeared, and how strangely
marked. " Ye may presently," said he, " see
something of those marks, for there is a pale

44 Journal of

light behind yon trees that telleth us the
moon will shortly rise."

I asked him what those spots might be ?
and he said it was not known, but many did
think them to be lakes. How strangely still
and clear those lakes in the moon must be !
Then I said : " Seeing the planets are so far
away, do you think they can have influence
on the character and fortunes of us mortals ?"

And he replied : " I ne'er heard it doubted
before, and truly it is a grand idea, that in
this little, troubled, muddy earth, all our
chances that appear so shifting and incon-
stant, were written long before in yonder
clear shining orbs."

Then he reminded me how the holy man
Job declareth he had never worshipped the
sun when it shined, nor ye moon walking in
brightness ; and told me how the worship of
the heavenly host was the most ancient form
of idolatry. I said, when men had once left
ye true God, that error seemed least irrational
of any; and he answered, "If I were to turn
idolater I would be ane hero-worshipper."
And so, maybe, would I. Looking round at
that moment we saw the moon had risen, and
shone solemnly with a yellow light between
the dark tree- stems, sending their long sha-
dows towards us with grey gleams on the dewy

Lady Beatrix. 45

grass between. Montrose's eyes glistened in
the dim light as he muttered the name Se-
lene, and said, " I marvel not that the Greeks
thought she was the Queen of the Dead."

" She looketh so solemn," I said, "as though
she had e'en now left Hades ; but later, when
she shineth clear and white high in the hea-
vens, then do I love to look on her, as she
journeyeth all alone."

" Yea," said he, " often has her face been to
me as the face of a friend during long nights'
marches through the snow — would those brave
times may soon come again ! "

I made bold to pray him, when that shall
be not to leave me behind ; and he answered,
' There will be time enough and to spare for
considering that ; it will be long ere they who
now bear rule will trust me with another com-
mission." Then I being willing to divert his
mind from vexatious matters, and also fearing
he might see I was more indignant than sorry
at what he said, did inquire the name of a
little bright circlet of stars I had ofttimes ob-
served ; and being told it was the Northern
Crown, exclaimed, " That is a good omen of
a crown of victory in ye North." To which
he replied, " Aye, or it may serve for the
crown of Martyrdom won there by many of
our friends."

46 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

After a while I asked him whether the sky
is indeed so much fairer in ye South than here,
and he told me how in the clear air of the
Alps, so many small stars do brightly appear
that he scarce knew some of the constella-
tions, and how they seem to stand like a dia-
dem on the mountain top ; and he hath heard
that in the East they burn steadily like unto
precious gems of divers colours : he spake also
of the waste howling Wilderness, where stand
silent beautiful ruins, and how over all this
the sun poureth down such floods of burning
light as we can have no notion thereof; so
that however desolate the landscape may be
it can never be dreary, as are our greenest
meadows when all sodden with rain. And
he promised me that if ever after these present
troubles be composed he should gratify his
old desire of visiting those wondrous lands,
he will take me with him. Little did I hope
for such joys when I sat pining and brooding
over my weary fancies all alone.

CHAPTER VI.

April

Y Brother hath made the acquaint-
ance of ane English Serjeant-at-
Law, who for his loyalty hath been
deprived of house and home, and
is here with his family, undergoing, like other
honest men, some straits. Having had occa-
sion to confer with this gentleman, and found
him to be prudent and of good counsel, my
brother bid me invite him here to sup with his
wife and daughter, with Napier and Mr. Ma-
dertie to meet them ; and a right pleasant
evening we had, for Mr. Serjeant Burrowe
was on my right hand, telling me how the
lawyers and their wives lived in peace and
harmony amid faire gardens sloping to the
Thames, away from the noisy streets ; and
how the gentlemen were ever making verses
on one another in dog Latin, writing their

48 Journal of

friends' epitaphs, one of which he did rehearse
to Dr. Wishart, not knowing I understood
Latin ; it was on a worthy Doctor, whose
chambers were up many pair of stairs, and
the conclusion ran thus : —

"Hie sub terra jacet vilis
Qui fuit Doctor subtilis"

" My own epitaph was spoken," said he,
" by a young lady for love of whom I had
died." He spake also of the sack that was
served up to the Benchers, and in one night
some thirty of them drank seventy gallons ;
or it may have been the other way, for I never
could recollect numbers.

I asked him of the Masques they used to
entertain the king and queen withal, written
by Ben Jonson, who had walked all the way
to Scotland from admiration of Sir William
Drummond, though the two poets did not
much like one another when they met ; he
had heard how my brother found time to take
care that none of his Hielanders or Wild Irish
should be quartered in Sir William Drum-
mond's house, when our armie lay near Haw-
thornden.

" But you would never guess," said the ser-
jeant, " who hath written ye bravest Masques
of any-4-Mr. John Milton;" and on my owning
I had nWer heard of him, told me how that

Lady Beatrix. 49

person, who had now devoted himself to the
service of ye Powers that be, hath yet written
verses in favour of stage playes, notwithstand-
ing Mr. Prynne ; " And though I care not,"
said the old gentleman, "for such verses as
be written now-a-days by that rogue Waller
and honest Mr. Cowley, yet hath this Round-
head, Mr. Milton, written a carol on May-
morning, which doth mind me of the days
when all Fleet Street was drest like a bower
with greens brought in early from the country,
before the Maypole was pulled down by order
of Parliament."

Here-Mr. Madertie joined in the conversa-
tion to some purpose, asking Serjeant Burrowes
whether the old poet Chaucer had not written
a May-day story, wherein two captive knights
watch a princess gathering flowers beneath
their window ; and being answered yes, he
told the English gentleman of our King James
ye First ; his poem of the tower wherein he
was imprisoned, and in like manner first saw
walking early in ye castle garden the lady that
was afterwards for a short while his queen.
I could not help saying, "In truth, Mr. Ma-
dertie, I knew not ye were so studious ;" who
answered, " Madam, I humbly pray you not
to judge of me by what you may deign to
recollect of my early days ; for during mine

50 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

imprisonment I found much solace in reading,
and was sometimes able to forget there was
naught else for me to do."

Hitherto my Brother and Lord Napier had
kept the two English ladies in discourse, but
now Mrs. Burro we began listening to us, and
suddenly asked Mr. Mathertie whether there
was a lady also in his prison, whereat the poor
youth blushed so red, I was fain to rescue him
by chatting with her of any nonsense that
came first into my head, and so nearly lost
the pleasant talk that arose between my
Brother and ye Barrister of the happy societie
long since dispersed, of Mr. Hyde, Mr. Chil-
lingworth, and other wittie and pleasant men,
whereof my Lord Falkland was facile princeps ;
but now he is slain in battle, not caring to
survive his country's misfortunes, his young
wife hath not long outlived him, and all the
others are dead or in exile and povertie.

Our guests having departed, Montrose said
to me he thought it was ill done in good Mrs.
Burro we so to attack Mr. Mathertie, and com-
mended me for covering his retreat ; where-
fore I asked him if he knew of this lady of the
Prison. But he did only laugh. How well
I like old gentlemen, especially old Lawyers.

CHAPTER VII.

May Day.

HIS morning I sate me in the bay
window, having a basket full of lace
ruffles to mend, so I set the lattice
open that the soft breeze laden with
pleasant odours, might visit me, and whenever
I raised my head there were the slanting lights
on the lawn, and the sunbeams gleaming on
the white trunks of the beech trees ; while a
great nosegay of cowslips by my side seemed
to spread around it both fragrance and golden
light. All was so bright and quiet, save for
the happy singing of birds and low humming
sounds of insects, with a distant stir of life in
the air, that I had leisure to meditate on the
marvellous things my Brother had told me,
and to wonder whether the Many Mansions
may be in those fair-beaming fixed starres, so
that we may look up even now and see the

52 Journal of

abodes of ye Seraphim in their orders ; and
whether Ezekiel thought of that, whenas he
saw in a vision fiery wheels that flew every
way ; moreover, Scripture telleth us how the
Morning Stars sang for joy. Then I wondered
what might be beyond all the constellations ;
until trying to imagine that infinitude my
brain whirled round, so I was not sorry when
Lasounde1 announced Mrs. Anastasia Bur-
ro we, who came from her father with Mr.
Milton's book, which, when I received joy-
fully, she marvelled that I should care so
much for reading.

" Indeed," I said, " great part of the pleasure
of my life hath come from books ; ever since
one early spring-tide, when I, being in my
teens, first began to study Spenser ; the snow-
drops were just peeping forth, and as I went-
along the passages repeating the words to my-
self, every eastern chamber was full of moon-

V T- j_ "

light.

She answered, " Would I could find some-
thing to divert me from the thoughts of my
happy home that is lost, where we had our

1 A Frenchman, formerly servant to Lord Gordon,
Montrose's intimate friend. After Lord Gordon's death
at Alford, Montrose took Lasounde into his own service,
and was careful to provide for his safety when the royal
army was disbanded.

Lady Beatrix. 53

friends about us ; and at this time of yeare,
when we were little children, William and I
would begin counting the days till we should
go visit our grandmother in the Country ; and
as the evenings grew lighter we lay in our
little beds watching the nurse as she packed
up, so glad were we to run wild in the
meadows."

" I hope it will not be very long ere we all
go back to our homes, and you will enjoy
yours the more for having seen foreign coun-
tries."

" We may find the houses and outward
things as of old, but not those who made
them pleasant."

She took up a collar and began helping me
with my needlework, as she added, " Most
people seem to keep their friends till they are
perhaps forty or fifty, but mine have left me
ere I am thirty."

I sought to comfort her by urging that she
still had her parents and brother, and that
good times and bad come to us all ; I myself
had lived a woeful life since the warre broke
out, but now times had changed for me, and I
hoped they would for her. " Yea," quoth she,
" you are very happy."

She seemed to like talking of her former
life, and after a while grew chearful, and was

54 Journal of

well pleased to come with me into ye garden,
as I had promised Mrs. Grant to gather sweet
herbes for her, and knew I would be called to
account if I forgot it. When we came to the
bed of thyme she said it did remind her of her
grandmother's kitchen garden, where the bee
hives were set under the red brick wall of the
house, over which a great fig tree was trained,
and beds of lavender around. The sweet
smell in the air made her feel as she did in
those days when all seemed so fresh and clean
after London.

" Surely," I said, " you will be glad to see
that place again in God's good time." And
she — " Alas ! who can tell what state it may
now be in, for being nigh unto Basing House,
first one side hath held it and then another as
an Outpost. I suppose all the trees have been
cut down ; but let us not talk of this any
longer." And gathering a spray of southern-
wood she prayed me to keep it for her sake ;
wherefore I promised to lay it in my Bible at
the words in Canticles, " For lo ! the winter is
past, the rain is over and gone, the time of ye
singing of birdes is come, the voice of ye titrtle
is heard in our land'.' Then I gave her a
violet that she might cherish in like manner ;
and so perhaps when we are both old women
we may look at these leaves and think of

Lady Beatrix. 55

this May morning when we were young to-
gether.

" Nay," she said, " but you will have for-
gotten me long ere that."

" Why should I forget more than you ?"

" Because you have so many pleasant things,
and yet, perhaps, you may think of me as be-
longing to your brightest days."

" And adding to their brightnesse. But
come now with me, for I must gather beechen
twigs to set in the fire-places ;" and I showed
her how prettily the young opening leaves
were decked with silver fringes and clear
scales of pink or brown that might make
armour for the fairies when they ride on a
foray against the poor humble bees."

" How strange it is," quoth she, " to think
that in a few months they will be trodden into
mire."

" Dear Anastasia, the best joyes of all will
not leave us in like manner."

She looked wistfully upon me, but said
nothing. I wish I could make her happy ;
and, indeed, she cheered up ere I would let
her depart, and seemed pleased when my
brother joined us, and escorted her back in
the afternoon.

5//;. — I am glad my Brother doth noways
disapprove of my reading Mr. Milton's book ;

56 Journal of

nay, when last night he took it up, to see what
manner of verses the prick-eared Knave would
write, after a long silence he read us aloud
many passages, wherein a contemplative stu-
dent describeth how he was wont to pass the
night with friends who had for ages been num-
bered with the dead, whose faces he had never
seen, and yet were they dearer to him than all
living societie. There were some lines which
reminded me how I used to lie awake when a
child listening in ye stillnesse of the night, and
others that describe the course of the moon,
even as I love to watch it ; but my brother was
most pleased with the Curfew bell :

" Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar?

Other verses there were that exactly told of
my bright mornings when I can see the sun-
rise flaming through the fair plants trained
round my window. Presently Mountrose said
he would take me to the theatre ere long,
whereat Dr. Wishart inquired, " Will yr lord-
ship really take my lady to a play ?"

He answered good-humouredly, " I will
carefully ascertain beforehand what play is to
be represented ; and indeed, Doctor, I see no
harm in a moderate enjoyment of such plea-
sures."

We have been now to the theatre in

Lady Beatrix. 57

a large party, Napier and Mr. Mathertie ; also
I did request my brother to take with us Mrs.
Anastasia Burrowe and her brother William.
We were all very merry at first, but after the
play had become tragical I could not laugh
and chat with the young people any longer,
so that I feared my brother would think I did
not enjoy it. However, Archibald Napier did
also wax grave and silent ; but when Mrs.
Anastasia rallied him, he lied and said the
play was mighty nonsense, and the heat had
given him an headache. As for Mr. Mathertie,
I wonder what would keep him grave for ten
minutes. Truly when I read over the words
next day they seemed but as a rough outline
to be filled in with glowing lights and tender
shadows. As my brother said, the power of
acting is a goodlie gift, for it is to embody a
poem. How I used to fret after such plea-
sures when with mine aunt. Yet was it well
that they were then beyond my reach, for I
would have sat brooding over the tragedy
and thinking how I would have rendered
divers passages, and of the joyous life those
performers must lead amid musick, and light,
and gayetie ; till looking up I would see but
the dull dim walls around me, and my aunts
spinning or reading. As it was, I seldom
went to bed without wishing the house might

58 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

take fire in ye night, or be attacked, or any-
thing to make a little change. But now I
doubt whether there be in the world any hap-
pier creature than I, with every one showing
me kindnesse ; yea, and I can mark the differ-
ence both in look and voice when my Brother
speaketh to me, or when to other people.

CHAPTER VIII.

LL through the happy summer does
the Lady Beatrix continue her
journal in this manner, revelling in
the varied enjoyments which sur-

rounded her, happily never dreaming how
soon the clouds would return after the rain.

She records several festivities, both among
her own countrymen and her foreign friends,
and on many occasions when, as she mentions
with no small complacency, she presided at
her brother's table, whereat he was wont to
receive certain gallant gentlemen, sorely out
at elbows, yet with spirits as roysterous as
ever. She liked them, and in her gentle way
was able to keep them a little in order, being
very popular among them.

At this time also Lady Beatrix enjoyed the
great privilege and distinction of spending a
few evenings at the Hotel de Rambouillet,
where her gold-bronze hair and soft lucid grey

60 Journal of

eyes gained her the title of La Princesse du
Septentrion. Here she made the acquaint-
ance of Mademoiselle de Scudery, and records
how that lady declared Milord Montrose to be
a greater hero than her own Grand Cyrus.
Montrose and his sister easily adapted them-
selves to the fantastic euphuisms of that
stately society, by which they were inwardly
amused, while they appreciated its lofty and
refined politeness.

After the first Beatrix seems very seldom
to have appeared at Court, where the Mar-
quis saw " unworthy and ill-meaning courtiers
preferred before him continually," and his
single-minded, straightforward counsels neg-
lected for "trimming policies." In conse-
quence Beatrix did not again appear before
the Queen Regent, which she the less re-
gretted that she had already discovered the
truth of De Retz's remark, and was shocked
at the incessant quarrels, petty intrigues, and
" scandalous discourses " among the great
ladies, and their wearisome discussions about
precedence. On one occasion Beatrix met the
celebrated Madame de Longueville, but was
somewhat disappointed, for, says she, " that
little Coadjuteur had been vehemently dis-
coursing in French and Italian till he was all
in a perspiration, about this lady's beauty, so

Lady Beatrix. 61

that nothing less than an angel could have
satisfied me after such an eulogium ; but I
cared not to tell him so, lest peradventure he
should think me envious, seeing that men like
him are ever ready to think evill of us. Mon-
sieur de la Rochefoucauld was there talking
with Madame de Longueville, a gentleman of
a goodly presence, but of a cold and sneering
countenance ; yet did Madame de Longue-
ville look less discontented when he was at-
tending to her than when he came afterwards
to be introduced to my Brother." Madame
de Carignan was also courteous to the young
stranger, whom she entertained with her won-
derful travellers' tales and with the excellent
bonbons for which she was equally celebrated.
Mademoiselle de Scudery's romances and the
atmosphere of the Hotel de Rambouillet seem
to have made Lady Beatrix think much on
the subject of love, and " how pleasant it must
be to have some one looking up to me as to a
princess, and admiring all I did. Often would
such fancies run in my head when as I should
have been listening to a three hours' sermon,
or when mine aunts were finding fault with
me. Yet if any good man did truly love
me, mine heart would be wae for him, seeing
that no man can give an higher proof of his
esteem."

62 Jotirnal of

One summer afternoon was spent in the
grounds of an old chateau near St. Germains,
where our exiles met a large party assembled
to enjoy a "jeu de maille" on the sunny lawn.
In one game Beatrix and a certain Vicompte
de Rosny were on opposite sides, and the poor
gentleman gave great offence to his partners
by never takin'g any advantage from his ad-
versary, who on her side was by no means so
considerate. As for the marquis, though he
had never played the game before, yet by
tacit consent he at once became captain of his
side, and was continually appealed to ; but
the principal amusement both to him and his
sister was to watch the different humours of
the players, drawn out by the excitement of
the game.

There were also many pleasant unformal
meetings with the Burrowes and other exiled
families, when the ladies would sit together
with their work, and Beatrix gained many
useful hints on housekeeping ; or they would
go shopping together, and young Mr. William
Burrowe would talk of his school days and his
interrupted studies at Cambridge, as he es-
corted the Lady Beatrix to her home. She
describes him as being low of stature, kind,
and quick-witted.

At Midsummer came the tidings that Mrs.

Lady Beatrix. 63

Lilias Napier had safely arrived in Holland,
where she had joined her sister and brother-
in-law, Sir George and Lady Sterling. An
idea seems to have been entertained by them
of placing Mrs. Lilias about the person of the
queen, whether the Regent or Henrietta Maria
does not appear ; but Montrose wrote to Sir
George " that there is neither Scots man nor
woman welcome that way ; neither would anie
of honour and virtue, specially a woman, suffer
themselves to live in so llewd and worthless a
place. So you may satisfy that person, and
divert her thoughts resolutely from it" After-
wards it was agreed that Lilias should reside
with her brother Lord Napier, whose gallant
services under Montrose had brought many
hardships on his family, Lilias among the
rest1

July 27. — I am right glad (proceeds Lady
Beatrix) that my niece Lilias is indeed com-
ing hither, and will be our guest until Archi-
bald shall have secured a fit lodging place for
himself and her. I have prepared the green
room for her, with bunches of carnations in
water, and my mother's large Bible laid ready ;

1 A letter is extant from Napier, of Bowhopple, to
Lord Napier, representing this, and remonstrating with
Lord Napier on his " preposterous attachment " to Mont-
rose.— Ed.

64 Journal of

and Mrs. Grant hath been exhorted to set out
our best linen on ye bed, till she lost patience,
and had to restrain herself not to bid me
mind mine own affairs. But my brother will
be calling me presently to ride out on the
Dunkerque road with him and Archibald to
meet Lilias, wherefore no more this evening.
28^. — Now she is here, and we must try to
lead her ane happy life after the wearie time
she hath had in Scotland.

" Sotto rotnbra perpetua, che mai
Raggiar non lascia sole ivi, ne hum."

These lines have rung in mine ears all day ;
I wonder if it be they, or the sound of a kindly
Scots voice, have set mine head running on
ye Pass of the Trosachs and Loch Katrine,
where the water was sae clear I could drop a
pin in six feet depth and see it amang the
pebbles ; yet under the shadow of a cloud, or
where it slept neath a cliff, it seemed black as
ink. One would think Mr. John Milton had
been there, for he singeth of amber streames ;
and Dr. Wishart, talking of Loch Lomond,
did in his grand voice rehearse certain Greek
words, which being interpreted did signify
" the wine-coloured abysses of the floud," as
though old Homer likewise had heard of our
haunts. I know some deep shining eyes are
e'en like that. My brother did straitly enquire

Lady Beatrix. 65

at Lilias concerning the state of auld Montrois
and his tenants there, of whom she was able
to give us a better account than we could have
expected. It was pleasant to hear the names
of the old folk again, and right glad will I be
when I can wander in the birken woods once
more, yet would I not care to see them whiles
that the Enemie hath the upper hand over all
the Kingdom. Archibald is so well pleased
to have Lilias to keep house for him, and at
the good accounts she is able to give of Eliza-
beth and the children, that I never saw him
in better cheer ; for in general there is such a
gravitie and quietnesse about him (save indeed
when he is discussing warlike plans with my
Brother) that one would scarce think he had
escaped so venturously, unknown even to his
Wife, to join our armie just in time for Aul-
derne, and that he had with a few friends held
out Kincardine Castle for Mountrose till, by
reason of ye well being dried, he was forced
to ride for his life from the postern after the
moon was down, with a young page for sole
guide to him and his comrades.

31-tf. — Last night, as Lilias and I were
brushing our hair together, we talked of all
had passed since we last met, and how I had
envied her and Elizabeth that they were
thought worthy of imprisonment. She made

66 Journal of

reply : " Ye would not have wished to change
places with us, when the Plague was in the
Grassmarket, and we in the Castle right
above."

"Indeed," I said, "these French ladies have
so infected me with their dread of contagion,
I would not have liked that. But how fared
it with Elizabeth ? for married ladies seem
alwaies timid in such matters."

Thereat she cried, " Oh, would that Eliza-
beth could leave her dismal house and bring
the children, and we all live together here!"
Then she told how, when they were in prison,
Elizabeth had ever in readinesse some com-
fortable word from Holy Writ, or else some
tale of olden times, or of persons she had
known, aye, or some merrie jest to pass the
time, and yet she had more to trouble her
than any one, being divided from her poor
little children. Well, it is some comfort to
think she is with them now, and in her own
dwelling at Merchistoun, though it must be
dull without her husband.

Lilias made mention of one evening in par-
ticular when she sate sewing, with her mind
far away, thinking how at that very moment
Archibald might be slain, or else they would
all be dead of the Plague, or ever they might

Lady Beatrix. 67

be rescued, and never see their friends any
more, for six persons were dead about ye
Castle, whereby great fear was added to their
former comfortless estate. And so she sate,
musing woefully till the tears came ; and for
all she tried to weep silently, yet Betty heard
her, and comforted her, speaking words of
cheer; then did they kneel down together
and pray for the success of Montrose ; after
which Betty beguiled the long twilight with
repeating her favourite passages from the
Scriptures (whereof methinks she hath the
greater portion stored up in her heart), be-
ginning with the xcist Psalm, and leaving off
with these words of ye Prophet Esay : " Thou
wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is
stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee"
Afterwards the two did apply themselves to
the composing of a petition unto the Parlia-
ment, that they might be removed to a less
dangerous neighbourhood ; " which," says
Lilias, arching her long throat, " being so just
and reasonable a request, we did not think
there was any abasement in urging of the
same, and it was granted ; moreover our old
uncle Bowhopple did stand our friend, so we
were carried to Linlithgow — (we did agree it
was as well sometimes that all our kindred

68 Journal of

are not on the right side) — and then came
Archibald with the victorious cavaliers, and
triumphantly freed us all." '

It was well he was in time to see his father
again.

Then did Lilias ask me how I had passed
the time at Hayes House, and I told her
there were indeed some pleasant things even
there, for my window looked forth on the
hills, that sometimes were all dark and solemn,
and sometimes seemed transparent, bathed in
light, that made me think of ye clear Gold
like unto glass. Also there was the old
spinnet, that seemed to speak with me when
I was sad, and the poor folk with their chil-
dren. Also I did confess how, when I was
troubled exceedingly, I would find comfort in
taking a book or such heavie matter, and
flinging it across the room. Quoth Lilias,
" That was one way of gaining profit from
your aunt's books !"

I assured her I had enough method in my
madnesse to select a book that would not

1 The instructions issued by Montrose on this occa-
sion are still preserved in the Napier family. He orders
young Napier and his colleague, Col. Nathaniel Gordon,
to "keep themselves free of all places suspected to be
spoiled with the infection, as they will answer on the
contrary at their highest peril." — Ed.

Lady Beatrix. 69

suffer from such treatment, and indeed the
only time I had done any damage was once
when I did throw down mine ewer, thinking
it to be empty, whereas the room was pre-
sently flooded, and the water ran through to
the ceiling of the chamber below. Then Lilias
owned she had sometimes felt inclined to kick
such things as stood in her path. As for Mar-
garet, when aught goeth amiss with her, she
will cry, " Well, if I were a gentleman I would
swear at the things ! " which saying always
maketh her husband right angry. Yet is it
marvellous, when one is sad or troubled, what
solace may be gained by such means.

August 2nd. — Albeit Lilias is oft times
blithesome enough when we are alone to-
gether, yet can I see it is not her wonted
humour, for a shadow of pensiveness seemeth
still to hang over her; and no marvell after
all she hath endured for our cause, and more
than all, the anxietie for her kindred when
they were in separate places of confinement,
and the grief for her father. Moreover she is
somewhat coy with Montrose, and even with
Dr. Wishart, who was her fellow-captive, else
would I entreat my brother to let me bid the
Burrowes, Mr. Mathertie, and one or two more
to a dance, but I think I know what she will
more enjoy. Mrs. Grant hath great know-

jo Journal of

ledge of herbs and simples, and of the virtues
pertaining thereunto, and seeing my desire to
learn, hath promised to show me her method
of preparing divers medicaments from them,
and Madame de Sable told me that in the
Forest of Fontainebleau one may find great
store of healing plants, wherefore as my
Brother hath more leisure now than he cares
for, I will seek to prevail with him to join us,
and invite the Burrowes, with Mr. Mathertie,to
help ransack the forest, and carry off the spoil-
zie ; Lilias will be glad to roam under the
trees, and her shame-facednesse will soon de-
part when we are all at work toge )her. We
must go soon, ere ye moon be waning, when
good plants lose their potency.

9/A — Methinks all went as heart could
wish. We had much ado to persuade Dr.
Wishart to come, he saying we would be
merrier without him, but was answered, " We
would be both merrier and wiser with him : "
and indeed he will prosper all the better with
his Historic of Mountrose his exploits in Latin,
after enjoying this sunshine holiday.

We all started off together while the gos-
samer webs were yet flashing in the sunlight,
as though the elves had been washing their
beam-woven garments in the dew-drops, and
had hung them up to dry on the blades of

Lady Beatrix. 71

grass. Poor Lilias was half asleep at first ; I
had no small trouble to rouse her, and in fact
had been overnight somewhat afraid lest I
also might be heavie-eyed, having stayed up
late to make preparations ; however, I was
up with the sun, yet not in time to receive
Mr. Mathertie, who must needs make his
appearance or ever my toilette was com-
pleted ; happily my brother and Archibald
were on the alert, and took charge of the
young gallant. As for the Burrowes, they
were but just in time to secure ane hastie
breakfast.

Serjeant Burrowe and Dr. Wishart came in
ye coach with us ladies, and were very good
company, while my Brother and the young
gentlemen rode in advance, frequently tarry-
ing and looking in to see how we fared.
Lilias was soon awakened, listening to Mr.
William Burrowe, who jested and caracoled
by the coach doors, being well pleased to
show his horsemanship, though by so doing
he frightened his poor mother full sorely, so
I was faine to talk with her incessantly that
she nwht not see him. Nor was Mr. Ma-

o

thertie to be outdone on the other side. Mrs.
Anastasia was right blooming and cheerful ;
I hope Mr. Mathertie may have seen how
well-favoured she is, for if her old friends are

72 Journal of

gone, it is the more desirable she should find
new ones.

We were all clad in our oldest apparel, so
that we might pass fearlessly through bog
and briar, having resolved to keep clear of
the Palace. Also Mountrose had lent Dr.
Wishart a pair of pistols, and had desired all
ye gentlemen to come armed, as our acquaint-
ance had warned us of robbers and strange
beasts. We stopped at a pretty roadside inn
to dine, and as the day advanced, my brother
rode on with Archibald to find quarters for
us all as near the Forest as might be ; so the
next morning we had but a little way to go in
the coach, from which I for one was right glad
to be released, and to be able to gaze up freely
into the shady trees. We were soon dispersed
after my Brother had given us a rendezvous,
warning us not to stray too far apart, and we
found a place where were growing wild juni-
per trees and hether, even as on our own old
moors, with moss beds, thick and soft, like
those by Loch Lomond. Presently we came
to a valley all full of rocks, whereon it was a
delight to set our feet, and indeed the two
young Burrowes did climb marvellously well,
considering they had scarce ever before in
their lives seen a stone larger than a porridge-
pot ; nay, I marked that Mr. William Bur-

Lady Beatrix. 73

rowe would come up with an air and a grace
unto Lilias, who could better have aided him,
offering her his hand, and telling her where
to step, she seeming noways displeased thereat.
After a while I left them in order to unpack
our provisions, and as I made my way alone
beneath the tall trees and cool shadows, all
was so still and solemn, I could not choose
but pray and give thanks in mine heart, and
could have fancied the trees and ferns, and
innocent wild creatures were praying with me.

Having found Mrs. Grant, we chose a
smooth mossy place to spread the dinner.
Mr. Burrowe and Dr. Wishart were the first
to appear, they had not gone far, having
found a pleasant seat, where they might dis-
cuss the Odes of Horace, and come to high
words anent the right pronunciation of Latin ;
but my Brother and Archibald had been plan-
ning a stag hunt, if this were not royal pro-
pertie ; I could not help saying I was glad
they could not hurt and hurry the pretty
creatures, but my brother said it was not the
game he cared for so much as the wild gal-
lopping over rough ground, and the merriment
and uncertainty of success ; and then he cour-
teously led Mrs. Burrowe to sit on a cloak
spread at his right hand.

Meanwhile we ladies had gathered a goodly

74 Journal of

store of Self-heal, St. John's wort, and Clary,
but none had found any Silver-weed. William
Burrowe asked me wherefore that particular
herb was virtuous, and ere I could put him
off with some general answer, that spoil-sport
Archibald must needs cry out, " that he knew
ye virtue thereof full well, for his wife was
wont to gather it in former times and lay it
nine days and nights in buttermilk to remove
sunburns from her complexion." I was in-
wardly much displeased, but Serjeant Burrowe
was good enough to say I had no need of
such appliances, and told us how Sir Kenelm
Digby fed his fair wife on capons that had
been fattened with vipers, to preserve her
beauty. No wonder, as Mrs. Burrowe ob-
served, that the poor lady was found dead in
her bed.

It was not till then that Mr. Mathertie ap-
peared in a great heat, and explained that he
had missed me, and knowing of old my love of
wandering in lonely places, had sought me all
around, fearing I might lose my way, or meet
with robbers or wild boars. My brother and
I both thanked him for his kindnesse, and
made much of him.

Mrs. Burrowe asked if she might have the
receipt for short-cake, which was gratifying, as
Lilias and I had prepared it. After dinner

Lady Beatrix. 75

we all went on our knees to drink " Confusion
to the rebels, and good luck to all honest men,
specially those of ye Inner Temple." After-
wards we rambled about again, and it was well
we all came home safe and sound, for whiles
the sun was yet high, there were William
Burro we and Mr. Mathertie leaping about from
rock to rock till they were in a pelting heat,
when they must needs drink from a cold spring
they found, though Mrs. Burrowe and Anas-
tasia did remonstrate, begging them to be
content with wood-sorrel leaves.

We returned not till the gloaming, for I
prayed them to tarry awhile

" Under ye shadie roofe

Of branching elm starre-proof"

hoping we might hear the nightingale; but
Mrs. Anastasia said in England those birds
sing not after Midsummer; and, in fact, we
heard nought but ye owle. Mr. Burrowe told
me I should hear his old acquaintance, Mr.
Izaak Walton, talk of the nightingale's song ;
and how this worthy citizen, though but a
draper in Chancery Lane, yet was well be-
known to many pious and learned divines, and
would spend the Easter and Whitsuntide holi-
days with the Bishop of Winchester, or at Eton
College with Sir Henry Wotton, or with a
cousin of his own dwelling in the Wight, where

76 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

nightingales do abound ; and where he would
ply the angle for days together in the clear
trout streames. But on Sundays he would
walk forth from his dark and noisy home, to
meditate in the pleasant meads nigh unto
London.

" Often," said Mr. Burrowe, " would I leave
my good companions in ye tavern, or per-
swade myself I stood in need of new bands or
hosen for the pleasure of this good man's
conversation."

As at length we walked towards our inn,
the bats and beetles went wheeling round us
like ghosts, and the moon hung low in the sky
like a great golden globe, whiles the tree tops
still kept a yellow light from the sunset, and
the air was balmy with juniper. My brother
took much care of ye two English ladies, yet
he walked awhile with me also, and told me
this forest did remind him of ye faire wood-
lands of Vallombrosa, nigh unto Florence.

CHAPTER IX.

August

RCHIBALD hath now found a fit
lodging, and hath taken Lilias to
be with him there. I miss her when
in the morning I work in ye kitchen
or in the dairy alone, for she would help me
to skim the cream, and to drink it in that cool,
dim, pleasant place, where the light cometh in
so greenly through vine leaves trained with-
out the lattice. But in the long sultrie after-
noons my Brother will sit with me under the
trees, and read or talk with me whiles I work,
and I seem able to understand all he saith
more clearly in the free open air, under the
rustling leaves. I prayed him to let me see
some of the verses he made formerly, which he
did, saying they were written long ago ; and
now if he had inclination for such amusements,
the subjects would be very different. I sate

78 Joiirnal of

up till midnight studying them ; there is one,
which but to think of, makes my heart beat
quickly :—

" But ifthou wilt be constant then,

And faithful of thy worde,
Pll make thee glorious by my pen,

And famous by my sworde;
Pll serve thee in svch noble waies

Was never known before;
Pll croivn and deck thee all with bays,

And love thee ei'ermore"

Yet are there other verses :—

" Let not their oaths, like vollies shot,

Make ante breach at alle;
Nor smoot fines of their language plotte

Which waie to scale the wall ;
Nor balls of wild-fire love consvme

The shrine which I adore ;
For if such smoake about thee fume,

Fll never love thee more.

I thinke thy vertues be too strong

To suffer by surprize;
Which, victualled by my love so long,

The siege at length must rise,
And leave thee ruled in that health

And state thou was before;
But if thou turne a common-wealth,

I'll never love thee more.

But ifbyfraude or by consent

Thy heart to ruine come,
I'll sound no trumpett as I wont,

Nor marche by tucke of drum ;

Lady Beatrix. 79

But hold my armes like ensigns uppe

Thy falshood to deplore,
And bitterly will sigh and weep,

And never love thee more.

Pll do with thee as Nero did

When Rome was sett on fire,
Not onlie alle relief forbid,

But to a hill retier,
And scorn to shed a teare to see

Thy spirit grown so poor;
But smiling sing untill I die,
Fll never love thee more."

For whom was all this written ? and was
she worthy ? Alas ! were his love to be with-
drawn from me, there were little left to live
for.

i >]th. — To-day my brother shewed me a new
copie of verses, saying, " See, child, these are
svch as I now must write."

Part of them, I mind me, ran thus : —

" For when ye sunne doth shine, then shadowes do appear ;
But when ye sunne doth hide his face, they with ye sunne

retier.

Some f raids as shadowes are, and Fortune as the sunne,
They never proffer ante help till Fortune first begun.
But if in anie case Fortune shall first decay,
Then they, as shadowes of the sunne, with Fortune run

away."

I: " What woefull cause hath not our King
to say so ! "

Mountrose: "Yea, truly; had all men in

80 Journal of

Scotland acted up to their professions, he had
now been king there, at least."

/: " And you would have been his first
subject."

Mountrose : " I would be content to lie in
my coffin to-morrow, so I could know first he
were restored."

I hope I be not unworthy of my race, yet
can I not wish the right to triumph at such a
cost.

Happily my Brother said no more of this,
but told me how skilfully a certain nobleman
had avoided breaking with either party, first
making large offers to us, then when he found
these would indeed be accepted, sending pri-
vately to beg Leslie to make him prisoner, that
so he might be kept out of harm's way.

I said, " From all I have heard of Prince
Rupert, I wish he could be here, so he were
willing to serve under you."

Mountrose: " I met him after his defeat at
Marston Moor, sorely chafed and covered with
sweat and mire, but undaunted as ever : it was
in a little alehouse. I had seen him once before
at Whitehall, the goodliest young gallant there.
He played cards for a bag of Queen Eliza-
beth's silver pennies, and lost with a good
grace to one Mrs. Forster, a pretty maid of
honour."

Lady Beatrix. 81

" I would he had ne'er lost anything more
important."

Something further was said of my Brother
yet finding himself at the head of our brave
friends ; and when I wished that I could serve
him, he answered —

" They that could serve ofttimes will not,
and they that would cannot"

And then — I could scarce believe mine ears
for joy — he added —

" It were well if all Men had your heart
and spirit."

2 1 st. — This morning I rode early into Paris,
to see if I might in any ways be serviceable to
Lilias. She prayed me to take her to certain
shops, and as we went we did observe how
cheerfully the women sat gossipping at their
doors, and how pleasantly life passeth here.
I was resolved that Lilias should make an
appearance befitting her rank and beautie, and
have contrived that she should be provided
with an outfit of lace, gloves, kerchiefs, and
other matters ; for when I have money there
is nought I love better than to spend it, and
often could I wish I had six pair of feet to
wear all the dainty shoon I see.

As Archibald was escorting me home, I,
finding him in a talkative humour, did per-
swade him to tell me yet more of the cam-

G

82 Journal of

paign in Scotland ; and just then we happened
upon Monsieur de Turenne, who joined us,
and prayed that he also might hear the won-
derful historic ; so my Cousin related how at
Kilsyth, Montrose had ordered his men to cast
off all impediments before going into Battell,
wherefore they charged in their shirts, and
made full-armed men to flee before them ;
how at Perth Montrose had mounted all the
Gillies on such baggage horses as he could
muster, and mingling them with his few
cavalry, had made the enemie to believe he
had an efficient body of horse, so as they
durst not come forth of their entrenchments,
and suffered him to march by them unmo-
lested. Then, how General Baillie and he
lay watching one another across the river
Isla five days and nights, to ye great Ter-
rour of all the Neighbourhood, till Montrose,
being weary of this, sent a drummer to Baillie
with his Compliments, and he would permit
him to cross the water if he would give his
word to meet battle when over; or if Baillie
preferred his own side, then Montrose would
be happy to go over to him on the same con-
ditions ; but Baillie sent back a message, "that
he would fight at his own time and pleasure,
and ask no leave from him."

Wherefore they each went their ways, and

Lady Beatrix. 83

my Brother stormed Dundee with its own
cannon, as they had refused to hearken to
his summons, and thrown his trumpeter into
prison ; then just as the troops were taking
possession, those fools ye Scouts ran up at
the last moment with news that Baillie and
Hurry were, with great forces, but a mile
away. Thereat our friends implored my
Brother to save himself at any rate, and leave
the common men to their fate, as half of them
were drunken already ; but he brought them
all together, and out of the Town, away for
the Mountains, himself covering the rear; the
enemie followed skirmishing in vain, so set a
price upon his head of 20,000 crowns. Mon-
sieur de Turenne vowed that he preferred
this retreat of Montrose before his greatest
victories, and I did ask him whether he would
help in our cause ? To which he replied, that
nothing would give him more pleasure than
to serve even as a common soldier under that
hero ; but he would be sorely perplexed by
the manners of our Highlanders, especially
their custom of departing without leave when-
ever they had a mind, and that my Brother's
exploits were the more marvellous as being
achieved with such means. But Archibald
took the part of those brave men, saying how
terrible a thing was an Highland Charge and

84 Journal of

war-cry ; also he told us of one Irishman
whose leg was shot away, but he only said
gaily that he knew my lord marquis would
now make him a mounted Trooper ; and of
another foot soldier, who was seen, before
going into Battel, fastening a spur on his
heel, because he was resolved to have ane
horse from the enemie ere the day was out.

Monsieur de Turenne said he and ye Coad-
juteur were agreed that the days of Leonidas
and the old worthies might seem to have re-
turned, and, sighing, he murmured to himself,
" Oh si nos querrelles estoient aussi dignes que
les leurs !"

Indeed that noble gentleman must be sorely
wearied by all the broils of the Court. I ,
should not be surprised any day to hear they
were all at daggers drawn in good earnest.

September yd. — Archibald and Lilias having
resolved to give such Entertainment to our \
friend as their means would allow, I hope I J
was of some service, being able to supply
both fruit and cream, and to lend Lilias my
pearls, as I wore jessamine in my bosom, and
the last white rose in my hair. Also I went
early among the copse-woods which glowed
in the sun, and the dew like heaps of amber
and cornelian, to gather long garlands of wild
berries that she might trim the hearth withal.

Lady Beatrix. 85

Monsieur de Rosny was among the guests,
the Burrowes, and, as usual, David Mathertie,
in a new scarlet embroidered coat and Dou-
blet, which did well set off his dark Love-
locks, and I never saw anyone enjoy himself
more than he. First, whiles Mr. Burrowe
was singing excellently well with his son and
daughter, this young gentleman was now
joining in with the air, now thanking the
singers, and in the next moment talking with
me, who would fain have listened to the
musick in peace. But it was pleasant to see
him so happy, and, in Mrs. Grant's language,
as spritely as ane pailfull of fleas. Then
Monsieur de Rosny offered to send out for
violins that we might dance ; but instead it
was agreed that the Burrowes should teach us
an English Country Dance; and a merry one
it was, for all footed it with a will, and as but
few of us knew the figure, there was continuall
losing of Partners, which I for one did not
regret, as Monsieur de Rosny was mine,
though he complained that he danced with
everyone saving his own Demoiselle; but Mr.
William Burrowe and David Mathertie an-
swered to the musick like two young lions.
At supper our good cousin Archibald must
needs put his foot in it (so to speak) this
second time, yet am I glad he did it. Anas-

86 Journal of

tasia sate fronting me, and, being much taken
with my signet-ring, did ask me across the
table if I were a topaz ? I told her nay, but
a smoky Cairn Gorm, and offered to procure
her one by the next despatch from Scotland.
We agreed that the clear gems seem to have,
as it were, a certain life in them, for they
change according to the light wherein they
be placed, and she said she loved to look right
into them. Then cries Archibald from his
place, " Truly mine Uncle is of the same mind,
for I have never seen him without a diamond
ring on his hand."

My Brother answered indifferently, " Yea,
I do always wear it."

I know not why, but something made me
change the discourse by asking Mr. Burrowe
of ye occult virtues of precious stones, and not
long after we parted. My Brother and I would
walk home, as it was a fair evening, though
Lilias would have had us to stay all night,
fearing we might be attacked on ye street ; but
he shewed her how, beside his rapier, he car-
ried pistols under his laced coat, and told her
if any misadventure did arise, I knew better
than to cling, hampering about his arm, but
would quietly stand behind him. Monsieur de
Rosny departed in his chair, with many blazing
torches ; and poor David was sorry his way

Lady Beatrix. 87

lay not with ours, so Mountrose would not
suffer him to escort us.

As we went I asked Mountrose if he had
observed how young Mr. Burrowe did con-
trive to sit next to Lilias at supper, instead of
Monsieur de Feutrier, and how Mistress Lilias
looked noways troubled at the exchange ?

He answered that it was ever the way with
women to spin such romances about their
friends, and if Lilias did look pleased, it was
because she could not understand Monsieur's
mingled French and English discourse. He
did not seem inclined to say more, wherefore
I held my peace, walking beside him and
watching the stars as they glinted through the
trees, till, having left behind us all noisy and
frequented places, he said : " You did me
good service, Beatrix, in that you took up the
Conversation when honest Archibald was ob-
serving my ring." And he told me how, in
the gladsome days of his youth, when he was
on his travells, he had loved an Italian lady,
who did also love him, so all might have
gone well but for an old Popish Priest, who so
wrought upon her parents that they who had
at first looked favourably upon my Brother's
pretensions, now would not so much as hear
of her marrying an Heretic, as they were
pleased to call him. She, however, continued

88 Journal of

stedfast, till at length, whether from Trouble
of mind, or from whatever cause, this lady,
Annetta, fell sick, and her conscience smote
her with Disobedience to her parents, where-
fore she wrote to him, praying him that he
would renounce her ; yet did she entreat him
sometimes to think of her with kindnesse.
Thereat my Brother was much displeased, and,
not knowing of her sickness, sent reply that
she had best forget him who had caused her
so much trouble, yet would never have forsaken
her. She wrote back imploring him to see her
but once again, that so at least they might not
part in anger, since part they must. He went
accordingly, and at the sight of her all his
wrath departed ; and so they bade one another
farewell, neither did they ever speak together
again. Then he came back to Scotland, and
sought to drown these Memories with plunging
into publick affairs ; but the little ring she gave
him from her finger hath followed him through
all. Afterwards he had heard that her parents
had prevailed with her to marry a Milanese
gentleman — one whom he also had known in
the first happy days, and liked him well. " And
now," said he, " I hope she is happy and com-
forted with her husband and her children."

Poor lady ! methinks her heart must often
have throbbed wildly when she heard of his

Lady Beatrix. 89

Exploits, to think she had been loved by such
a Man.

As autumn comes on the entries grow fewer
and briefer in the old brown book, yet we
learn that the Lady Beatrix is much occupied
with preparations for Christmas, brewing of
home-made wines, and making of garments
for her brother's poor brave followers ; also
preparing of gifts to be sent over the sea when
opportunity may offer, for the friends left
lonely in their saddened homes : Mdlle. de
Scudery's romances for the Lady Elizabeth
Napier, with French sweetmeats for her chil-
dren, and choice perfumes for the old ladies
at Hayes House, who were curious in dis-
tillery.

During all the season of Christmas hospi-
tality seems to have been exercised both to
rich and poor, while the exiled Cavaliers for-
got their troubles, and for a while all led a
merry life, especially the Hon. Mr. Mathertie.

Now we come to one of our favourite pas-
sages in the whole Diary. She has been to a
large party, where were many children, so
they played blindman's buff, snapdragon, and
other games, in which she had not joined for
many a year ; returning, she found her brother
sitting up alone, who was well pleased that

90 Journal of

she had passed such a merry evening. They
went upstairs together, and at the door of her
room he kissed her (Beatrix always records
these kisses) ; then as she undressed she
thought how everything whereon her eyes did
fasten was a token of God's mercy. " Two
years ago at this time I was sore troubled be-
cause mine Aunts would keep Christmasse as
a Fast, and during the long Lecture I would
fain have meditated on ye great blessing
vouchsafed to the world on that day, but mine
head was ever running on the pleasures from
which I was debarred; and now God hath
granted me these things and given me my
heart's desire, so here will I lay me down in
this fair chamber, with ye firelight dancing on
ye wainscoat, and the books and bunches of
holly set over the mirrour, with the sound of
musick and merriment still in mine ears, whiles
outside the lattice stand the frosty stars flashing
through the tree-tops like torches blown in
ye wind. I will essay to repeat the ciij. Psalm
when I am in bed, but fear I will be asleep
ere I have time to finish it."

It was not long after that Montrose, think-
ing he could better serve his cause in Germany,
resolved to leave Paris, although Cardinal
Mazarin had offered him a distinguished mili-
tary post, with considerable emoluments ; so

Lady Beatrix. 91

February was much occupied in packing up
and bidding farewell to English and foreign
friends. Beatrix felt sorry to go, yet she had
always a wish to travel, and in such good
company.

CHAPTER X.

THE JOURNAL RESUMED.
Ffebruary xxviij.

)|AST week, having gone to pay my
respects to Madame de Sable, who
hath always shewn me kindness, I
found her about to retreat, being
Lent, to the Convent of Port Royal ; she prayed
me to come with her in her coach, which I did,
hoping it was not wrong. She told me that
some of the monks had been well known in
the world as advocates or as scholars, and many
of the nuns were of noble family, yet now they
will sleep on straw ; neither will they see their
kindred, yea, even their own parents, save
through a grating. These poor ladies received
me with much kindness, and seeing some
violets in mine hand, one of them told how an
old nun in Port Royal des Champs had given
up a little garden that was her last earthly
possessn, and they seemed even to entertain

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 93

some scruples as to the lawfulness of enjoying
a fair prospect from their windows. I said
surely le bon Dieu would not have created such
pleasant things if it were wrong to be happy
with them ; whereat the mother superior,
turning to me with a beautiful smile on her
grave countenance, addressed me as " Ma tres-
chere fille" saying she could see I was very
happy.

" So happy, ma mere, that I can never thank
God enough."

And she : " You do well, ma fille, yet you
will have sorrow: may He then be with you."
And I could not choose but beg her to re-
member me. In like manner, as Anastasia
hath told me, would my Lady Falkland warn
young wives and mothers that she saw rejoic-
ing, telling them how swiftly her own bliss had
left her, and how only she could be comforted.

How surprised these devout ladies and my
two Aunts would be were they told that in
some things they are alike ; my Aunt Lilias
was ever studying the Scriptures, even whiles
her woman was tiring her hair in the morning;
yet would she weep sore, and was not made
happy thereby. As for many of these French
ladies, they talk openly of becoming devotes
when their youth is departed, and their beauty,
instead of serving God with these His gifts

94 Journal of

before the evil days come — and meanwhile
what happiness do they lose !

On parting, Madame de Sable presented
me with her receipt for conserve of oranges,
for which Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld hath
ofttimes importuned her. I hope I may one
day see that kind lady again. But when my
Brother heard where I had been, he was dis-
pleased, saying Madame de Sable should have
known better than to take a stranger like me
to such a place. I assured him they would
never if they tried make me a nun, to live ye
Life of a bird in a cage, being half starved to
boot, and clad always in ye same dull raiment.
He said, " I know it," but explained there is
so much Tattle at Court it would sune be
abroad yt Montrose his sister, then that him-
self, were made Proselytes, which might be of
prejudice to ye Cause, and charged me never
to go to their Churches. I am somewhat sorry
for this — the one evening I was in Nostre
Dame with ye Digbys, how the great waves of
Musick did roll over my head till mine eyes
were filled with tears of ioyfull pain. Yet
would I give up more for him.

Whether from indolence, hurry, or con-
fidence in her own clear memory, we find few
entries made by Beatrix of her foreign travels,

Lady Beatrix. 95

in the course of which she saw the Tyrol and
parts of Switzerland ; yet she thoroughly en-
joyed all she met in her brother's company,
especially one grand adventure that befell
them on starting.

" We were," she writes, " scarce gone three
leagues from Paris, having left our suite to
follow next day, when suddenly ye Coach was
stopped, and certain ill-favoured fellows looked
in, but on Montrose showing his pistols, La-
sonde and ye others doing the same, they de-
parted, and we went on. My Brother was just
comending me in that I neither swooned nor
shrieked, nor shewed other womanish weak-
ness, as indeed what cause was there when he
was by ? when a second time we were brought
to a stand in good earnest. Montrose his
attentn was taken up by one or more at ye
right-hand window, when in from ye left an
arm was thrust before my face and a pistol
held close to his head. I struck the wrist
upwards with all my might, and ye ball went
out thro' the roof. Then I remember my
Brother thrusting me right back on ye seat,
while pistols flashed and cracked close before
mine eyes, and presently we were driving on
at a furious pace, and his voice saying, " Brave
girl, you have saved my life," and because I
trembled exceedingly, and could scarcely speak,

96 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

he with his owne hands did wrap me in my
cloke and give me wine from our provisn."

Later she makes mention, in few words,
much abbreviated, of " deep moss beds where
the Dew lay all day long while ye pine trees
gave out swete odours in the hot sunshine, and
o'er ye grene Forest rose great white Pyra-
mids." One entry, somewhat longer, records
how the two were traversing one of the passes
on foot with a guide ; how they watched the
clouds gathering magnificently over the cliffs,
and in spite of their guide's uneasiness could
not choose but linger to gaze on sights that
reminded them of home, when all at once the
storm burst upon them. " I enjoyed it right
well," says Beatrix, " till ye great hailstones
dashing on my head did blind and almost
stunne me, for my hat was blown away ; more-
over the wind whirling round would have car-
ried me off my feet, but Montrose threw his
cloke over me and held me fast. So we fared
further till we came to a little dairy-farm in a
green pasture full of flowers, where ye good
people did most hospitably entertain us."

This is nearly all she records, at the time, of
her travels ; only between the yellow pages a
few dried Alpine flowers have lain safe during
two hundred years.

CHAPTER XL

N February, 1648-9, Beatrix was
on a visit to Sir George and Lady
Stirling at Ghent, Montrose being
at Brussels.

And l now arrived those evil tidings which
for a long time we could scarce credit, namely,
that our good King had been thus dispiteously
slaughtered — truly this is a woefull Valentine's
tide ; even the Flemings are astounded, and all
our countryfolk are clothed in black raiment.
Sir George and Margaret have given one an-
other many sharp words, and for me I am
sore troubled to think what grief this must be
to my Brother. Had he not been thwarted
continually, it would never have happened.
I must go to him as quickly as possible.

1 The Editor repeats that he will not be responsible
for any political opinions expressed by those who took
part so ardently in the questions of their day.

H

98 Journal of

\ith. — My Cousins did warmly dissuade
me from travelling, for the roads are yet deep
in snow, but I reminded them how when but
children, I and David Mathertie were caught
in a storm out in the Trosachs, and the poor
boy would fain have covered me with his
own little cloke. We crouched under a rock,
chafing one another's hands, and saying our
Prayers, till at last we heard shouting and the
baying of hounds, and my Brother came leap-
ing over the drifts and found us, for he would
not be dissuaded, though but a lad himself,
from joining in the search. It were well
enough for English or Flemish ladies to talk
of ye weather, but no Scotswoman should
be held from her Duty by such considera-
tions.

The Hague, March yd. — How kind were
the Sterlings when they saw I had set my
heart upon going ! Margaret lent me her fur
cloak and packed up for me great store of
provisions, yet I could hardly have started
but for David Mathertie, who, finding me sit-
ting disconsolate, for that the barges could not
yet go, and the roads were too much choaked
for wheels, bid me cheer up, saying he would
fain go himself to wait on the Prince of Wales
at the Hague, and, if I could be in light march-
ing order, he would escort me on horseback ;

Lady Beatrix. 99

so we set off, poor Mrs. Grant on a pillion
behind Lasonde. Gladly would I have spared
her but for Decorum. I wish Margaret had
not said what she did the last evening, but I
will not trouble myself, for what can be more
natural than that David and I should always
be good comrades, having known one another
all our lives : moreover he is younger than I
by three years, and even as passionately de-
voted to Montrose as to me, ever watching
him with greatest reverence. It would have
been a dismall journey but for his agreeable
conversation, and he even made Mrs. Grant
put a bright face upon things.

As we went he told me the latest news from
Paris ; how they are all fighting it out at last,
and Monseigneur le Cardinal ran up the tower
of St. Jacques himself to ring the alarm, Made-
moiselle and Madame de Longueville enjoy-
ing it all thoroughly ; but he knew nought of
Madame de Sable1, who doubtless doth not
enjoy it at all, though he had heard how the
good nuns of Port Royal have given shelter
to the poor and wounded, even stalling their
cattle in the Cloisters, so that themselves have
scarce room to move. I should like to be able
to do as Madame de Longueville, in our Cause
that is so much worthier than theirs, for she
stood in the Balcony of the Hostel de Villc,

ioo Journal of

and by her beautie and bravery persuaded
the people to join with her Brother.

Then for awhile he had to feel the way
most carefully ; so dismounted, leading my
horse and his own in silence, till we came to
a part of ye road so choked with half-melted
snow, we were brought to a pause ; but he
lifted up his voice and shouted for help so
lustily that the Peasants came from far and
near, with all good will, to clear the way, him-
self seizing a shovel and working as hard as
any of them. So we fared forward, but by
reason of ye heavie roads we did not reach
Brussels till gloaming. At the door of my
Brother's lodgings we met Dr. Wishart going
in, who was not a little amazed at seeing us ;
he brought us to his warm study, and there
told us how, when this dismal tidings arrived,
Montrose his heart failed him and he became
as a dead man, and did shut himself in his
own room for two days ; that now indeed he
comporteth himself as usual, yet is in no small
heaviness of heart, which the Doctor hoped
he might speak out to me, and he was right
glad I had come thus unlocked for. Hearing
this, I left the two gentlemen, went to my
Brother's door, and knocking thereat was bid-
den to come in ; yet, having entered, I stood
still in ye doorway, seeing how dejectedly he

Lady Beatrix. 101

sat gazing on the embers ; neither did he look
up till I spake, then he turned quickly, gazed
for a moment, and, springing up, cordially em-
braced me, exclaiming, " Why, Beatrice, ye are
half frozen ! " and led me to his own chair
whiles he threw a great log on the fire. I put
back my wet hood, and he asked how I came
and who had been mine escort. After a while
he withdrew to bid young Mathertie stay to
supper and sleep whiles I attired myself and
sent Mrs. Grant to bed ; but poor David had
already departed to his kinsman's house hard by.

At supper I could see, had it not already
been known to me, that my Brother hath had
a sore trouble, yet was I able to make him
smile at our adventures, being greatly tempted
to romance about them ; he said anyone would
think I enjoyed sitting on horseback with my
lap full of sleet, and it was well Conde was in
Winter Quarters, so that perforce the country
was quiet, though he knew we would not have
liked our journey the less had it been other-
wise.

After supper ye Doctor withdrew to write
more of his Latin book, and then Montrose
did ask what had caused me leave my friends
and come through the snow thus suddenly.
I said because I would fain be with him,
whereat he gave me one of those grave, kind

IO2 Journal of

looks that seem to search through my brain,
saying,—

"It was very good of you, my child."
So we fell a talking of this his heavie sor-
row, till at length he wept bitterly. A sad
and fearfull thing it was to see such grief; yet
would I not essay to stop him, only when his
hand fell on his knee I took it up and caressed
it till his fingers closed tight over mine. After
a while, his passion having somewhat spent
itself, he said this was a poor welcome for me,
and I could not tell him what joy it would be
if I could onlie comfort him. But I perswaded
him to lye back in the great chair and try to
sleep, for he owned that he had scarcely taken
rest since the ill tidings came. So for a while
there was silence, yet once or twice I found
his eyes resting upon me with a look of com-
fort, as if he thought it pleasant to see me
sitting near him again.

The next morning I awoke feeling far hap-
pier than I ought as a loyall subject, saving
that I felt somewhat anxious lest, after all,
my Brother's health should suffer by the
trouble of his Mind. He came down later
than his wont, by reason of ye sleeping potion
I had prevailed with him to take ; but when
he appeared he did at once reassure me by
saluting us chearfully, and vowing that he

Lady Beatrix. 103

had shown more fortitude in swallowing Mrs.
Grant's decoctn of cowslips than did Socrates
with ye hemlock. Afterwards he came in
when I was sitting alone, and shewed me a
copy of verses he hath composed, saying they
might very likely be the last he would write.

" Great, Good, and Just, could I but rate
My Grief, and thy too rigid Fate,
rd weep ye world to such a strains,

As it should deluge once again :
But since thy loud-tongued bloud demands supplies,
More from JBriareus' Handes than Argus' Eyes,
Fie sing thine Obsequies with Trumpet-soundes,
And write thine Epitaph in Bloud and woundes"

He bid me prepare, though he was sorry to
bring me on another journey so soon, for a
speedy start to the Hague, where he would
offer his services to our young king, and so
we are come hither.

5//j. — His Majestic hath already sent for
my Brother, whom he hath received with all
gratiousness, and given him credentials as his
own Lieutenant-Governor with full power to
levy forces against his rebellious subjects,
with the entire command in all Scotland, and
authoritie to confer knighthood on whom he
may think worthy. Peradventure the king
will himself go with the Expedition into Scot-
land. My Brother hath received new life

IO4 Journal of

from these fair prospects, for he hath sworn
before God, angels, and men, to avenge the
death of the Martyr, and set his son upon his
hereditary throne.

22nd. — All promised well till now that La-
narick and Lauderdale are come hither to
trouble us, as is their wont ; professing a pas-
sionate Loyaltie, for which they would make
the King believe they have been banished,
whereas all men know better ; and here are
Commissioners of ye Estates coming from
Scotland to help them. Specially will they
urge upon ye King to banish from his pre-
sence that excommunicated and forfaulted
Traitour, as they impudently and infandously
do call my Brother, applying such wordes to
him as might rather be keepit for themselves.
He onlie laughs at their malicious carriage
toward him ; but I never saw him more chafed
than when he heard of their coming, for the
hindrance they are like to be unto ye Cause,
insomuch that he did even utter an impreca-
tion, which he never did before, though it be
the fashion.

However, there are many honest Gentlemen
who will do their best to prevent ye King's
Youth and Innocencie being imposed upon,
the Chancellour for one ; although whenever
he cometh I know that I will have a dull

Lady Beatrix. 105

evening, save indeed that it is right pleasant
to hear him talk of his acquaintance. Speak-
ing of Mr. Jermyn last night, he said : " Those
who wish best to him, wish him out of the
way;" then of Mr. Ashburnham, "No man
hath so good an opinion of that Gentleman
as himself hath ; " to which I can bear witness
from what I saw of him in Holland, when he
came on a Fool's errand, seeking to persuade
my Brother to leave the Queen to such ad-
visers as himself and the rest of them. So
all supper-time I enjoy presiding at my Bro-
ther's table ; but afterwards they stay very
late, and then I am not sorry to have my
Lord Mathertie (as he is now become) taking
his seat beside me, let Margaret Sterling say
what she will.

I am sure he doth never indulge too freely
in my Brother's wine, as do some of our
friends, who before supper are very mirrours
of Courtesy, yet afterwards they will comfort
themselves by heartily cursing old Noll and
the Parliament, then will humbly beg my for-
giveness : I long to bid them ask pardon of
Heaven ; yet my heart bleeds for these brave
gentlemen, who have lost their all, and some
of those who laugh the loudest hide the
heaviest hearts for the fair young sons or
brothers gone down untimely into bloody

io6 Journal of

graves. Certainly I will not without cause
draw back from my chearful carriage toward
young Mathertie ; we are soe comfortable to-
gether as old friends, and if he wished to be
more, would he be so ever ready for a jest ?
Lilias, too, must needs trouble herself in the
matter. (I should like to know what hath
passed between her and Mr. Burrowe.) She
was sadder than ever after he left Paris so
suddenly.

May iith. — This evening, my Brother
having gone to pay his respects to ye Queen
of Bohemia, I waited his return in the oak
chamber, reading Mr. Milton's book till the
letters danced before mine eyes in the grey
twilight, for I am fain to keep it out of sight
when the gentlemen are by. Then I betook
me to the spinnet, playing dreamily one old
tune after another, whiles the

" Glowing Embers thro1 ye Room,
Taught Light to counterfeit a Gloom'"

Some airs there are I love to play when I am
sojourning in a town, for they make me think
of mossy places in the woods, and of solemn
moonbeams looking down through the leaves
on the little herbs below ; this minded me of
Fontainebleau, and made me wonder if I
should see the Burrowes again, wishing I could

Lady Beatrix. 107

help them and Lilias, and recalling the his-
toric William Burrowe told me of the Chief
Justice's Lady, who held Corfe Castle against
Sir Walter Erie himself, Hampden's friend-
till the thought of Montrose his approaching
Venture excluded all beside, and I sate plan-
ning how goodly a thing it would be sup-
posing I were to fall into the hands of the foe,
who should threaten me with instant death
unless I would reveal my Brother's designs.
Already I fancied myself kneeling blindfolded,
expecting the balls to come plunging into my
bosom, when there would be a rushing of
horses, and he spurring in headlong to the
rescue ; perhaps I would allow Lord Mathertie
to help ; but e'en then came the welcome
knock at the door, so I ran out to open it,
and be beforehand with our landlady, who
might have imposed on my Brother's good-
nature, requesting him to remove his wet
cloak and boots out on the street, which it is
likely as not he would have done, so cour-
teous is he to all women. He looked chear-
full, and bid me sit with him awhile by the
fire ; so I prayed him to tell me what Her
Majestic of Bohemia was like, and how she
was apparelled ; he was able to answer the
first question readily enough, saying she was
even such a lady as it would be joy to fight

io8 Journal of

for, she looked like a mother of Heroes.
Presently he added, " I met one Person who
was sorry ye were not there."

" Only one ?" I said, and he —

" Many did inquire for you, but I spake of
one especially — David Mathertie."

I said, "He is a good youth," and my
Brother —

" Nothing more ?"

Then I suddenlie bethought me I would
take courage to tell of my perplexity, and he
answered, " Your friends are right, Beatrix ."
I said I was sorry for it, and he, " Wherefore ?
methinks you have rather cause of gladness."

I said, " Nay, for I only lose a good friend,
and gain nothing." And at last I fairly said,
I was so happy with him I would not care to
change.

Then he, " But ye know, Beatrix, in a short
time I will be going to the war, and it may be
God's will that I return not again."

Then as I begged him not to speak after
that fashion, he took my hand, saying, " I would
not trouble you, child, yet were it not well
ye should consider this ? Neither is there any
Gentleman with whom I would more gladly
entrust you."

" But," I said, " surely he is going with you,
for if he remains behind, I will never speak to
him again."

Lady Beatrix. 109

Montrose answered that he knew the young
man meant to win me honourably, and to de-
serve my regard, adding that he would not
have said anything to me of what he hath
observed this long while, had not I begun.
" But," said he, " now we are talking of the
matter I will tell you there is nothing could
more win mine approval; and indeed I speak
for your good, for he loveth your very shadow."

" Oh Brother, you will not send me from

-\ M
you r

" No, I will not force your inclination, and
indeed, good sister, I have no wish to lose
you ; you have greatly cheered mine Exile,
and I am glad you have not misliked this
wandering life."

I assured him 'twas the brightest time I
have ever known ; so then we talked of all we
will do if this Expedition be successful and we
return home ; how we would lay out an Italian
garden under the yew hedges, where the first
snowdrops come ; and one thicket of yew that
was formerly a hen and chickens, shall be cut
into a crown, a Phcenix, or some such Emblem ;
and how Montrose will redress the wrongs of
his old followers, and we may hope to enter-
tain some of the friends we have made abroad,
and how pleasant it is that the Sterlings and
Napiers have houses not too far from ours.

no Journal of Lady Beatrix.

I for one shall be glad if I can take any Dutch
serving wench home with me, for their neat-
ness and cleanliness would be held marvellous
in Scotland.

I truly think Montrose would be sorry in
his heart if I were to leave him, but I might
have left him ere now, had I been so sillie as
to wish it.

So we sate together chatting by ye firelight,
till the sweet sound of church bells came
dropping through the wind and the rain, and
the great clock struck twelve. I am vext I
forgot to ask one thing when I had so good
opportunity, namely, how it were best to
carry myself toward this poor youth, as he
would know better how a man would feel than
I should, but he is occupied with more im-
portant matters.

CHAPTER XII.

May 2jtk.

DVICES just received that they
have beheaded the old Marquis of
Huntly ; what pity he would never
be friends with us ! Dr. Wishart
hath told me how earnestly my Brother was
desirous of unity, and once rode over all alone
to talk with the old man,, who was much
softened for the time by such frankness and
courtesy ; yet these good impressions did not
last : and now woe is me for his grey hairs all
dabbled in blood !

My Lady Aubigny and I were talking of
this tragedy but yesterday, and she was of
opinion that if he had joined Montrose he
might now have been alive and well. We are
glad to have made her acquaintance, knowing
how she sought to contrive the escape of his
late Maiestie from the hands of those his
bloudie and pitilesse enemies ; yea, and long

1 1 2 Journal of

before she had carried papers of importance
hidden in her beautifull hair. Wherefore
hearing she was arrived in this doleful place,
my Brother bid me wait upon her to see if in
any ways we might be serviceable unto her ;
for her Lord hath been compelled to take ser-
vice under the Emperour, and to leave her
here as in a place of safetie, her health not
suffering her to follow him.

We have met frequently, and yesterday she
made me sit with her to enjoy some confec-
tions, and presently began to talk of the un-
happy divisions in our little Court. I said
the quarrels were none of our seeking ; and
she remarked that it would be well for the
Cause if two such powerful Chiefs as Montrose
and Duke Hamilton were reconciled. To
which I replied that I knew my Brother was
willing to forget the past, and to be on friendly
terms with the Duke. So we concerted to-
gether if it might be brought to pass, and she
urged that I might open an intercourse more
easily than my Brother, declaring that but for
the present mourning she would give a ball
and make his Grace lead me out. Then I
asked whether I could not meet him as if by
chance in her apartments ? Just then an
English gentleman, an old friend of hers, came
in to pay his respects, whom she gladly wel-

I^ady Beatrix. 113

corned, and introducing him to me, prayed
that I would not be unwilling to take him into
councill, being a gentleman of proved discre-
tion and honesty. He opined that the better
way would be if some neutral person did first
meet the Duke, and seek to bring him to a
better mind. My Lady Aubigny pressed him
to undertake the office, to which he modestly
consented.

Meanwhile I have often seen Lord Mather-
tie, and have tried to keep state with him, but
not very successfully, for the graver I am the
more friendly is he ; and indeed, if ever I
have succeeded in being on punctilio with him,
I am tempted to make it up to him next time.
I wish he would marry Lilias.

To-day I was better pleased with him than
ever ; he came in looking flushed and discom-
posed, and on my asking what ailed him he
broke out into some exclamation about u That
fellow's cursed cool insolence ! " I drew my-
self up, and he did excuse himself, asking if
ever I had seen Lord Lauderdale ? I said,
No, and I had no wish. Then he : "If your
ladyship had had that ill-fortune, methinks
you would pardon my hastiness ; " then told
me how he had been taking wine in an alcove
at Monsieur de Dampierre's, in company with
certain Flemish gentlemen and others of our

ii4 Journal of

own Country, and the talk falling upon our
matters, my Lord of Lauderdale took the
opportunity of inveighing against Montrose,
vowing that no true Scotsman could ever
serve under him after such ravages as he had
committed, adding, with fearful asseverations,
such falsehoods that David expected the ceil-
ing to fall on their heads ; and but for respect
to their Host, he would have made his Lord-
ship eat his words at the point of the sword.
As he would have interposed, however, an
English gentleman cross-questioned him, ask-
ing whether Montrose had indeed slain women
and children, or caused the deaths of any in
cold blood after the Battle ? — to which Lau-
derdale could give but a lame answer, yet
averred that my Brother had raged so barba-
rously in the Field that his Countrymen could
never forgive him, and in particular at Inver-
lochy, where some 1,500 of the Campbells had
fallen. Then David spoke up valiantly, re-
minding the foreign gentlemen of the lawless
nature of our mountain troops, and how he
had himself seen my Brother in the very thick
of the fight, with his own hand, strike up the
sword of an Irish soldier, who was about to
slay an hoary-headed old reprobate. Then
when Lauderdale began once more to bemoan
his 1,500 Campbells, David took up his Pa-

Lady Beatrix. 115

rable, and related to the company how, when
the scaffold was erected for so many of Mon-
trose his dearest friends, he had himself, with
Napier and Sterling, entreated my brother to
make reprisals on the Covenanting prisoners
in his power. But my Brother flatly refused
to follow so ill example, and treated his pri-
soners with all civilitie. " And I said," con-
tinued David, "that I have always thought
my General was too magnanimous, and if he
had done like Prince Rupert, who soon put a
stop to such doings in England, perhaps
things would not have gone as they did after
Philiphaugh, when not Men only were the
victims." So Lauderdale was fairly silenced,
Monsieur de Dampierre declaring that for his
part he could not look on my Brother's face
and believe him guilty of any false or ungene-
rous deed. How strange it is that they should
so malign him! yet their Insolence waxeth
greater than ever, for they even say we were
art and part in the murder of Dr. Dorislaus,
as if we should meddle with such people ; and
when Montrose last went to wait on the King,
as he entered the Ante-chamber at one door,
Lauderdale and his men walked out at the
other, — this they said was because they would
not associate with an excommunicated Per-
son, but I think their guilty Consciences made

ii6 Journal of

them to shrink from his presence. I mind me
well how, when he took me with him to be
presented to ye Princess of Orange, one of
these gentry was bragging of his Loyaltie,
and how Montrose spake but one or two curt
words, flashing at the same time such a look
through the poor fellow that he slank away
all crestfallen. Oh, if ever he should so look
on me ! I would I might once see him in
fight : surely he would seem as an avenging
Angel to the rebel foe, but an Angel of mercy
to the vanquished.

O to be away from these flat roads and
miry Canals among my own heathery hills
once more ! and after all this parleying and
debating, that is wearing my Brother's heart
out, to hear the pibroch and see the gallant
war-plumes glinting through the birch-trees !

May ydth. — As we were breaking our Fast
this morning, entered Sir Francis Hay, and
prayed my Brother to speak with him apart,
whom presently I heard exclaim in a tone be-
twixt Amusement and Vexation, " Confound
the young Fool ! I will have him put under
Arrest." Afterward he invited Sir Francis to
stay and partake of the Pasty and Ale with us,
and it appeared that Lord Mathertie had re-
quested him to be the bearer of a challenge to
Lauderdale, but Sir Francis knew better than

Lady Beatrix. 117

to suffer one of the King's true servants should
risk his life in a Duello, though after all Ma-
thertie hath the more stalwart arm, and is an
excellent swordsman, beside having the better
cause.

June ^th. — Poor Lady Aubigne* liketh
these damp fogs no better than I do ; she is
both weak and ill at ease, yet hath our Cause
as much at heart as ever. Her friend hath
made acquaintance with Duke Hamilton, and
sought to reconcile him with my Brother,
neither did he find his Grace ill-disposed
thereunto, if but he could be free of Lauder-
dale, who is inseparable from him, insomuch
that he was fain to ask this gentleman to visit
him early in the morning, when they might
converse without interruption, the Duke bid-
ding his servant tell any one else that might
come that he was in bed. However, Lauder-
dale hath his lodging in the same house, and
presently made his appearance in his shirt — a
strange object he must have looked ! — and so
spoiled sport ; our friend ingeniously turning
the conversation at once to indifferent matters,
but not another word could he have with the
Duke alone. Even as my Lady Aubigne* was
telling me this, Duke Hamilton himself en-
tered, whether by accident or no I cannot say.
She joined us in conversation, and after some

1 1 8 Journal of

little volitations to and fro, I was earnestly
pleading my Brother's cause, and he assured
me he did no longer believe the slaunderous
reports he hath heard ; yet he seemeth bound
to the slaunderers by ties he cannot break. I
am sorry when I think of his sad, handsome
face and gentle bearing, and how he is in
thraldom to persons so greatly his Inferiours.
The more I pleaded the more wistfull he
looked, yet I feel it was all in vain. In the
evening I owned to my Brother what had
passed, and he was no ways displeased with
me, saying at any rate the quarrel would not
lie at our door. Then he told me he hath al-
ready arranged that his Officers are to form
rendezvous at Hamburgh and other Towns,
where they may collect and keep together
such Troops as the Emperour and the States
may furnish him withal. Sir George Sterling
is even now at Hamburgh ; Napier and Ma-
thertie are to raise what forces they may,
whilst Montrose proceedeth to Denmark and
Norway, whose Monarchs are likely to shew
him favour. As the King is ere long about to
visit ye queen-mother at Paris, we may soon
hope to wind up our Affairs, and leave these
dead marshes for the brave North lands.
What joy to go bounding over the green
waves in the glad sea breeze.

Lady Beatrix.

119

" To Norroway, to Norroway, to Norroway o'er ye
faeml"

But my Brother offered to send me to Mar-
garet Sterling, with her to abide whiles he is
in those distant lands; yet when I entreated
not to be left behind, he consented that I
should accompany him. I have not yet
spoken anent my following him into Scot-
land ; it will be time enough when I shall
have been in Norway.

CHAPTER XIII.

June

AVID MATHERTIE hath now
grown shy when I see him ; in
company he will keep with the
gentlemen all the evening, or if
we meet out of doors, will pass me with a
profound salutation instead of stopping to
chat, as he was wont agreeably to hinder my
marketing. Perhaps his friends have been
foolishly talking with him as mine have with
me, for I know gentlemen do discuss such
matters ; yet surely I need not fear he would
make me a subject of conversation with young
men. Perhaps it will be better if he does
speak, and I can tell him we are friends, but
not more.

i2tk. — So now it hath happened at last,
and I have done ill by this poor Youth, who
hath never shewn aught but kindness to me

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 1 2 1

and mine. All this day hath been dark and
rainy. Montrose is occupied with his Offi-
cers, and this dull, lingering twilight is sadder
than the ruddy winter evenings. Yesterday
my Brother and I walked in the fair, bright
sunset to Madame de Dampierre's, where we
met a brave company, being entertained with
musick and with the sight of a gallery of
Flemish pictures all glowing with colour.
Supper was laid in a Saloon on the other side
of the Quadrangle, and David was to conduct
me in. We chatted merrily together once more,
as in old times ; but he afterwards led me to
a window to see ye moon rise. Contrary to
his custom he stood by me in silence for some
minutes, then placed a letter in mine hands.
I scarcely spoke, and he led me back into the
light ; we joined the Company, both demean-
ing ourselves as usual for the rest of the
evening ; yet I felt a sort of awe and shy-
ness. My brother talked with me as we went
home of the pictures, deploring that such
talents should be lavished in limning of
drunken boors and Tobacco-pipes, saying that
he was poisoned enough with them all day
without meeting them in painting.1 Then I

1 It is said, and this passage confirms it, that Montrose
had a particular aversion to tobacco; and that it was

122 Journal of

asked him of the marvellous works he hath
seen in Venice, and in such discourse almost
forgot poor David till we had parted for
the night, and I had time to read his note,
which did indeed affect me not a little.
I have tried to word mine answer as kindly
as I might. I wonder when our next meet-
ing will be. Perhaps we will be constrained
at first, and then, I hope, resume our old in-
tercourse.

July 2nd. — Well-nigh three weeks have
passed, and I begin to fear he will depart for
his Command without my bidding him Good
Speed. It is sad our good fellowship should
end thus. How kind he was to me during
that dreary time at my Aunt's house ! bring-
ing me Plays and Romances without their
knowledge, though at that time he cared but
little for reading himself. Then he would tell
jests and merrie stories, yet without offending
even Aunt Dorothy, to whom he would listen
deferentially, so that she had hopes of win-
ning him to the Covenant ; yet if I spoke in
ever so low a tone he heard me, and now I

amongst the hardships of his last hours, that his guards
were continually smoking at his chamber door. Some old
accounts still preserved prove his father to have been an
inveterate smoker. — Ed.

Lady Beatrix. 123

know he bore all that tediousness for my
sake. It was a sad day for me when he joined
my Brother's army ; the house seemed duller
than ever, and Aunt Dorothy and the Chap-
lain denounced him, saying that if he were
slain his soul would be lost everlastingly, as
they did seem to wish, which, though I be-
lieved it not, was poor comfort for me. Even
Aunt Lilias bemoaned him as one that had
entered the way of Destruction.

Yea, and long ago, whenas we were but
children, we would play together among the
wild roses in the summer gloaming, walking
barefoot on ye fresh mossy turf, or wander-
ing far and wide to find glowworms. How I
vexed him once, when he had climbed the old
thorn, and brought away the blackcap's eggs
for me, and I would not take them, but wept
for the poor birdies and chid him, though he
had torn his ruffles and scarred his face and
hands for me.

I would give much to know we are still
friends, and that he forgives me my thought-
lessness, and is not angry with me ; indeed I
never deemed he would take it so to heart,
being, as he is, young and of a good Courage ;
neither hath he cause for self-reproach, as I
fear I have.

Lilias hath, without my telling, discovered

124 Journal of

this business ; wherefore, seeing that she hath
already had some experience in spite of her
tender years, I did ask her whether she thought
I had been to blame, and she could not in sin-
cerity acquit me. Alas ! my thoughts were all
taken up with my Brother's affairs, and when
mine eyes were opened it seemed too late.
She hath never seen that poor young Bur-
rowe since their memorable evening, yet me-
thinks there are kind words in her heart she
would fain speak to him. Were it not for
my half-promise of secresy, I would tell my
Brother ; he would know if a few friendly
words at parting would indeed make a man's
trouble heavier to be borne. He himself
parted kindly from that Italian lady, and
surely it is better for him that it was so.

$rd. — My Lady Aubigny also knows it
somehow, and began to speak slightingly of
poor David, as if that could be any comfort or
praise to me. I hope I did not forget my
manners ; however she unsaid her words, and
we made it up.

$th. — No more hath passed till last night,
when divers Officers came to sup, and I missed
poor David sorely, for after all it was pleasant
to know there was one would watch for me,
and see all I wore, and be vexed and sorry if
he could not talk with me.

Lady Beatrix. 125

Presently Archibald Napier asketh me from
the far end of the table, in the hearing of all,
" Wherefore my Lord Mathertie is not here ?
He was of so good spirit he could ill be
spared." Whereat Lilias did blush and look
on her plate, as she had been the guilty one ;
but I composedly made answer that I had not
seen him of late. I felt that Dr. Wishart was
smiling inwardly — as if there were ought
amusing in our troubles ! — and Sir Francis
Hay remarked, to mend the matter, that he
had met him the day before, looking sick and
sad, which was certainly something new. Then
my Brother said quietly, " Doubtless he is
tired of lingering here. I have had a billet
from him, praying me to let him have his
Commission, and depart as soon as may be."

Sir Francis. " I think, madam, we will miss
his fine basso in our madrigals."

/. " You will soon all be leaving me to sing
solar

Montrose. " Let us drink to our all joining
in Chorus at Auld Montrois, when the King
shall enjoy his own again."

So the toast was received with acclamations,
but when they were gone, Montrose desired
me to stay awhile and chat with him : I gladly
obeyed, and he asked me, " What had passed
between me and young Mathertie?" I mar-

126 Journal of

veiled how he could know, for surely I had
keepit my countenance steadily. Thereat he
laughed, saying, he thought few could have
maintained a more serene composure, and I
could not choose but laugh also at our good
nephew's ill-timed remarks. Then I told
my troubles, and he questioned me narrowly
whether indeed my regret were only at losing
an old friend ; and being satisfied on this point,
he did comfort me, saying, that although for
this present our intercourse was suspended, yet
he had little doubt we would one day be better
friends than ever, and though doubtless it was
a vexation to the young man, yet he never
knew any one the worse for such troubles, in-
deed, he thought they ofttimes were beneficial.
I asked whether it were convenient we should
meet for a few minutes ere he departed ? To
which Mountrose replied, "A brisk Campaign
with me through the Highlands will do him
more good than aught else," and promised to
visit him and tell him so. " I think," he
added, " men are different from women, in
that when their hope is dead, they do not, as
it were, hang lingering over its grave, but
seek to go where naught may remind them of
the past."

Then I glanced half unknowing at the ring
on his hand that was the Italian lady's parting

Lady Beatrix. 127

gift, and he said, answering my thought, "It
is true, Beatrix, I cannot be too thankful I
saw that lady again ; but it was not of her
will we were parted."

Then I told him how these many days I
had hoped I might perchance fall in with my
poor Friend, and resolved what I would say,
and how I would carry myself toward him,
but if Montrose would indeed go to see him,
would he bear a few words from me, and tell
him how sad I was for the return I had made
him for his kindnesse ? and he replied, " There
can be no harm in that."

I told him how he had lightened mine
heart, and he : " Truly none can think but it
is a kind heart, yet tell me, Child, have such
things ne'er befallen you till now ? "

" Yea, there was one in Paris, but I cared
not for him, and thus I saw when it was well
to hold aloof; neither was it any Trouble to
me : but as for poor David, I had always
hoped a Lady and Gentleman could be friendly
and pleasant together without all these vex-
ations arising."

Montrose. " This cloud will pass away, and
you will ever feel a cordial Regard for one
another. And now, Child, it were well you
should go to your bed, and fret no more over
these matters."

128 Journal of

I. " Indeed I shall sleep softly to-night—
and my lord, are you so very sorry I am not
going to leave you ?

Montr ose. " Boast not, fair Lady, the time
may yet come."

/. " Aye, on the 3Oth of ffebruary."

So we chearfully parted : more than all was
I comforted by my brother's promise that he
would himself visit mine old friend, and the
words that have burned in my heart will be
spoken at last.

July Viij. — This evening my dear Brother
had me with him for a walk by the Canal, and
when we had found a pleasant seat under the
lime trees he told me that he had just seen
David Mathertie, and left him comforted with
my message, speaking of me with the utmost
Cordialitie and respect. I said I was glad he
forgave me the pain I had caused him.

My Brother made answer, " I do not think
it hath so much as entered his mind that he
hath aught to forgive."

I said, " Dear Brother, did you tell him how
sorry I am ?"

" Yea, and he bid me bear you word that
he will be a better man all his life for having
known you. And now, Beatrix, tell me more
of this French gentleman ; was it any one I
knew ?"

Lady Beatrix. 129

He recollected le Vicompte de Rosny when
I named him, and I made him laugh, telling
how Monsieur came to pay his respects with
gloves so tight he could by no means remove
them to touch my hand, and had sent me a
sonnet professing to be his own, whereas it
was by Monsieur Voiture, whose poems Ma-
dame de Sable had lent me before ; wherefore
I thanked him politely, and asked if he could
procure me the sight of other of Monsieur
Voiture's writings.

" I remember now," said Montrose, " he
persuaded Monsieur de Montausier to bring
him to visit us. Mademoiselle de Scudery
was there likewise."

" Yea, and I talked with her all the time."

" Ha ! I recall it now, and I was not over-
pleased at your walking off with that good
lady, and leaving me to entertain the two gen-
tlemen ; but you are a discreet person."

This was almost the fairest evening we have
spent in the Low Countries. There was a
pretty rosey light where the sun was going
down, and in the sweet lime boughs above us
the bees were humming, whiles the last sun-
beams kindled the fresh leaves till they
glowed like unto flakes of Chrysoprasus. As
we wended our way slowly homewards, my
favourite star, Arcturus, that is mentioned in

K

I3° Journal of Lady Beatrix.

ye Book of Job, was shining in his old sum-
mer mansion ; while the Evening star danced
like a firefly in still waters at our feet. Before
us the lights of the town were gleaming
through dark trees, and the sound of bells
came to us with the dew. We talked together
of our too hasty travells, of the marvellous
sunsets we watched from deep vallies, where
we sate in twilight, while the peaks above
glowed golden, till the moon rose ; and of the
voice of the torrent, that was like a glad greet-
ing in the morning, and sang me to sleep at
night, when the cattle-bells were silent. My
Brother said he liked to see the great moun-
tains rising as a solemn vision above the mists
and noises of the valley. Yet how few per-
sons care for those wild regions ; even poor
Lady Aubigne, though drowning in the fog
down here, laughed at my love of moorlands
and mountains, and did much prefer the great
plains of France, where the Poplars stood in
rows like unto combs set upright, to ye
hideous rocks, as she called them, of Fon-
tainebleau. I believe she thought Scotland
a barbarous Nation and the end of the world.

CHAPTER XIV.

July

UR walk a few nights since was
more pleasant than prudent, for
the next morning I woke with
such an headache, almost for the
first time in my life, I could scarce open mine
eyes. Mountrose observed my indisposition
in spite of me, and did ask if it were on poor
David's account I did scarce break my fast ;
but I said the thought of the hill-sides made
this air seem all the heavier. When we rose
from table, a sudden Dizziness came over me,
that I would have fallen had not he leaped
across and supported me. He was much
alarmed, and would fain have sent for a Phy-
sitian ; but I dreaded lest one of these Dutch-
men might be for giving me Salt of Skulls or
a toad pounded with a cock and a mole, or
opening a vein now that ye mo.on is decreasing,

132 Journal of

and so I might be a week in bed, wherefore I
did for once rebel, and prayed him first to
consult Mistress Grant, who was noways sur-
prised at my being ill after tarrying so late
by the Canal. My Brother remarked we had
often done the same thing elsewhere, and she
answered him that she did only marvell he
was not ill too. He said, " Well it would
have served me right," which seemed to please
her ; then fairly taking me in his arms, though
I am nearly as tall as he is, he carried me to
my chamber, where I was imprisoned for three
days ; but as he ofttimes came to sit by me,
I did not mind, and as soon as Mrs. Grant
would allow it, I made good progress in long
seams of shirts and bed-gowns, so as not to
waste time. Sometimes, also, I had pleasant
dreams of the sunset lights on mountains far
away, or of the Elder trees and the brooklet
near my own old home, of the old folk there,
and the great dog that used to bark so joy-
ously when he went abroad with us, and my
good, faithful, rough pony.

One evening my Brother and I were plan-
ning together what we would do at home, and
how much the Estate would need his eye after
so long absence, beside the righting of such
among his retainers that may have suffered
at the hands of the Rebels ; also he thought

Lady Beatrix. 133

it might be his duty to tarry near the young
King in readiness to be of service, whereat I
could not help saying, " Nay, ye are too good
for that." I was frightened when the words
were out ; but he only bid me bridle ye Unruly
Member, and then we talked of his two boys.
He is eager to have them with him now they
are growing up, and it is a sad thing and a
grievous that they have been for long years
thus severed, though their letters and the
accounts he receiveth of them from their
Grandfather and their tutor do give him
much satisfaction, both as to their health and
Intellectuals. I said I hoped when we all
live together I may find them dutifull and
towardlie nephews. " Aye," said he, " to their
venerable Aunt"

Then entered Mrs. Grant, bearing a dose of
simples, and said, with a stern countenance,
" You have talked long enough, my Lady."
Wherefore my Brother arose, bent over the
pillow and kissed me, bidding me to sleep
well.

That night I was visited by strange dreams.
I fancied myself back in our old orchard at
home, and could even see the fallen apple-
blossoms lying in the deep fresh grass and the
cool shadows. Then I seemed to wander away
till I came to our place of burial : my Mother

134 Journal of

was standing among the graves, and I knew
her at once, though waking I can but dimly
recall her aspect. She stood gazing far away
with a glad exulting face, but when I said
Mother, she answered not, only looked upon
me very tenderly and pityingly, whereat I
was wakened by the beating of my heart, and
my pillow was wet with tears.

The next morning Lilias came to ask how
I fared. She said Archibald was in great
delight at the prospect of being out with
Mountrose once more, but, said she, " I would
be glad enough if it were' lang and lang ere
they depart."

" Now fie upon thee, Lilias ! What if our
Brethren were by to hear you ?"

Lilias. " I dare not speak sae before them,
but we have been all sae happy together ; — and
there was a gentlewoman with me yesterday,
telling me what I knew already of the perils
our friends will incur, specially should they be
made Captive."

/. " E'en as when ye Prophet Elisha was
to lose his beloved Master, and all his friends
must remind him of his grief, till he answered
them sharply, saying, Yea, I know it ; hold
ye your peace."

Lilias. " She advised me to seek to per-
suade Archibald to stay behind, but I told her

Lady Beatrix. 135

I might as well seek to stop the waterfall at
Inversnaid; and if I could, I would not be the
one to let him from his duty."

" Ye love him too well for that, and if ye
will be ruled by me, Lilias, you will not talk
with that wearisome body again."

Lilias. "She meant well" (so much the
worse, thought I), "and said I ought not to
shut mine eyes to the truth."

"If the Truth be ill-favoured and we cannot
mend it, let us shut our eyes to it as long as
we may, and God will give us strength to face
it when the Day comes."

Then we talked of our latest advices from
my Lady Betty Napier, who longeth for
Montrose his coming with her husband, to
put an end to her present desolate condition,
and saith her Lord will scarce know ye chil-
dren, they are so improved since he hath seen
them. But when Lilias had gone in better
cheer than she came, the forebodings that
have scarce troubled me till now did much
molest me, and I seemed to have no power to
wrestle with them as before, for I have been
chearful, more than many women would be,
resolving to enjoy the day, and let the mor-
row take thought for the things of itself, and
have been the better enabled to act up to this
resolution by abstaining from much converse

136 Journal of

with certain of my friends about the Future ;
for the Duke of La Rochefoucauld was right
after all, and they that be most tender-hearted
do yet often strangelie enjoy the troubles of
their Friends.

I determined, as soon as I might go abroad,
to consult a certain astrologer, of whose wis-
dom divers persons had spoken, so went yes-
terday with Lasonde. The walk was so chear-
ful after being shut up, the sight of shops and
the Goodwives with market-baskets or jugs of
beer, and the little children smiling up in my
face as they always do, that being arrived at
ye Sage's door I was disposed to return, but
thought it a pity after coming so fan Being
ushered silently into a darkened chamber, I
became aware of a venerable man with a Skull
before him, sitting amid great books and
globes. He asked what I would with him,
and almost before I had answered, that I
would fain know the fate of the expedition
against ye Scots rebels, he replied to me in
mine own language, " Madam, your Brother
shall win more glory than in all his former
conflicts."

I craved to know yet more, and he desired
to be informed concerning the year, month,
day and hour he was born ; having satisfied
him as best I might, and after much searching,

Lady Beatrix. 137

he said the stars were perplexing, and spake
of propitious and unprosperous planets in Con-
junction in the House of Life : yet this much
was clear, that the Captain-General should, in
his eight-and-thirtieth year, go through great
peril, but neither was sword forged nor bullet
molten that should slay him. Thereat I went
my ways, well pleased till the remembrance
arose of Spottiswoode and Colonel Nathanael
Gordon,1 so resolved I would myself try the
Sortes Virgilianae ; for as his late sacred Ma-
jesty and my Lord Falkland had sought thus
to know their fate at Oxford, it could not be
unlawfull, though indeed their example was
not encouraging. Being returned, I prayed
Dr. Wishart to lend me his Virgil, and opened
it with my finger on these words :

" Hti mihi! qualis erat ! quantum mutatus ab illo
Hectore, qui redit exuvias indutus Achillis,
Vel Danavm Phrygios iaculatus puppibvs ignes !
Squalentem barbatn, et concretos sanguine crines,
Vvlneraque ilia gerens, qua circvm plurima muros
Accepit patrios?

What might this mean ? In great terrour I
took up my Bible all trembling, to try what
oracle might be found therein, and these were

1 Two of Montrose's friends who had been made
prisoners and executed. — Ed.

1 38 Journal of

the words I lighted on : " The Lord is with
thee, thou mighty Man of Valour •." This com-
forted me, and after a while Dr. Wishart came
in, to whom I owned what use I had made of
his book. " But wherefore, Madam," quoth
he, " did ye open sae near to the beginning?"

" Because, sir, I dreaded lest I should light
on the parting of Turnus and his sister."

Then he laughed aloud, and prayed me
next time I would explore Futuritie to let him
help me ; " For," said he, " with this edition of
Virgil I would engage to open blindfold on a
favourable passage, such as old Anchises his
prophecy that .^Eneas should conquer the
Land ;" and he did even so as he spake ; then
told me how mine honoured Mother had con-
sulted with seers soon after Montrose his
birth, but would never reveal to any what
they had foretold. E'en then my Brother
entered, and without telling him what had
led our discourse that way, he drew him into
conversation on dreams and second sight. He
said : " There was one Prediction made con-
cerning me, whenas I had broken the heads of
Patrick Grahame and John Grahame of Fin-
try, and my Father exclaimed, ' This boy will
trouble all Scotland.' "

Dr. Wishart. " Those twain have stood in
fight beside your Lordship since then."

Lady Beatrix. 139

Montrose. " Yea, we were good friends ever. "

I asked if our unhappy uncles of Gowrie
had indeed owned the power of raising the
Dead ? and he said they had enough to answer
for without such sacrilege, for though the
Dead may ofttimes appear, yet it is by Divine
permission ; neither doth he believe it is in
the power of Necromancers to disturb their
sleep.

I asked if he thought dreams were now
vouchsafed us of solemn import ? and he said,
Surely ; had I been visited by any ? Then
when I replied I had dreamed much lately of
our home, he asked on what night ? and being
told, he said no doubt my head was still
feverish, and distempered fancies had troubled
my sleep ; reminding me how Mistress Grant
had beat up his quarters by my bed-side, and
caused him to retreat.

Then Dr. Wishart spoke up roundly, that
he would take more account of a man's dream-
ing than of a Woman's, seeing that women's
phansies are easily wrought upon. I said I
was better than some Men, for instance young
Master Burrowe, who never would go near the
buttery of his Father's house after dark, lest
he should meet the Ghost of their old serving-
man, sitting at the door with a pipe and a pot
of beer. My Brother asked, Did that likely

140 Journal of

young fellow own as much before our Cousin
Lilias ? I said it was likely enough, young
men know so little when to keep silence.

Then we spake of Dante, and my Brother
said we must resume our reading of Italian
when we have times of greater leisure. Dr.
Wishart asked if Dante had not given a place
in Hell to Michael Scott and the soothsayers,
and being answered Yes, " Then," quoth he,
" that is as wise a thing as Dante ever did in
his life, for as ^Eschylus hath it, they never
foretell good, but only evill."

" Nay," said I, "if so, surely their punish-
ment is in this world." And my Brother told
us of one good Prophecie at any rate among
the Hielanders, that he alone shall restore
the lawful King, smiling thereat, yet his eyes
gleamed as he spake.

The Memirius Caledonius hath made men-
tion of strange portents witnessed by many,
of Armies in the air that seemed to charge
and flee ; yet Dr. Wishart thinketh them to
be but the Northern Lights, that wont to be
called the Merrie Dancers ere men's minds
were full of sad and solemn matters.

Then my Brother repeated in a deep low
tone those awful words of Holy Writ :

" And David lifted up his eyes and saw the
Angel of the Lord stand between the Earth and

Lady Beatrix. 141

the Heaven, having a drawn sword in his hand
stretched out over Hierusalem"

When we arose to depart, Dr. Wishart ob-
served, one would think this were Allhalloween
rather than Midsummer, and we should be
sitting by the fire roasting nuts and telling
Ghost-stories, instead of sitting with the win-
dow open feasting on gooseberries.

My Brother said, " Perhaps when Allhal-
loween shall come round next year but one,
we may be burning nuts by our own ingle ; "
then slily asked me aside if I knew what Au-
guries are wont to be drawn frae the nuts ?
So we wished one another good-night. I read
ye xx. chapter of ye Ilnd Book of Chronicles
in my room and prayed heartily, giving thanks
for the pleasant evening, then laid me down
in peace and took my rest.

This morning, to help me yet more, that
good, fat, motherly Madame de Dampierre
came to see me, being clad, to use Mistress
Grant's expression, as fine as a Carrot. She
asked after my health, and said no doubt I
would be better still when this Expedition
shall be over. I told her of my visit to the
Astrologer, and she thought his answers were
such as ought to cheer me, reminding me how
Montrose hath in all his Battels never received
so much as a scratch, so that he is thought to

142 Journal of

bear a charmed life. I said it was not that I
feared so much as his being made Prisoner ;
and she cried, if he were, our enemies would
not dare hurt an hair of his head. " You will
sell your jewels to ransom him, and I will
steal my Husband's Tulip-roots whiles he is
asleep after dinner, so my risk will be greatest."

Her pleasant words cheered me not a little,
though, alas ! she knoweth nought of the bit-
terness of Enmitie in Scotland. Then she
had me away with her to see again her Pic-
tures, which I liked much better this time,
specially some by a young painter, one Rem-
brandt, strangely solemn, but mine Hostess
said they were too dark and awful, and
shewed me others by Mynheer Cuyp, that I
would fain bear away with me, so as to have
golden sunshine always to look upon.

The place reminded me of my last meeting
with mine old friend, and Madame, not with-
out malice, did inquire much after " ce bea^t•
jeune homme ; " adding that his work seemed
to have made him grave and sedate when he
visited her to take his leave. I did answer
her with all gravitie, not being over-well
pleased that our secret, which has caused us
so much trouble, should be a matter of enter-
tainement to our friends.

When I was returned, my Brother handed

Lady Beatrix. 143

me a Dispatch just received from David, with
the words, " I may as well tell you at once
what the poor Gentleman saith." All the first
part of his letter was on our Business : he
hath raised some score of sturdy Zealanders ;
moreover, his kindred write from Scotland
that all men are heartily wearie of Argyle.
The conclusion ran somewhat after this sort :
" Wherefore it seemeth me yt alle things look
prosperous, and if I be allowed to help your
Excellencie in giving these troublesome Ras-
calls their due, 'twill be ye greatest Happi-
nesse I can promise myself; and suld I meet
ye Fate of many a better Man I will not com-
plain, if onlie that noble Lady will own me
not all unworthie of her Regard." Then he
craved pardon for speaking of his private
matters at such a time, saying he was encou-
raged thereunto by his Lordship's Condescen-
sion in visiting him whiles he was yet in so
great perturbacion of mind, than which no
kindnesse was ever more acceptable.

I do hope he will be carefull of himself and
not over-bold. It is indeed great comfort to
think how many brave men are devoted pas-
sionately, life and limb, to my Brother — Na-
pier, Sterling, Sir Francis Hay, would all fight
for him to the last drop of their blood ; so
would Mathertie, and not only for my sake.

CHAPTER XV.

July i6tk.

Y Brother is minded to have my
portraict taken ere we leave the
Low Countries, as there are no
limners like the Flemings. Ac-
cordingly this very morning I have been
sitting to Mynheer — but it is hopeless to spell
his name. Montrose went with me, and told
the Painter he hoped I would not prove so
difficult a sitter as he was to Mr. Walker, who
after long toiling at length flung his palette at
ye head of the poor Colour-grinder, "meaning
it," said he, " I doubt for mine ; " after which
he succeeded in drawing a very fine Portraict.
When he was gone, Mynheer observed he did
not wonder at his brother Artist's despair, for
he had never seen a face so full of contradic-
tions, explaining that he had often studied it,
and could see how under its Gravitie was hid-

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 145

den Fire ; yet the more it was looked into, the
more Gentleness would appear.

2Qth. — My visits to the Painter's Studio are
right pleasant ; the old gentleman keepeth me
great part of the time in agreeable discourse,
telling me of the wild pranks played by Sir
Anthony Vandyke when a Student, and of the
splendid state kept by Sir Peter Paul Rubens ;
or making me relate to him my Brother's deeds
of arms ; and when he is silent I gaze on the
Statues, suits of Armour, and other beautiful
things half seen, half hidden. He prayed me
for the time to lay aside my mourning apparel,
in which he likened me to Aurora rising from
a thunder-cloud ; and truly I enjoy wearing
my emerald-coloured velvet again, although
that colour is deemed unlucky in our Clan. I
am weary of black and will be glad when my
brother shall give me leave to change, luckily
he hath not let his beard grow in sign of
mourning, like General Dalziel. The picture
maketh good progress ; already I can see my
figure emerging from the dark shadowes of an
oak staircase, which I am descending, the light
falling on my hands filled with white roses, and
glancing on my pearls and lace ; indeed I am
glad to be so comely, and this good gentle-
man telleth me he can trace some far-off re-
semblance in my face to my Brother's, so it

146 Journal of

was no marvell that poor Mathertie loved it
well.

31^. — The Portrait is finished, and my
Brother well-pleased therewith ; but he hath
prayed Mynheer to let it abide in his Studio
till such time as he can send for it. He asked
me to-day near which of our Ancestors I would
like it to be hung, and I prayed him to let it
go beneath the portrait of our great grand-
father that was slain at Flodden. It is
curious, as Mistress Anastasia was once ob-
serving, that among our Scottish families so
few die in their beds. Montrose declared,
" The better for them," and said his one fault
with the English Liturgy, which he for his part
liked well enough, though not the forcing oi
it upon the people, was the Petition against
Sudden Death.

I said, " I can well imagine, so one were
but ready, it would be great happiness to escape
a long sickness, with all the nursing and melan-
choly circumstances attendant thereon."

" Ay," he replied, " it is the best wish I could
form for any friend of mine, to escape all that
lingering drearinesse ; one moment to feel the
full glow and vigour of Life, the next to be
face to face, who can tell with what Glory ?"

" Yea," I added, " and to escape seeing all
the woefull countenances ;" and yet if I were

Lady Beatrix. 147

suddenly struck with Death, I think I should
wish for time allowed to see him bending over
me, and whether he looked very sorry ere I
closed mine eyes on this world.

I said if I could choose, and it were not pre-
sumption, I had oft-times thought how goodly
a death it were to die by some fall or other
accident on the Mountains — the moss-grown
rocks for my death-bed, and for my chamber
the sunny hill-side and open sky — but best of
all, to die saving another. And Montrose
said, for his part he would fall on the Bat-
tle-field in the moment of Victory, or with his
friends for the lost Cause, not surviving its
overthrow. I said that of all ways of leaving
the world, the Martyrs' seemed noblest, think-
ing of those glorious paintings we have seen
of St. Catherine and St. Sebastian ; but he re-
minded me there have indeed been many
Martyrs even lately.

How pure should we keep our hearts, if we
would aspire to such Happinesse ! Surely they
are favoured of Heaven that are thus speedily
removed, with but one sharp pang, then the
welcoming among the blessed ; and therefore it
is so many must undergoe the long discipline
of sicknesse, yea, and the sad, heavie years
when youth is departed and friends are gone.

Ere going to rest I read the story of

148 Journal of

Jephthae and his daughter; what lordly Eu-
thanasie was her's ! and yet how terrible in
the prime of youth to depart from the glad
sunlight and the loved voices, and all beautifull
things, leaving her Father in his Desolation !
But when they met again after not many years,
doubtless they owned it was well.

2nd. — And now the King is gone to Paris,
where I hope he will take care of ye Queen
his Mother, for we hear it went ill with her in
the late Commotions, when our good little
friend De Retz found her without fire, and her
young daughter lying a-bed for the cold, so he
did all in his power to help them.

Montrose hath bidden me make ready for a
start, meaning first to go to Denmark, where
the King is well disposed to aid us. After all
I am sorry to leave the kind people here, and
this place where I have been so happy ; and I
could wish the way to Norway lay by the
South, where the sky minded me of the terrible
Chrystal in his clearness, and the wayside
Crosses met our eyes continually. Well do I
recollect at Strasburg our happening upon a
Cloister-way with the floor all uneven, where
we walked for the shadow and the coolness,
till we came to an old Church, on the outer
wall whereof was a painted Presentment of our
Lord on the Cross, with the Virgin Mary and

Lady Beatrix. 149

St. John standing by ; and how in the Tyrol
we were once in a lonely Village on one of
their Festival Days, the little Chapel was
crowded full, and many lay on their knees
without. We could scarce refrain from kneel-
ing down beside them, so passionate was the
Fervour of their Devotion ; the tears were
streaming down the cheeks of many bearded
men, neither was there a face among all that
number but I could have trusted to the Death.
My Brother said afterwards he would give a
yeare of his Life if he could raise a Company
of such men for our Cause.

Yet much as I would like to go Southward
again, and to see the Marvells of Italy, yet am
I well content that my Brother hath declared
it will be expedient we should remain some
time at home when once we are there. It will
be a comfort to have done with packing and
unpacking ; and I will ask him for the Turret
chamber that was my Mother's closet, to be
mine own, where I may keep my books, and
set out her work-table with the achate Bon-
bonniere, that was Madame de Sable's parting
gift, and the purple enamelled ttui case given
me by poor Lady Aubigne.

How fain would I see the old places again
—my little chamber that had the sunshine in
Winter ; but when in the mild April days I

150 Journal of

opened my lattice, it was full of pleasant
odours from the sweetbriar that grew be-
neath, and in Summer all the wainscoating
and ceiling were green with light reflected
from the elm-trees ; then the Tapestry in the
great room, with grim figures of the Muses,
among which I cared not to be left alone on
Winter afternoons. Perhaps another Spring
I may be rising early, as of yore, to see the
kine milked ; rejoicing to take my way while
the grass is muffled, as it were, with silver
gauze, or ever the daisies be awakened by
the low sunbeams. Then being arrived at
the Farm, how the Gudeman and Henwife
would look pleased at my coming, and set a
cracket ' for me in the old Barn whilst they
drew the sweet fresh milk, and the sunbeams
fell through the chinks in white and orange
streaks on the sides of the cows. I wonder
if the good patient creatures be yet alive. It
was no small pleasure to hear that our re-
tainers have remained unmolested. Strange
it is how often one word in Mr. Milton's
poems will bring those past times back to
me ; those lines of his in " Lycidas " make
me even see the heavie, disconsolate droop-
ing of the wild flowers I had gathered in long
rambles as they faded in my hands. There

1 Anglice, three-legged stool. — Ed.

Lady Beatrix. 151

was a volume of Chaucer somewhere in the
Book-room ; perhaps, when we have leisure,
my Brother will read it with me. Then we
will ride together over the Moorlands, where
the sunsets are so golden, and our horses'
hoofs crush pleasant smells from the wild
Thyme : sometimes I would walk there early
to mark the varied and glorious hues of the
dewdrops on the brown fern, or I would gaze
up at the great Beech trees that stand in the
sunlight in Autumn like a glorious vision with
the deep sky behind their glowing leaves.
Surely I will be in no haste to wander away
again from the old kindly folk among whom
I have gone in and out from my childhood,
though I have so oft forgotten them among
strangers ; and I am glad Montrose hath, in
his devotion to our Cause, refused all the
grand offers the Emperour had made him, if
he would but be his Field-Marshall.

Here follows a long list of presents she
has collected in the course of her travels for
numbers of old servants and others ; specially
she names a " wrought indented Casket " for
her surviving aunt, Lady Lilias Ruthven, re-
gretting that she had been unable to send in
time the souvenir intended for her Aunt
Dorothy, especially as they had not always
been friendly together. But Lord Napier's

152 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

frequent correspondence with the " Lady
Betty," his wife, had enabled Beatrice to send
her some ells of goodly Flemish lace, which
it seems probable were put to a use little
thought of, for we read that Montrose was
enabled to appear at his execution in gar-
ments befitting his rank through the kindness
of his friends, nearly all of whom, excepting
this lady, were in exile or involved in the
same ruin with himself. Particular mention
is made by eyewitnesses of the rich Flemish
lace with which the shirt was trimmed that he
wore on the fatal morning.

But while the black storm-cloud is gather-
ing, the last sunbeams still fall brightly on
the head of Lady Beatrix, who pleases her-
self with hopes and plans for the future, her
Journal being full of little household details ;
of the arras and damask she has been able to
buy ; of the foreign recipes and fashions that
are to edify the neighbours ; but more than
all, the enjoyment of her brother's society when
the shadow of war shall darken their path no
longer, and when his two sons shall be re-united
to him after so many years of separation.

We have not the heart to trace all these
pleasant dreams, knowing as we do how
swiftly they were dispersed in the darkness,
but will resume her narrative at Copenhagen.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE JOURNAL RESUMED.
September

E came hither after a right pleasant
Journey. It was a goodly sight to
see the green tossing waves, with
foam-bubbles rising from their clear
depths, whiles at times we could scarce keep
our footing, and it minded me of my happy
voyage with the Sterlings, when I had left
alle sadnesse behind me. May the next be
better still ! But at night how glorious it
was to see the waters brightening beneath
the Moon, till she had traced a broad quiver-
ing pathway across the dark sea, on which I
could fancy the Angels moving.

My Brother interceded for me with the
Captain, that I might be allowed to sit on
Deck all night, instead of being sent below to
the foul Cabin ; so I wrapped me in my cloak

154 Journal of

and sate listening to the wash of the waves
against the good ship's side, and sometimes
falling asleep, till the moon was gone, and the
morning star in her stead cast a glimmering
splendour on the sea, when just as I was con-
sidering if I should wake my Brother to look
upon it, he came across the deck to wake me,
and sate by me till sunrise.

We were received on the Wharf by Sir
George Sterling, and, to my great delight, his
wife also, he having brought her thither as a
safe and chearfull place where she may tarry
till he shall send for her home to the Keir.
They had come down every day for the last
week to meet us, and we had much to say, so
it was well we could take up our quarters in
the same Inn.

Sir George hath not met the success he de-
serves in raising Levies, not for lack of good
will, but of Money. His wife observed to me
she could see how he was cheered already by
my Brother's conversation, yet he hath not
quite so much Confidence as Sir Francis and
the rest, who think the mere Terrour of
Montrose his name will scatter our Enemies,
as the sun chaseth away the mist from Loch
Lomond. Then, while the gentlemen were
arranging their business, she said to me :

" I have seen Lord Mathertie on our way
hither."

Lady Beatrix. 155

" How fared he?"

" Well ; but he is changed, for he did but
answer brieflie to our Enquiries after you and
the Napiers, neither could he tell me of the
fashions, nor any news save what concerned
this Warre, of which I hear enough from mine
Husband."

"These are stirring times, Margaret, and
may make all men thoughtfull."

" Our young Gallants are never so joyous
as when they may hope to have their heads
broken : nay, Beatrix, it is something else
hath so altered his humour, unless — which
Heaven forfend — he be fey."

" I wish I had hearkened to your warning,
Kinswoman."

" Ah, Beatrix, ye know not what ye have
thrown aside ; but Montrose doth cast a Gla-
mour over us all. I might have done the
same in your place."

The King of Denmark hath received Mont-
rose with all consideration as Embassadour
Extraordinary, and hath promised both ships
and men, so he is right chearful, and I would
be likewise, were it not that I fear it is his
intention to leave me behind with Margaret
and Lilias, whiles he and the rest are adven-
turing in Scotland, thinking I will be better
off in this friendlie Town than campaigning

156 Journal of

beyond the seas with him. Little do they
know how we mope when we are left alone,
whiles they are out in the world gaining their
Victories ; or if things go against them, at
least they know what hath befallen, whilst we
are all troubled and anxious together. But I
will watch till I may find him in a mood pro-
pitious to my endeavour, and then try if I
cannot perswade him to let me be his com-
panion, for I will be in no waies burthen-
some unto him : I will take only such Clothes
as will go in saddle-bags. I can tend the
wounded, and will learn to load guns, aye
and fire them if needfull. And if we have to
march in winter, or to live on Oatmeal, I will
endure like the Men, being myself mountain-
bred, and in the very strength and pride of
my days. Anything rather than feel mysel
wearing to threads like an old stocking.

" He either fears his Fate too much,
Or his deserts are smalle,
Who daurs not put it to ye touch
To win or lose it alle."

iQth. — I have made the attempt, whilk is
some comfort, specially as he heard me out
very kindly instead of putting me off with a
"Tush! it cannot be." Sir James Douglas,
Major Melvin, and others, had been here with
Advices lately received from Scotland, that

Lady Beatrix. 157

Montrose his mere presence will do the Busi-
ness, and praying him not to tarry for his men,
who can follow ; nay, that Sir David Leslie's
own soldiers may come over to us.

In the Evening we were talking together of
this good news as we sate at leisure ere the
lamp was lighted, enjoying our first fire ; and
my Brother said how blithe he would be to
chastize Leslie's Barbaritie. I was meditating
how I might open my Trenches, when he did
so himself by observing that he was glad he
could leave me in such good quarters. Then I
exclaimed, " Oh, that I were your Brother, and
could go with you into Battle !" He answered,
"He would not have me other than that I
am." Then I fairly begged him to take me
with him to Scotland, whereat he smiled, say-
ing, " Why, what would I do with you there ? "

I said, " Let me have but a horse and a
pair of pistols, and I will take none of your
men from his duty to guard me."

Montrose: " Bravely spoken, but in my for-
mer Campaign I had not horses enough for a
score of Men."

/: "Any Zetland poney would serve for
me, that would not carry a tall Hielander ;
and I would sae fain see you in Battel."

Montrose: "What, do ye think I would
have you charge beside me ? "

158 Journal of

I : " Nay, I would do naught unwomanly
or unbecoming ; indeed, I would be ruled by
you in all things."

Montrose : " Truly it is a glorious thing to
ride forth into Battle, yet there are ugly
sights afterwards that would haunt you to
your Grave."

/: " Yet I might do somewhat to help the
poor wounded men, having studied Leech-
craft. "

Montrose : " I doubt neither your skill nor
your Courage, but ye could not do it ; " and
he went on to speak of stormy mountain
marches by day and night ; but I said I would
sooner go with him through Flood and Fire
than live delicately and lie on Down, not
knowing how he fared. Said he, " Never-
theless, such is a woman's lot to which God
hath called her."

/: "A man's lot seemeth far brighter."

Montrose: "So it is ; yet am I glad ye are
not a man."

/: "Ah, Brother, if you had to sit idle and
weary as I did in Hayes House all those
years, you would wish yourself in the thick of
battel."

Montrose : " Why, so I do often enough as
it is, and feel heartily weary of the idle Life I
have been compelled to lead, but which you

Lady Beatrix. 159

have made pass far more pleasantly than if ye
had been another impatient man, instead of a
gentle lady."

/: "Well, then, I will take comfort, if in-
deed ye will not have my company when ye
have better things to occupy you."

Thereat he smiled, but soon added gravely :

" Remember my poor boy, Beatrice, how
fair and vigourous youth he was, yet he could
not stand my forced Marches, neither would I
again undergoe such a Grief."

We sate still, I thinking over his last words,
if it would indeed be such Grief to him if he
lost me, while the noises of the Town came
softly to us, till something tickled my wrist,
and looking down I saw a dark shadowe like
an Earwig, or other such evill Creature, from
the marigolds Major Melvin had brought me,
which I was fain to pray him to take away for
me. This he did with his bare hand : I would
as sune have touched hot iron ; but he laughed
at my valour, till I, being somewhat nettled,
did exclaim : " Indeed I would sooner face
Argyle, Leslie, and the whole company of
them, than one of those creeping things that
look like evill spirits."

" Or Bees, for Instance ?"

1 A name given in Montrose's Cypher-key, preserved in

160 Journal of

Then he took up my hand, and holding it
in the Moonlight he said : " How should this
little dainty thing wield Sword or Pistol ?"

" Well, then, I will wait with what Patience
I may, till you send for me to behold the
King's Coronation."

" Yea," he replied ; " I would sooner see you
leading the dance at Holyrood, than sitting on
ane Hieland Poney, with your fair garments
alle spoilt with mire."

E'en then the church clocks struck the hour
in their full deep tones, so we went in to sup-
per, during which meal we made merry over
the gallant deeds I would have done had I
been allowed my own way. He said he was
sorry for me, for he knew I was enough his
sister to have made many Romances about
this Adventure.

" Yea," I replied, " you may as well know
the loss to our Cause. On one occasion whilst
you were with your Highlanders busied in
one part of the Field, our foreign Mercenaries

the family Charter-chest, to Johnston of Warristoune, pro-
bably from the idea that he had " a Bee in his bonnet." The
noms de guerre for Montrose himself, Argyle, Leslie, and
others, are the same in this curious relic as those men-
tioned by the Lady Beatrix in a former part of her journal.
See pages 32, 33.

Lady Beatrix. 161

gave way in another, which I perceiving from
the hillside, rode down to meet them, snatched
a sword from the nearest man, spoke to them
a few keen words in their own tongue, and
led them back to the fight."

" And," continued he, "the next thing I saw
was a company of the enemy leading you away
Captive to hold as hostage for my peaceable
behaviour."

" But you would not suffer that to hinder
you in your career ? "

" Certainly not."

" Then what would they do with me if
you refused to lay down your arms ? Do
you think they would burn me for a
Witch?"

Thereat a dark look came over his face,
and he said, " Better die any Death than fall
alive into Leslie's hands."

" Well," I said, " at any rate you would
avenge me, and perhaps the dread of your
vengeance might cause them to spare me."

"Well for them if it did."

Then to divert his mind from dark thoughts
I told him how one Sabbath in the Kirk at
Hayes, I was justly so indignant at the
Minister's treasonable language against the
Royall army and their Leader, that I rose
from my place between my two Aunts, and

M

1 62 Journal of

walked deliberately forth of the building, none
hindering me.

Montrose made reply that I ought to be
satisfied seeing I had thus done and dared for
the Cause, but I answered that it needed as
much courage in me to march slowly out past
Aunt Dorothy, as in him to march past the
Enemie's entrenchments at Perth. This, to do
him justice, he allowed ; and I felt gratified
whenas he said he wished he could have been
present, for he made no doubt I did sail away
in a very majestickal manner — and so I did
indeed as long as I was in sight, but having
gained the Forest walk I set off at a run, and
laughed and cried, feeling myself free till the
end of the sermon. He remarked it was well
that the great Ladies of the Congregation
were his near Kindred, else I would have had
the pleasure of hearing prayers offered that he
might meet the Fate of all bloody-minded
and deceitfull men.

" That," I cried, " I would not have borne .;
I would have uplifted my testimony before the
haill Congregation."

Presently he spake again half-musingly :
" I would fain see Aunt Lilias after sae long;
she was kind to me when I was a boy, though
she aye thought me too volage, and I am
come now to the time of Life when it is plea-

Lady Beatrix. 163

sant to be with my seniors and those who can
remember old days — perhaps that was the
cause that King David so wished to take old
Barzillai home with him."

(But King David was going back bowed
down with sorrow and remorse to a life of
care — how different from my dear Brother.)

I said I knew Aunt Lilias would fain see
him again ; she never could help being heartily
proud each time the news arrived of another
victorie, although she tried to deplore his
lamentable falling off; and how after Kilsyth
she thus greeted ye Minister, " Weel, Master
Henderson, I hear my Nephew hath beaten
ye again" — then recollecting herself, added,
" Heaven forgive him — the puir misguided
young man ;" and how pleasant it would be
when all is settled, to renew some old friend-
ships, but Montrose interrupted me saying,
" Alas, after all that hath passed, there are
some feuds will be only quenched in the
Grave."

2\.st. Something hath been gained by my
venture last night. My Brother hath given
me leave to go with him into Sweden.

CHAPTER XVII.

HE next entry was made at Stock-
holm, where the Marquess had
been very well received by Queen
Christina, who furnished him with
troops and a vessel, but the Lady Beatrix
could never bring herself to like this un-
womanly Queen, and could scarcely believe
her to be the daughter of the brave and de-
vout Gustavus Adolphus, between whom and
her Brother she had heard many German
officers declare that there was some resem-
blance. Neither was she at all pleased at the
Queen's asking her age, " As if it were any
business of hers," says the Lady ; " however
when I owned it truly, she swore she would
not have given me so much by 10 yeares. My
Brother also was surprised, and told me after-
wards he had quite forgotten mine age, &
must treat me with more Deference in future.
I prayed him to forget it again, and he was

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 1 65

pleased to say, Certainly, there was nought in
mine aspect to remind him thereof. Truly
were this Expeditn well over, I should feel
younger now than I did yeares ago."

Late in the Autumn a messenger arrived
from King Charles, bearing the George and
Garter to Montrose, together with a letter in
the King's own hand, strongly urging the
Marquis and his brave friends on to their
death, concealing from them that he was even
then in treaty with Argyle, dealing falsely
alike with both.

Beatrix was gratified at this recognition of
her brother's services, though, as she remarks,
it was no more than his due ; then records
how —

" This morning, as I was going into the
Kitchen, I did hear the voice of Mrs. Grant
raised in angry converse, in sooth no new oc-
currence, however she had ye manners to
stop short as I entered. Yet had I heard her
Interlocutor (an old Hielander who oft times
hath a meal here) saying, ' I tell ye woman,
for as brave as he bears himself, I saw him
ride by with a shroud up to his throat.' I
asked of whom were they speaking, and own
I felt relieved when Mrs. Grant replyed it was
poor young Donald Graeme, of whom she hath
always said he will not make old bones, and

1 66 Journal of

it required no vision to tell her so ; but the
Hielander walked away in silence, looking
sternly upon her. I rebuked her for her
roughnesse toward the old man, telling her
how when the Campbells were bragging at the
Fords of Ballachulish of the mighty deeds
they would sune have to relate to a wise
woman that dwelt there, she merelie replyed,
' Perhaps ye will not return this way,' and
truly few of them were left to return, 'ere a
week was past. But Mrs. Grant presump-
tuouslie answered, ' It is downright Heathen-
ism, and I don't believe it.' "

The whole of the stern Declaration which
the Marquis published about this time in va-
rious languages has been fairly copied out in
his sister's journal, and we again transcribe
the following sentences, glowing with all the
passion of that day.

" They, contrary to all faith and pac-

tion, trust of friends, duty of subiects, laws
of Hospitality, nature, nations, divine and
human, for which there hath never been pre-
cedent, nor can ever be a follower, most infa-
mouslie and beyond all imaginable expression
of invincible Baseness, to the blush of Chris-
tians and abomination of mankind, sold their
Sovereign over to their merciless fellow trai-
tours to be destroyed."

Lady Beatrix. 167

Then, after fiercer and yet fiercer words,
each smiting like a blow from a steel gauntlet,
comes the conclusion:

"Wherefore all who have any Duty left
them to God, their King, Country, friends,
homes, wives, children, or would change now
at last the tyrannic, violence, and oppression
of those Rebels with the mild and innocent
Government of their just Prince, or revenge
the horrid and execrable murder of their sa-
cred King, redeem their nation from infamy,
themselves from slavery, restore the present,
and oblige the ages to come ; let them as
Christians, subjects, patriots, friends, husbands
and fathers, join themselves forthwith with us
in this present service that is so full of con-
science, duty, honour, and all just interests,
and not apprehend any evils which they may
fear can fall half so much as those they pre-
sentlie lie under ; for tho' there may appear
many difficulties, yet let them not doubt God's
justice, nor ye happy Providence that may
attend his Maiestie, nor their own resolutions,
nor ye fortunes of those who are joined withal ;
resolving with Joab to play the men for their
people and ye cities of their God, and let the
Lord do whatever seemeth him good ; where-
in, whatsomever shall behappen, they may at
least be assured of Crastinus's recompense,

1 68 Journal of

that dead or alive ye world shall glue them
thankes. — MONTROSE. "

This fiery attack called forth many replies
as vehement but not as well expressed, and
we may imagine her ladyship's indignation at
" Her Brother" being styled "that viperous
brood of Sathan, James Graham," with other
titles equally unpolite, all parties being tho-
roughly embittered against one another.

The brother and sister spent their last
Christmas together in a grey old castle look-
ing over the northern sea, and Beatrix could
not but be thankful that the stormy winds had
procured her so long a respite, though the
Marquis and his cavaliers were sorely chafed
thereat. At length he resolved to start for
Zetland without more delay, not even waiting
till Lord Napier and Sir George Sterling
should have joined him with their levies ; per-
haps it had come to his knowledge that the
King was in treaty with Argyle, and he
dreaded lest his commission should be re-
voked. Beatrix wras to hold herself in readi-
ness to depart with a safe escort for Copen-
hagen, where she was to wait with Lady
Sterling. To continue in her own words :

" As I was packing my garments this after-
noon, thinking how far more blithely the gen-
tlemen were preparing their Buff coats and

Lady Beatrix. 169

sword-belts, there was a clanging of sword
and spurs along the passage, and my Brother
knocked at the door, which I gladly opening,
saw him standing there with a grave, kind face.

" ' Good Sister,' he said, ' our friend David
hath arrived, and will go on his warfare with
a lighter heart if ye will wish him Good speed.'

" I said indeed I would gladly see him, and
Mountrose told me I would find him on the
dismantled bastion that overlooketh the sea,
but I prayed him to come down with me.
He said :

"' Is it so still, Beatrix ? — then I will come.'

" We went down together, and found David
standing there clad in armour ; he came to
meet us, and I held out my hand, which he
kept for a minute, and I said I was glad to
see him 'ere he departed — I had wished it,
ever since — . He replied :

" ' You will, then, think sometimes of me
also ? And I—

" ' Surely, you are my best and oldest
Friend."

" ' Where shall you wait while we are away ?'

" ' With Margaret Sterling, but you will be
better off, fighting our Enemies. It doth com-
fort me that my Brother hath such a Friend
as you beside him.'

" ' You may rely upon me that I will do my

170 Journal of

Best.' And his eyes gleamed as he spoke
with the old Fire.

" Then something I said of our all meeting
again at home when next the leaves are green ;
he kissed my hand, bending low over it, and in
broken words praying God to bless me and
keep me happy. Then I went away and left
him with my Brother, and watched them
afterwards from the turret window walking to
and fro, the wind tossing their hair — how
sadly it wailed around us as we stood there,
scattering a few raindrops on our foreheads
like tears, while the dark waves moaned at
our feet. I would I could recall more dis-
tinctly how he is changed, and yet it is the
old kindly face still. Oh how I hope we may
yet all be happy together at home, as in old
times."

We are glad that she spent the last evening
comfortably with her brother after the officers
had gone to their quarters, talking together of
old times and her earliest memories of him ;
he for his part frankly owning that he recol-
lected very little of her before her adventure
with David in the snow-storm ; but after the
early death of his wife and his return from the
Continent he had seen much more of his only
unmarried sister, and had already begun to
love and esteem her when the breaking out of

Lady Beatrix. 171

the troubles had parted them for a long while.
" Perhaps," thought Beatrix, " the sorrow that
befell him in Italy did the more incline his
heart toward me ; and as in answer to my
thought he spake again concerning that lady,
wondering how it fares with her, and charging
me if ever we suld meet to say he hath aye
remembered her. Then ere I could reply he
was talking with me of other things till far on
into the night. When we parted I could not
help saying I wished this winter were over,
and he replyed, ' Poor child, there is a weary
time before you, yet will it pass like all the
rest.'

" Long while lay I awake praying for him
till I cried myself to sleep, yet was up betimes
this morning to break my fast with him at
leisure ; he was kinder than ever, waiting
upon me and urging me to eat, which I tried
to do, and to be cheerfull ; yet when the
horses were suddenly ready and he was his
own self wrapping my cloak about me, before
I was aware the hot tears fell on his hands ;
then he held me close to him for a minute,
kissed me, and prayed God to bless me.
He shook hands with Mistress Grant, and
told her he hoped her next voyage would be
to accompany me across the seas to our home.
She wept, saying that would be a pleasanter

172 Journal of

journey. Then he set me on the Pillion,
and gave our Escort great charge concerning
me. I looked back as long as I could and saw
him standing before the dark yawning arch-
way of the Castle gate, his arms glittering in
the frosty sunlight as he waved his hand to
me ; I am glad I was able to smile back again
cheerfully, but this is a sad, wintry journey, it
is lonely stopping in these strange inns with-
out him. I shall be glad now to find myself
at Copenhagen with Margaret."

At Copenhagen Beatrix found not only
Margaret and Lilias but Sir George Sterling,
who, like Lord Napier, had not been able to
raise his levies in time to sail with Montrose,
and was compelled to wait for advices in no
very good humour. Here Lady Beatrix
spent the time as cheerfully as she could,
resuming her studies, doing such good works
as lay in her power, and going frequently to
church, having learned enough of the Danish
tongue to follow the service.

When the spring was come, Margaret ar-
ranged an expedition into the country to
divert her husband's mind harassed by waiting
for the summons that never came, and indeed
hope deferred was wearing them all, though
they would not own it even to themselves.
Some other Cavaliers were of the party, and

Lady Beatrix. 173

says Lady Beatrix, " The soft fresh air, with
our progress forth of the Citie among the green
fields did strangelie cheer us all ; but what
made my heart full light was that being in a
faire Beech wood that minded me of Fontaine-
bleau, as I knelt gathering violets, I did hear
the Cuckoo for the first time this year, my face
being turned to ye North West; and Mrs.
Anastasia told me long ago I would make a
voyage in that direction. Sir George and his
Officers did somewhat envy me, saying it were
more to the purpose had the Omen been for
them. In the evening we all feasted on new
Cream, and the gentlemen tried to help us
while we arranged posies for the Parlour
(Major Melvin presenting me with a bunch of
the Cuckoo flowers), and took off the Cowslip
blossoms to make wine withal, plunging our
hands into the soft, cool, delicious heap, the
fragrance whereof hath made me so sleepy I
will haste to bed and dream of the Cuckoo."

This is the last entry she made in her journal
for many a long day. What follows is col-
lected partly from her own record, when at
length she had recovered calmness to recall
the terrible past, partly from letters written
by Lady Lilias Ruthven, the Lady Elizabeth
Napier and others.

174 Journal of

It was but a few hours after those hopeful
words were written, when as Beatrix was re-
turning from morning church she met an old
Danish gentleman, a friend of theirs, who
passed her bowing with a grave, pitying look,
instead of stopping for a chat as usual ; and
nearer home Major Melvin staggered past her,
his face ghastly, as of one who had received a
death stroke. She could not stop him, but
entering the house was noways surprised to
find Lilias sitting like a stone, and Margaret
sobbing bitterly, her face buried in her hands
on the table, while her husband was walking
up and down the room, his hand clenched on
his sword. She walked straight up to him
and asked, " Is my Brother dead ?" And was
told, " Not yet — worse — taken captive." Then
she said, " I must go to him." Thereat Mar-
garet lifted up her voice and wept, saying,
" Why should we be bereft of you both in one
day ? " Sir George also remonstrated, urging
the risk she would incur, with the uncertainty
whether she could arrive in time, asking in
his bitterness of spirit if she would raise the
country or send round the Fiery Cross for the
rescue ? She listened patiently, and only an-
swered, " See him again I must, or go dis-
traught," till Margaret herself said, " She is
right, George, better she should run any risk

Lady Beatrix. 175

than stay here and break her heart." Then
they persuaded him to go out into the port
where he was so fortunate as to find a small
merchant vessel bound for Dundee, and by
money and persuasions to induce the skipper
to start that very day. Hastening back with
this intelligence he found his kinswoman nearly
prepared by the help of Margaret and Mrs.
Grant, who with Lasonde was to accompany
her mistress. There was a hurried though
affectionate leave-taking, Margaret insisted on
her friend swallowing a hasty meal, and she
dried her tears in order to go down to the
wharf and see her on board ; all the three
ladies were at the last more composed out-
wardly than was Sir George ; in fact, Beatrix
had never shed a tear, but as she left her
chamber her eye fell on Major Melvin's nose-
gay, and she said, " Ah, George, the cuckoo
and I were right after all."

The passage was a rough one, still the wind
was favourable, and Beatrix remained long
on the deck watching with a strange fierce
joy the great gulfs that opened around her
and the stormy wind that swept past her to
the north, whistling in her hair and in the
shrouds of the vessel, whilst the spray dashed
over her in sheets.

She was so fortunate as to be landed only

176 Journal of

some twenty miles from her aunt's house,
whither she resolved to proceed, having first
learnt in the town that Sir David Leslie was
marching southward with his prisoner, and
had not yet passed so far. Even then her
gentle consideration for her dependents did
not forsake her, and Mistress Grant used to
relate how her lady had advised her to rest in
the inn and to follow at leisure, but the good
dame declined doing so, for she was frightened
at her lady's dead calmness; so the forlorn
cavalcade proceeded at once through a country
that grew more and more familiar. Many cot-
tages stood empty, but from the door of one
came a woman who had waited on Lady Bea-
trix in former days, and now stood gazing on
the travellers with children clinging to her
skirts, yet the lady cared not to stop and
speak with her. They passed the river she
had loved so well, and up through the birch
woods till they came late and weary to the
well-known mansion.

The old porter failed at first to recognize
the pale, sad woman who was so blooming
when he had last seen her, but marvelled what
foreign woman was inquiring for his lady, till
the old house-dog bounded to meet her with
joyous welcome. Then, " Alas, my leddy," he
exclaimed, " what hath brought ye to the land

Lady Beatrix. 177

of trouble and anguish ?" Beatrix spoke kindly
to him, and learning that her aunt was well,
proceeded to the house door, whither presently
Lady Lilias Ruthven hastened out to meet
her, and kissed her, weeping, and saying,
" Oh, my puir bairn, in what evil hour are ye
come back to me ! " Then she ordered the
best room to be made ready that had been
occupied by " Aunt Dorothy," and after supper
made her niece go to bed, administering a feb-
rifuge of her own composition, and reading to
her a few verses from St. John's Gospel before
leaving her for the night. For awhile Beatrix
lay awake in the lingering northern twilight,
then fell into a heavy sleep, from which she
did not awake till late in the next forenoon.
When she first opened her eyes she wondered
to find herself lying in the chamber that had
once been so awful to her. There was a sound
of home -like voices without, and she felt a
sense of rest and comfort, till suddenly the
thought darted into her brain that perhaps
she would have done better had she remained
in the port where she landed, as the tidings
from the North might reach her more quickly
in a town. Immediately she started from her
bed and began to dress with eager, trembling
haste, when her aunt entered and calmed this

N

178 Journal of

anxiety by immediately dispatching a man and
horse to collect what tidings he might.

During the next few hours she tried to
divert her niece's mind by asking for full in-
formation about their exiled kindred, after-
wards taking her out into the court and garden
to see such old favourites as were yet alive,
till the messenger returned in breathless haste,
bringing word that he had fallen in with an
express dispatched in advance by Sir David
Leslie that very morning in order to crave
Lady Ruthven's hospitality for himself, his
prisoner, and the guard, and they might be
expected late that same afternoon.

Whilst the good lady of the house was
busied in the requisite preparations, Beatrix
wandered restlessly in the garden, which com-
manded a view towards the north, sometimes
fancying she heard a sound of horses' hoofs,
and listening till the violent beating of her
heart drowned every other noise, or straining
her eyes into the distance till clouds came
over them and she saw nothing. The fresh
spring flowers were blooming around her, the
wallflower and lilac that she had loved so well
of old, and the birds were singing in the young
hawthorn leaves as if there were no sorrow in
the world, whilst the May sunshine streamed
over the quiet walks wherein she used to

Lady Beatrix. 179

wander in her younger days, full of wild hopes
and dreams, full also of rebellious discontent
at the seclusion in which she was kept. At
this remembrance she laughed in her heart
with a wild joy, as she thought that her one
wish had been granted to her, and not in
wrath ; even at that moment she could thank
her Heavenly Father for the love and glory
to which He had called her, let what would
succeed.

After a time Mrs. Grant came out, and
would have persuaded her to go within and
rest ; she listened as if in a dream, and look-
ing once more along the northern track she
suddenly stood like one changed into marble,
whilst the feverish glow that had burned on
her cheeks all day, left them and returned in
flashes ; then without a word she darted out
through the garden gate, down the rugged
slope, and disappeared among the trees.

Beatrix never could very clearly recall what
then passed, only she found afterwards that
her feet were bruised and bleeding from the
rough stones that had cut through her dainty
slippers, and she had a confused remem-
brance of pressing forward through the wood,
and at last passing through a band of armed
men right up to where her brother rode in
the midst, who caught her by both hands,

i8o Journal of Lady Beatrix.

exclaiming, " Truly God hath not forsaken
me."

Apparently the soldiers must have at-
tempted to separate them, for the next thing
she could recollect was that the Marquis
looked round in his wonted stately way, say-
ing, " This lady is my sister ; I pray you, sirs,
do not molest her." Then she found herself
walking beside him as he rode towards the
house, whilst he enquired how she came there,
and told her he had never expected to see
her again, but was casting about in his mind
for some means of sending her his farewell.

Lady Lilias came out to the gateway, and
received her nephew with mournful cordiality,
little had she thought thus, after so many
years, to see him again ; then whilst she turned
to welcome Sir David and his staff with such
grace as she might, the Marquis saw poor
Mrs. Grant and the faithful foreign servant
standing woefully in the background; he went
up to them with a few kind words which they
kept treasured for the rest of their lives.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HILST Montrose was being con-
ducted to the chamber assigned for
him, and the sentinels were being
posted, Beatrix shut herself into her
own room, where she would have tried to rest
or pray; but in passing the mirror she was
startled at the worn and hollow look that a
short time had brought over her face, and re-
solved that her brother should not see her for
the last time thus haggard, so she bathed her
burning cheeks and parched eyelids with cold
water, and unfolded one of her pretty foreign
dresses that she knew to be a favourite of his.
Whilst thus engaged, she suddenly remem-
bered how one of her brother's officers had
been saved from prison, perhaps from death,
by the contrivance of his sister, and why might
not she do the like, and her dreams be ful-
filled ? She flew to the window, and leaned
out ; as far as she could see, no sentinel had

1 82 Joiirnal of

been posted on that side of the house ; more-
over, an old pear-tree, now in full blossom,
had been trained over the wall beneath, whose
branches growing regularly one below another
made a sort of natural ladder. If once the
Marquis could be brought into her room, he
might pass out and gain the seaport town.
Her gown was ample and flowing; it would
not meet round his shoulders, but a scarf
would cover that deficiency, and he must hide
his face in a handkerchief, whilst she would
throw on his coat, and kneel on the further
side of the bed, burying her face in the cover-
lid. She had a fair sum of money about her,
and her jewels. —

Just then Lady Lilias entered with the wel-
come tidings that the brother and sister would
be permitted to sup and spend the evening
quietly together, while she entertained Sir
David Leslie and his officers, one of whom
would shortly appear to escort the lady past
the sentinels who were posted at intervals
along all the passages. Beatrix thanked her
aunt warmly, even expressing regret that she
could not be of use in the bustle necessarily
caused by so many unexpected guests.

A knock was heard at the door ; Beatrix
started up, but was forced to catch hold of
the back of her chair. A man in a black

Lady Beatrix. 183

cassock entered, who announced himself as
Sir David Leslie's chaplain, sent with a mes-
sage to the sister of that unhappy man, James
Graham — namely, that she should urge him
to repentance for his bloodshedding and mani-
fold perjuries.

Beatrix looked at the intruder for a moment
in silent surprise, then turned proudly and
wearily away, but her aunt said :

" We may gain more, sir, from my nephew's
words, than he from ours."

Then, as the chaplain stood amazed at
this rebuke from an unexpected quarter, she
added :

" Who hath been so unadvised as to send
you to this right honourable lady, my niece?"

He was beginning some fanatical reply about
the burden laid upon him, when Beatrix turned
towards him with a look as piercing as her
brother's, and, without a word, raising her long,
thin hand, pointed to the door ; he slank out
stammering. Presently a grey-haired gentle-
man presented himself to offer his escort to
the Lady Beatrix ; she at once arose, clasped
her aunt's hand for a moment, and followed
her conductor through the long, guarded cor-
ridors, till they came to a room at the end of
the house, which he signed her to enter alone.
She found herself in an ante-room, dark but

184 Journal of

for a ray of lamp-light which fell through the
partially open door of the inner chamber ;
towards this she made her way with failing
knees, pushed it open, when all things seemed
to swim before her eyes, but through the dizzy-
whirl she could see her brother advancing open
armed to meet her ; she fell on his breast, and
he held her fast for a while. What follows
shall be told in her own words.

He would have led me back to sit beside
him, but I lay on my knees at his feet, and
looking up in his face, saw the change had
been wrought thereon, for he was wan and
haggard, and his beard grown long and un-
trimmed. He said : " This is a sad time for
you, poor child;" and I could not speak.
Then he said : " I did not think ever to see
you again, and how I have longed for you ! "

But the thought of his being all alone, worn
and weary, among his deadly enemies, went
to my heart, so that the tears which had been
frozen all this while now burst forth in a torrent
that I could not restrain, and my efforts to do
so only choked me with sobbing. He did not
essay to stop me, but he passed his hand over
my hair, as my face rested hidden on his knees,
saying a few pitying words ; till, when my
passion had somewhat spent itself, and I was

Lady Beatrix. 185

able to speak, I said, "Alas! I should rather
seek to comfort you than thus give way to
mine own trouble." He answered : " Indeed
the mere sight of you doth comfort me." Then
I marked that his wrist was wrapped in a
linen bandage, and on my asking if he were
wounded there, he replied, "Yea ; it was time
I should cease fighting when my sword-arm
was disabled." I prayed that he would at
least suffer me to tend the wound, and he
gladly consented, saying the very touch of
my soft, cool fingers would ease its throbbing
and burning; yet with all my care I fear I
must have hurt him, for many hours had
passed since it had been dressed, and the
coarse linen was all soaked and stiff with
blood. I exclaimed at the rude way in which
it had been bound up, but he said a kind,
motherly old dame had tended him, though
not neat-handed.

" Do you remember, Beatrice," he added,
" you told me you could help the wounded ? "

" Oh, would I had been with you through-
out!"

He said, " That would have been far worse ;
and, indeed, I have not been left to my foes
all this time, for many have shewn me kind-
nesse, and specially the good townsmen of
Dundee, from whom I could least have ex-

1 86 Journal of

pected it, seeing I had twice stormed their
•, »
city.

Then flashed into my mind the wild plan I
had formed, and I implored him to throw on
my garments, and so pass out when they came
to fetch me. He smiled sadly as I explained
how it might be done ; but when I said I
would take care that no suspicion should
light on Aunt Lilias, he cried, " God forbid !
I have shed enough blood in my time, without
having yours on my head." Thereat I cried
What would that matter ? and clung about his
knees, imploring him, if indeed he loved me,
as the only token of his affection I would ever
ask, not to refuse me ; but he lifted me up
from the ground and placed me by his side,
saying he knew well I would gladly lay down
my life to help him, but many noble lives were
lost already, and he was resolved no more
should be risked for him. Then when I was
again somewhat quieted, he told me how but
two nights before he had made the attempt to
escape in the very way I proposed, for that he
knew his so doing would bring no danger to
that noble old Lady of Grange, who had con-
trived the plot with every likelihood of success,
having made all the Sentinels dead drunken,
yet was he taken just as he began to feel him-
self free ; he added that he would not have

Lady Beatrix. 187

made the attempt but for the Lady having
such strong friends among the ruling party-
he felt sure no harm would come to her, even
were it known to be her doing.

" And, indeed, Beatrice," said he, " I am
glad enough to rest quietly in our kinswoman s
house this one night, ere I go to my doom."

I said I could even wish his wound were
more severe, that he might not be borne
away from us so very soon : and he,

" Ye might wish it were mortal at once, so as
I could die here in peace, with you to tend, me."

" Oh, woe is me that such should ever be
the best wish we could make for you ! "

"Nay, not the best — rather wish that my
Father's will be fulfilled in me ; and indeed I
struggled sore against it at first, but now He
hath holpen me."

Also he said the bitterness of Death was
past when after wandering in ye wild Forest
three days and nights alone and famisht, he
found himself given into the hands of David
Lesley ; nought worse than that could yet
be in store for him.

I remember next his giving me divers mes-
sages for the Napiers, Sterlings, and others ;
but his voice faultered when he spake of the
brave gentlemen that shared his doom ; " but
God be praised," said he, " I believe David

1 88 Journal of

Mathertie is safe — and they say that dying
men speak truly."

" I know he fought well."

" Yea, truly," and his face kindled as of old.
"We fought hard to the last; my friends
gathered round me when the poor Merce-
naries fled. Young Menzies went down by my
side, still grasping the banner. David stood
at my bridle, warding off sword strokes and
pistol shots, risking his life again and again
for mine, though he was forced continually to
dash away the blood that streamed blinding
into his eyes from a gash above his eyebrow.
At length my horse was shot under me, and a
great rush of men parted us, but the last I
saw of him he was slowly retreating, with his
face to the Foe."

Then as I sat close by him, my hands held
in his, he told me how he had been permitted
to see his two sons once more as he passed
their grandfather's house, and the tears stood
in his eyes as he charged me to be good to
them, if ever I have the opportunity, for they
were well nigh heart-broken, lamenting they
have been away from their Father nearly all
their lives.

" How will it fare with you, poor soul," he
added, "when I shall have left you all alone ?"

I tried to answer chearfully, but stopped

Lady Beatrix. 189

short, hearing armed footsteps and the un-
locking of the outer door, wherefore my Bro-
ther drew me somewhat closer to him, but it
was onlie Aunt Lilias that entered, bearing
some little dainty dishes that poor Mrs. Grant
had prepared. She sate with us awhile, and
they spake together of those things whereon
they be fully agreed ; the while I listened, and
it seemed me as if after all this Life were but
a little space given that we may make ready
for our Crown; yea, I could almost feel a
strong, comforting Presence among us, for my
Brother told how after the first sore anguish
was abated, he had gradually felt more and
more of heavenly consolations, and he had
good hope this would continue unto the End.
And this his hope was fulfilled.

She stayed not long, but 'ere she departed
Montrose did crave her blessing, that so if
his Excommunication were not removed, he
might not die all unassoiled. She gave it
freely, saying, " I bless him, yea, and he shall
be blessed." He conducted her to the door,
then came back to sit by me saying, " Truly
peace dwelleth in this House."

For awhile we both were silent; I think
there were glad and lofty thoughts in his
heart, so calm a look had come over his face,
but after a while he spake again :

190 Journal of

" Had ye remained in foreign parts, Beatrix,
I would have counselled you to abide near
the Sterlings, but now you are here it may be
ye will be able to keep house at our old home,
and my poor boys could dwell with you ; for
they will not molest you when I am gone."

I said, "That would be something to live
for." And he :

" Your triall is sorer than mine, for it will
last longer."

" Oh, would I were not so well and so
strong ! "

He said he had known the same blank
drearyhed, but that it passed away, and he
knew I was too brave to pine and fret myself
into my Grave.

" Oh, come back to me, but once, from the
other world, that the time may not seem so
long and so lonely ! "

"If I am permitted I will come ; but I
leave you with better comfort than that, for I
think ye have tried to serve God in your hap-
pinesse, and now He will not forsake you."

I said it would be shamefull indeed if I
were to rebel, so much blessedness had fallen
to my lot, neither would I now change with
any one.

He answered : " I am glad to hear you
speak thus, for I have thought I had dealt

Lady Beatrix. 191

more kindly with you had I never taken you
from this quiet dwelling to bring sorrow upon
you."

" And then indeed I might have fretted till
my heart was broken, but now have you
given me memories that will be a joy and a
glory to me all my life long."

He answered with a look that I can see
even now, "My child, you know not how you
have comforted me all these years."

After a while he spake of that Italian lady,
saying he would find means to send me her
ring ere the end, that I might guard it as a
precious treasure alwayes. I mind me also
that he spake of the Cause for which he and
his friends have dared and suffered all things,
yet not in vaine, though now it might seem
so. And even then came the sound of arms
approaching. He said : " They are only re-
lieving guard," but the Ante-room door was
opened, and one knocked softly at the inner
chamber, asking if we were ready. My Brother
answered, " In a minute," but I clung to him,
and we sate scarcely speaking, till he said :
" Courage, sweet Beatrice, for it must be, the
time is come;" and gently raising me with
his left arm, supported me to the door, where
we were met by that same old officer who had
escorted me thither. Montrose said : " Sir,

192 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

you will take care of her," and he bowed
silently before us. Then the door closed
between.

As we went back along the passages I
prayed him to shew my brother what kind-
ness he might, which he solemnly promised
me that he would do.

CHAPTER XIX.

HE next accounts that have come
down to us of these melancholy
days are contained in a letter from
the Lady Lilias Ruthven to Dame
Elizabeth, Lord Napier's wife, of whom we
have heard already, and who had waited all
this time at Merchistoun Castle with her chil-
dren, hoping her husband would come back
to her in triumph with Montrose, as he had
done once before.

Lady Lilias informs her ' very good niece '
of Beatrice's sudden arrival and meeting with
her brother, and records how she herself also
had spoken with him, and found, after all the
difference and estrangement of years, that in
the main points they were fully at one. Then
she tells how, early the following morning, as
she was entertaining the officers at breakfast
ere they started, the Lady Beatrix had. en-
tered, and walking right up the room, never

o

194 Journal of

heeding the surprised looks of all those men,
had quietly asked to speak with Sir David
Leslie. He sullenly arose, and she signed
him to follow her into the bay window, where
they spoke earnestly together. Presently he
desired Lady Lilias to join them, who was
terrified at finding that her niece entreated to
be allowed to ride with her brother during the
remainder of his woeful journey. To this,
perhaps from some remains of gentlemanly
feeling, or from fear that the compassion of
the people might be dangerously roused, Sir
David would not consent. However, Beatrix
was so fearless for herself, and so sadly in
earnest, that the kind aunt had not the heart
long to oppose her, and even asked Sir David
if it might not be arranged that she should
have this last satisfaction ; still he was harshly
obdurate, and Beatrix tried one more appeal,
urging him for the sake of his own wife and
mother not to refuse her so sad a boon ; then,
when he rudely denied it, she left him with a
look so heartbroken it might well haunt him
to his grave, and passed from the room, some
of the soldiers rising involuntarily before her,
whilst the elder lady turned away, saying,
" Sir David when your own hour of need
shall come, pray that ye may meet more kind-
ness than ye now have shewn."

Lady Beatrix. 195

Afterwards, while the horses were being
saddled, the Lady Lilias obtained a few mo-
ments' conversation with her nephew, whom
she informed of what had passed. He replied,
Leslie was right for once, and that Beatrix
must never know it, but in many places he
had been received with insults by those who
once had dreaded him ; moreover he knew
not what might await him at Edinburgh, only
that he would be led in in a sort of triumph,
and the populace let loose upon him.

Just then his sister entered ; she walked
quietly up to him, and laid her face against
his shoulder ; so their aunt left them together.

The letter then relates how, since that sor-
rowful morning, Beatrix had ever been gentle
and patient, thankful for any little kindness,
so that her aunt felt anxious, and could have
wished for some sparks of the wilful and im-
petuous temper she remembered in former
days.

She concludes by earnestly praying the
Lady Napier to forget all such differences as
in these troubled times had arisen between
them, and to come to them, bringing her chil-
dren, for Beatrix was pining to know some
particulars of her brother's martyrdom — as
yet they only knew for certain that he was
dead ; — though there were rumours afloat

196 Journal of

which Lady Lilias was resolved to keep from
her niece if possible — indeed, she did not be-
lieve herself that they would dare treat a noble-
man like a common felon.

Lady Napier did not hesitate to accept this
invitation, and repaired forthwith to Hayes
House with her children, where she was affec-
tionately received by the kinswomen from
whom she had been parted so long that her
children were quite strangers to them. In a
letter to her husband Lady Napier mentions
the change she found in Beatrix, who, when
they last parted, was still youthful and un-
formed, but had now grown stately with some-
thing of her brother's winning dignity, and
with a foreign gracefulness of dress and man-
ner. She was pleased to see her guests, and
took much notice of the children ; yet Dame
Elizabeth felt very anxious as she saw how
her eyes gleamed from amid dark shadows,
as though neither sleep nor tears had refreshed
them for many a night, and felt the burning
clasp of her little, wasted hands.

In the evening, when the children had been
put to bed, Beatrix calmly delivered Mont-
rose's farewell message to his nephew's wife,
for whom he had entertained a particular
esteem, then begged her to give what in-
formation she might of his last moments.

Lady Beatrix. 197

This Lady Napier was well able to do, for
she had waited many woeful hours in the
window of a friend's house, overlooking the
long street all crowded with his mortal foes.
But when at last the prisoner was borne in
bare-headed and defenceless before them, she
had seen their triumph changed to remorse
and pity; stern fanatical men uncovered as
he passed, and women, whose sons had fallen
fighting against him, now wept and prayed
for him aloud. She told also, how Argyle,
his son, and his son's young bride, sat with
their friends in a balcony to exult over their
fallen foe, but when he looked their way they
could not meet his eye, but shrank back within
the windows, whereat an English voice was
heard from the throng, crying, " You may
well shrink from him now, seeing you have
not dared look him in the face these seven
years."

Beatrix heard all this dry-eyed, then broke
in with clenching hands and burning cheeks :
" O Heaven ! was there no Man left, that they
stood by and let this deed be done ? "

Lady Napier said she would herself have
raised a cry to the Rescue, but Montrose was
even yet so dreaded that no precaution was
omitted, and the few Cavaliers present were so
broken and scattered that any attempt would

198 Journal of

have been but madness. " At least I hope,"
said Beatrix, "that he saw your face again."
And Lady Napier told how she leaned from
the window as he came near, and waved her
handkerchief, whereat he looked up and smiled
right cheerfully, "as though it had been all
otherwise." Suddenly Beatrix enquired where
he had been buried ? for she ought 'ere now
to have gone to tend his grave : at this her
companions exchanged perplexed glances,
neither of them daring to tell her of her
brother's savage doom. She perceived their
hesitation, and said quietly, " Ye may tell me
all, Betty, I have borne so much already ; " so
Lady Napier told her as best she might. A
grey stony look passed over her face, and her
breath came in deep gasps. Lady Napier,
much distressed, drew down her head to rest
on her bosom and soothed her till the paroxysm
was over, and Beatrix said softly, " Go on now
and tell me all, Betty, how he met his death ?"
and Elizabeth had an easier task as she related
how he had triumphed to the end.

" I could not sleep," proceeds Lady Napier's
letter, " for weeping over the misfortunes of
these our kindred, and whenever I closed mine
een I did see before me that despairfull face
of hers, wherefore about two of the clock I
arose and went softly to her door, neither was

Lady Beatrix. 199

I surprised to hear her talking wildly within,
and entering, found her with her long hair all
streaming, barefooted and undressed, though
the bed had not been lain in. She caught me
by the hands, and began entreating me that I
would move my husband to help her fall on
Leslie's guard, and rescue Montrose, but pre-
sently knew me again, and laughed at her
errour. I persuaded her to lie down, and
sought to send her off to sleep, but when she
again began wandering in her Discourse, I
fetched our aunt Ruthven, who said, " Puir
Bairn, no doubt she hath been brooding over
these fancies ever since she stood to watch
him ride forth to his Death."

She put on an Aire of Authoritie and com-
manded her to take a composing draught, and
to shut her eyen and lie still, and at last she
did sink into a sort of doze, ofttimes starting
and muttering; we sate and watched beside
her, not feeling easy enough to go to bed
again.

When the Dawn strengthened, Aunt Ruth-
ven went to darken the window, and as I was
helping her, said, " I can see the poor soul
hath tormented herself all these days, wildly
thinking she might have found some brave
gentlemen, and led them on to attempt a
rescue."

200 Journal of

And indeed she hath since owned as much,
being sufficiently recovered to talk with us,
saying she could never cease bitterly to re-
proach herself that she had not ridden on in
advance to try what might be done, instead of
asking that Fellow's leave ; and when we
sought to comfort her by representing how
mad and hopeless such attempt would have
been, she lamented that she had not been
with her Brother in prison, yea, and on the
scaffold. I told her how I had vainly sought
admittance, but she thought the old ladies in
whose house she had been at school in ye
Grassmarket, would have let her stand in one
of their windows to see the last of him.

But it was not for many days that she could
talk thus coherently, for when she waked
about Noon, she seemed indeed chearfull, yet
frightened us not a little, for she ran on before
Aunt Ruthven about promiscuous dancing,
masquing, and such other things she had once
enjoyed, whereat Aunt Ruthven did onlie
pity her yet more. Also she spake of the
glees and madrigals wherein she and Lilias
were wont to join with my Lord Mathertie
and Sir Francis Hay. "Sir Francis had a
fine voice," she said ; " I wonder if he is sing-
ing in Heaven by this time."

I knew not whether to laugh or cry when
she went on : —

Lady Beatrix. 20 r

" How poor Sir George Sterling and his
wife will snub one another when they hear of
this!" but dear Heart, although I report this
to you who know and love them all so well, I
had need not entreat you to keep this private,
but ye may tell our sister Lilias that our kins-
woman spake much of her, saying " Archibald
and Lilias will be but sad when they have not
us to cheer them up." Something, too, she
spake, or I fancied it, of certain love passages
between Lilias and ane English gentleman of
good parts and Loyaltie. Now if this indeed
be so, my good Lord, I would with all sub-
mission, pray of you not to let over caution
stand in the way of our sister's happiness,
something of ye kind I have guessed long
since from her letters to me ; if I be mistaken,
I know ye will take my folly in good part —
and now to return to these heavie matters.

When ye Physitian came at last from St.
Andrews, he told us that Beatrix was in ane
hie fever, and bade us cut short her haire as it
lay sae thick and heavie about her head. For
many hours she ceased to know any of us, but
in her very Deliration she talked of such
pretty, tender things, any one must see, as
Aunt Lilias said, that she was in a state of
Grace.

Often she would fancy herself tending flow-

2O2 Journal of

ers, or working for ye poor, or she would talk
of a quiet mossy grave beside her Mother's,
where she fancied Montrose had been laid,
and where she would fain hide her burning
head in the fresh dewy grass; but at other
times it was piteous to hear her calling on her
Brother to save her from a serpent or other
dreadfull thing that she fancied was on her
bed. Once she thought she was doomed to
die with him, and said she was glad she had
seen Aunt Lilias again, as in former days she
had behaved frowardly towards her, whereat
Aunt Lilias could not refrain from weeping.

P.S. — I have been sore perplexed to find a
bearer of this sad letter, but as the foreign
Souldiers ta'en with Montrose are to be sent
forth of Scotland unhurt, I think I may find
one of them who shall convey my tidings.

Dear Husband, be it known to you that
God hath restored our kinswoman to life and
reason ; for even when she was at her worst,
that learned Physitian, Mr. James Callendar,
came hither from Edinburgh, bearing with
him that golden urn given by the Doge of
Venice to your Grandfather, wherein rested
the heart of Montrose, which I had caused to
be rescued on the very night of his Murther,
and Mr. Callendar had embalmed it.

He visited our Patient and approved of all

Lady Beatrix. 203

had been done, giving us hope that by reason
of her native vigour she would fully recover,
and proceeded to open a vein. It was strange
that soon after I had set ye Urn on a table by
her pillow, she fell as one worn out into a
heavie sleep, and lay for many hours. At last
she opened her eyen for a minute, then closed
them, turning from the light, and I think she
knew that a bitter grief lay in wait for her so
soon as she should be fully awakened. She
hath told me since that for a moment she fan-
cied herself back in one of those happie foreign
places, for the chamber was darkened from the
glare and heat of the afternoon, onlie that one
long sunbeam fell across it. When first she
spake it was to thank us affectionately for our
care of her, and to pray us to rest.

Now she can sit in a great Chaire by ye
window, though as yet she looks as pale and
wan as the pillows she is supported withal.
At first she seemed to care for nothing, save
that she would ask her Aunt or me to read
her chapters from ye Book of Job or ye Gos-
pels ; but one day she heard the running of
little feet on the Terrace below, and asked if
I would bring the children to see her, as her
Fever was noways infectious, and she had
forgotten they were there.

Wherefore I did bring in our little Janet,

2O4 Journal of Lady Beatrix.

with her wee fat hands full of red gilliflowers,
and the kitten hugged close in her arms ; and
though at first the child clung to me some-
what awe-struck, yet now are they great
friends, and the bairns will ofttimes steal into
their Auntie's room, where they will sit at her
feet making her daisy chains, while she tells
them strange sweet stories in a low voice,
often stopping to rest, of fair creatures with
golden harps and long bright hair that sit
singing by the waters in Denmark ; or she
talketh of the mighty men of Greece, whose
stories she had heard from her Brother or
from Dr. Wishart in other days.

The evening ere we returned Home, she
would make her waiting-woman unpack the
store of pretty things she had brought from
abroad, and made our Children happy with
gifts of bright ribands and other toys ; and
when I asked would she keep nought for her-
self, replied that she had bought them when
she thought soon to be keeping high Festival
in their old Home, but now they would not be
needed.

Yet sometimes she would weep silently for
half an hour together, or wringing her hands,
would moan piteouslie, " My Beautiful, my
Brave!"

CHAPTER XX.

S soon as she was sufficiently re-
covered to think of anything, Lady
Beatrix sent to inquire for her ne-
phews, who came in person to tell
her that they were about to leave their country,
on which they deemed that a curse had fallen ;
so the forlorn plan that Montrose had started
for her came to the ground, and Beatrix would
have been perplexed where to turn had not
Lady Lilias offered her a home, saying she
was old and lonely ; and Beatrix thankfully
accepted the quiet shelter that had once been
so irksome. Here for many days her life
flowed on in silence, rarely visited by glimpses
of that eager outward life of which she had
once lived in the very focus.

She had gone to her room one autumn
evening, oppressed by a blank apathy worse
than the tempest of her grief, with scarcely
heart enough to pray, wearily wondering if

206 yournal of

her brother ever would appear to her from
the other world, or whether he slept too pro-
foundly to know of her anguish. At dawn
she rose and opened the window to breathe
the dewy air ; one solemn star was still shining,
and a soothing awe came over her ; no voice
was heard, nor did any ghostly figure stam
beside her in the morning dimness, yet on
that day she received a token from beyond
the grave.

Colonel Law, the officer who had conducted
her to her brother's chamber, came to the
house in order to give into the lady's own
hands the ring to which so much value had
been attached, and which Montrose had com-
mitted to his charge on the morning of his
execution. From this gentleman Beatrix
heard further particulars of her brother's
noble and saintly demeanour, whereby she
felt much revived, though she wept sore as
she listened. He told her how, when one of
the fanatic ministers had troubled his last
hours with threatenings, Montrose had only
answered, " I have heard you speak, sir, to
better purpose formerly ; " and how, when they
beset him continually, his sharpest words were,
" I pray you, gentlemen, let me die in peace.'

On receiving sentence he looked upward for
a moment sadly, but undaunted ; then having

Lady Beatrix. 207

obtained leave to speak, he calmly vindicated
himself from the charge of treason, and said
many of those then present could bear witness
that he had done all in his power to soften the
horrors of civil war ; in conclusion he spoke as
follows :

" And therefore I desire you to lay aside
prejudice, and consider me as a Christian in
relation to the justice of the quarrel ; as a
subject, in relation to my royal Master's com-
mand ; and as your neighbour, in relation to
the many of your lives I have preserved in
battle. And be not too rash, but let me be
judged by the laws of God, the laws of nature
and nations, and the laws of this land. If
otherwise, then I do- here appeal from you to
the righteous Judge of the world, who one
day must be your Judge and mine, and who
always gives out righteous judgment."

Being led back to his prison, he wrote some
verses on the window with the diamond in the
ring, alluding to the sentence that his severed
limbs should be sent to the four principal
towns of Scotland ; they ended thus :

" Lord, since Thou know'st where alle these atoms

are,

I'm hopefull Thou'lt recover once my dust,
And confident Thou'lt raise me with the just."

On the last morning Montrose was visited

208 Journal of

by Johnstoun of Warristoune, who found him
combing out his hair, and remonstrated with
him for attending at such a time to trifles.
Montrose cheerfully replied : " While my
head is my own I will dress and adorn it ;
to-morrow it will be yours to do with it as
you please."

Colonel Law was one of the escort that
guarded Montrose to the scaffold, and he
heard some of those standing by exclaim,
" There goes the finest Gallant in the king-
dom." When at the last moment poor Dr.
Wishart's history of the Marquis's exploits
was hung about his neck, he said he was
prouder of this mark of distinction than he
was when the King sent him the Garter.

He would have been glad if the sentence
that was upon him of excommunication had
been relaxed, but would make no unworthy
concessions to obtain this favour, so made
his last prayer uncomforted by the ministers,
from whom indeed he had received little of
Christian charity. Yet the night before he
slept as calmly as he had ever done, except
when occupied at his devotions.

Part of his last words on the scaffold were,
" I appeal to God, who must now be my
Judge and Saviour. .... I thank Him I go
to Heaven's throne with joy. If He enable

Lady Beatrix. 209

me against the fear of death, and furnish me
with courage and confidence to embrace it
even in its most ugly shape, let God be glori-
fied in my end."

Till now Colonel Law had not been able to
obtain leave of absence to fulfil his trust, for
Cromwell was in the land ; and it was well
that he came now, for a few days later the
Battle of Dunbar was fought, and Beatrix
never knew whether he survived, or whether
from that field he rejoined his captive.

Some weeks afterwards a middle-aged Eng-
lish gentleman rode to the house, asking for
refreshments and a guide. Beatrix quietly
withdrew from the presence of the stranger,
who expressed his concern at her faded looks,
adding that he had left daughters of his own
in the South. Lady Lilias replied, " My poor
niece was own sister to the Lord Montrose."
The stranger mused awhile, and said, "Sorely
have they been wronged, and behold ! hath
not the Lord raised up an avenger unto them
even whence they could least have looked for
one?"

Lady Lilias inquired his meaning, for news
came rarely to her lonely home, and he told
her how Leslie had been crushed and utterly
defeated by Cromwell at Dunbar. She ex-
claimed, " Marvellous are the ways of the

p

2io Journal of

Almighty, who hath raised up the wicked to
scourge the wicked, as in the days of Jehu."

" Nay, madam," replied the stranger, with a
good-humoured smile, " I was that unworthy
instrument: I am Oliver Cromwell."

From that time both ladies had ever a good
word for the Protector, Beatrix declaring that
for her part she would feel grateful to the
devil himself had he humbled David Leslie ;
and when her aunt reminded her that Mont-
rose had freely forgiven his enemies, she re-
plied, " I could have forgiven them had they
dealt with me as they did with him ; but now
I could strangle them with mine own hands."

A letter has been preserved between the
leaves of the Diary, in the large, irregular, but
feminine handwriting of Lady Sterling. The
first part is all one mournful condolence, re-
calling their happiness only a year ago. Of
Archibald and Lilias she had scarcely heard ;
they have not the heart to write. Dr. Wish-
art is with them, sick with grief ; and for her
husband, " ye may imagine how it is with
him." Of all the brave friends who had gone
with Montrose so gallantly, but two or three
had returned ; among these the Lord Ma-
thertie, " sae changed and worn, ye would
not now say he was too young." He had
wandered long in the forests, and would have

Lady Beatrix. 2 1 1

starved there but for some old peasants, who
hid him in their shieling till the pursuit was
over and his wounds were healed. Then he
proceeded to Copenhagen, thinking to find
the Lady Beatrix still there, and was terribly
shocked when Margaret told him where she
was.

Except to record the last words of her
brother, Beatrix made but few and scattered
entries in the book that had been the con-
fidant of her happiness ; sometimes a text is
inscribed in a hand that seems to have trailed
languidly over the page. From some passion-
ate allusions to Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah,
and to the Grecian Antigone, whose story she
may have heard in other days under the sum-
mer trees, it should seem that she had insti-
gated an attempt to remove the right arm
of Montrose from the gateway of Dundee,
whereon it had been set, but all had failed,
and she was left in her desolation without
even a grave to weep over.

Traditions yet linger in the country side of
the stately lady who was sometimes seen wan-
dering in trailing black garments through the
lonely woodland paths, regarded with a cer-
tain awe ; yet those who addressed her were
answered gently and courteously, and she
would look on the children with a smile of

212 Joiirnal of

strange melancholy sweetness. There she
would wander alone, treading the withered
leaves under whose summer greenness she
had thought to be so happy with her friends,
often brooding on dark thoughts in her heart,
for the most gentle spirits may nourish the
deepest resentment against such as have
wronged those dear to them. More often
her mind was occupied with wild speculations
on the dwelling-place of the dead and the
Intermediate State. Many nights she lay
down almost expecting to be visited from the
other world, straining her eyes through the
darkness with awe and longing, but ever in
vain. It seems strange that her exalted ima-
gination should not have painted the form so
well remembered, but morning after morning
she arose disappointed, again to yearn fruit-
lessly for the supernatural consolation she had
so piteously implored, and sadly to wonder
whether her mortal flesh were indeed too
weak to face the disembodied spirit, yet she
would never be afraid of him, he would not
hurt her, and it would comfort her to dwell in
the thought that love was stronger than death.
Gradually, however, we fancy we can trace
" the low beginnings of content " that came to
her in the discharge of duty, in works of kind-
ness and in devotion. Common things began

Lady Beatrix. 213

to interest her once more ; there was nothing
morbid in that sweet, vigorous temperament.
Then the pearls and the delicate laces, each
with its pleasant history, were worn again
when Lady Napier came to stay with her
kinswomen, or persuaded them to visit her at
Merchistoun. How different all had been
when Beatrix delighted in the pretty things
not very long ago !

Meanwhile the young king had accepted
his dishonoured crown from the hands of Ar-
gyle. To do him justice, he was near break-
ing off the alliance when he heard the fate of
Montrose. After undergoing many humilia
tions, of which it was not the least that he
was compelled to pass under a gateway
whereon the stalwart arm of that warrior was
exposed to sun and wind, and after a wild
attempt to escape to the remaining Cavaliers,
he had marched to Worcester, there with
Leslie, to disappear before the charge of
Cromwell. There also was slain the Duke
of Hamilton, whom Beatrix had met once at
the Hague.

Some two years later a longer record is
made : —

Deer. xij. 1653. — This morning my Aunt
sate by the fire spinning, the great wise cat

214 Journal of

purring solemnly at her feet, the while I dight
the Beau-pots with moss and such winter
greens as might be found ; Aunt Lilias saith
I must have learnt in Ffrance the art of
adorning them all through ye winter. We
were talking of sundry confused reports of a
rising among ye Cavaliers, it seemed strange
onlie to know of such plans by hearsay, and
wishing we could know if any of our kindred
had joined, when there came a clattering of
hoofs and jingling and clanking of spurs and
swords, such as we had not heard for many a
day. Then, the Marquess of Montrose was
announced — it was my Brother's son that we
thought was in Holland ; as goodlie a youth
as I have ever seen.

He is full of high hopes ; yet have I known
the end of such when my Brother was at
their head — now have they Middleton to their
leader. " Middleton," I cried, " why your
Father routed him utterly twice over."

" Yea," he replied, " and now to show him-
self a true Cavalier, he ruffleth and drinketh
like any Trooper."

Quoth Aunt Lilias, " That is a sorry ex-
ample for young gentlemen ; " whereat my
Nephew coloured a little and said,

" I must own the Head-quarters do re-
semble a Bear-garden, or a Pot-house ; the

Lady Beatrix. 215

officers exchange challenges and give one
another the lie at the General's table."

We learned from him how Napier taketh
comfort, that happen what may, he will at any
rate be no more parted from Elizabeth and
the children ; but Sir George Sterling is oft-
times on the point of throwing up his Com-
mission in disgust. They sent kind greetings
and would fain have come to see me, but could
not obtain leave of absence ; my Nephew
thought it was because they be almost the
onlie officers having anie Authoritie. Lord
Mathertie hath started these two years gone
for Italy and the East, nor hath been heard
of since ; — but I think if he had died he would
have come to bid me Good b'ye, unless he had
forgotten the old folly.

I repeated what Dr. Wishart hath said,
that my Brother's tent might be taken for an
Academic of all Gentleness ; and if perad-
venture a prophane or wanton jest were heard
by him, his grave looks, without words, were
enough to shew it was unwelcome. Alas ! of
all that goodlie company how few are left with
us ! Aunt Lilias murmured softly, " How are
ye Mighty fallen and the Weapons of Warre
perished!"

But not all in the midst of the Battle.

CHAPTER XXI.

Hamburg, A ugust ye xxi. 1657.

ERE, where long ago I began to
make use of ye little book, Aunt
Lilias' gift, I write therein again
what hath befallen me, while David
is out with Sir George Sterling studying ye
Fortifications.

This morning 'ere I rose I read the pages
written when first I was here — how many
happy dayes have been given me ! Surely
Goodness and Mercie have followed me all
my life.

One Sabbath evening this year, my Aunt
bade me read her ye XC. Psalm, after which
she slept awhile in her chair, and I sate poring
over the pictures of the Garden of Eden and
King Solomon's Temple in my Mother's great
Bible, wherein she would allow me to look
when I had been a good child. Suddenlie

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 217

my Aunt spake, saying, " I think David Ma-
thertie will soon be coming back. I always
loved him and your brother full well, even
when I deemed them in errour, nor could I
ever bear to think, like your poor Aunt
Dorothy, that they would be lost ; and 'tis
pleasant as I grow older to find the differences
growing less and less that once were as stone
walls between us."

I said that even in Heaven it may be we
will not all see alike ; that I thought we would
keep something of our old characters, yea that
even in ye Spiritual body there may be left
some trace of the old aspect whereby we were
known apart. And she said,

" St. Paul seemeth to imply as much when
he speaketh of the seed sown in darknesse
becoming a goodly plant each after his kind.
Perhaps I may see your Brother as a Warrior
in shining Armour, like to that print in your
chamber of Michael and the Dragon ; for I
will ne'er believe that the Angels are but little
urchins or young gentlewomen, as in your
other Popish pictures, that being contrary to
the Book of Daniel as well as to reason."

" Yet," I said, " the ministering spirits and
those that watch over young children would
not be so terrible in their Majestic."

I mind me also her saying she had learnt

218 Journal of

from me that a woman may enjoy even dancing
and company, yet live a godly life the while,
adding :

" You did well to enjoy God's favours while
they remained to you, but ye were never sple-
netick and melancholy as I was in my youth."

So we sate later than our wont, and when
we parted, she did bless me, saying, " Child,
you have been a blessing to mine age," which
words have gladdened me ever since.

We found her the next morning, lying with
folded hands, the Bible under her pillow and
the coverlid unruffled over her ; for her spirit
had gone forth in the Night to join those
many that have left us.

Alas, how desolate was the house without
her ; now I had none but myself to care for ;
it seemed as if in all Scotland there were none
belonging to me save good Mistress Grant and
mine Aunt's old servants.

I walked out many days after, with her old
dog, into the woods where long grass and
flowers were waving above last year's dead
leaves ; the sky was hung with soft grey clouds
that let the light through between them, so
that the laverocks sang joyously, and the
full-leaved over-shadowing branches drooped
heavily about me, stroking my cheeks as they
used when I was a girl, and fancied they were

Lady Beatrix. 219

welcoming me among them, yet my heart was
so heavie, I thought I would not care much
for any of those things any more. At length
I came to the old Elder trees by the ruined
abbey, and saw they were in blossom, and
thought how in my young days I liked to
have a flower thereof in mine ewer all the
Summer through. I sat me on a mossy stone
beneath, and the air came gently upon my face,
laden with ye smell of mown hay, whiles the
murmur of the river sent me into a sort of
dream, though I was awake. For it seemed
as though those quiet sounds did form them-
selves into the chiming of Cathedral bells that
I had loved to listen to long ago beyond the
sea ; yea and the old voices seemed to ask
me, would I never come back and be cheerful
with them any more ? Almost could I hear
echoes of songs we had sung together in those
good times. Then great bright drops of warm
rain fell on my hair, and mine eyes overflowed
softly, and poor Hector looked wistfully in my
face, as tho' he would fain comfort me, neither
would I hasten back to the sad home where
none were waiting for me, but I remembered
how I used to look forward about that time
of day, to meeting my Brother after we had
been apart all the morning ; and how I used
to fret at mine Aunts' over punctualitie, but

22O Joiirnal of

now there was none to chide me, and I was
sole mistress of the great ghostly house, having
mine own way in all.

So deep was I in these thoughts that I felt
no surprise when on my way homeward, the
figure of a Cavalier was seen coming towards
me along the shady path. It grew more
familiar as we approached- — the dog ran
to welcome him, and lo ! it was David.

I held out both hands to him, and could but
just refrain from weeping ; he also faulterec
at first, yet presently we were walking home-
ward together in our old friendly fashion, he
holding his plumed hat in his hand, and
could see the great scar across his forehead,
half hidden under his hair. He said he had
come back to look after his estate, having
been absent so long, and on his way from
Italy had met the Napiers and Sterlings, who
had charged him with letters and loving greet-
ings for me.

I prayed him to tell me all about them, and
he said Margaret did scarce look a day older,
nor was her husband altered, save for some
grey hairs. Good Dr. Wishart was at Dun-
kirk with the Napiers, and they all would fain
see me again. I said surely they might now
come home, and we might live together as of
yore, for to give him his due, Cromwell kept

Lady Beatrix. 221

things quiet, and was too strong to be cruel ;
but David exclaimed that Scotland was now
no place for a gentleman to live in. I in-
quired how it fared with Napier, and he made
reply, " He is much comforted by the presence
of my Lady Betty and the children, but he hath
never been the same man since — seven years
ago." Then when after a moment's pause, I
again asked of Lilias, he smiled, saying, " She
is well and blooming ; methinks the letters
whereof I am bearer will give important tidings
of her."

" Aye," I cried, " with whom ?"
" Doth your Ladyship remember the old
Lawyer and his son and daughter that sang
so bravely together ? "

" The Burrowes ? Oh, have you seen them ?
I was thinking of them but now."

" Well, young Burrowe hath, after long
waiting, become very happy."

I said I had always wished well to that
little gentleman, and asking concerning Mrs.
Anastasia, was answered,

" She hath noways lost her good looks, and
she and Mistress Lilias are like sisters already;
worthy Mrs. Burrowe likewise is good-natured
as ever, and hath grown very fat."

" I have many times wondered what hath
become of them, and whether we would ever

222 Journal of

hear of one another again, having once been
so much together."

"Mrs. Anastasia spake of your kindnesse,
and bade me ask if ye remembered giving her
one May morning a spray of some sweet herb
to lay in her Bible."

By this time we were come to the house,
and Mistress Grant stood on the doorway
ready to chide me for leaving my hood at
home, but when she saw who was with me,
she' could scarce contain her joy, and well-nigh
kissed him. I made him come in and dine
with me, and we conversed very cheerfully of
his travels, but afterwards he looked sadly
towards Aunt Lilias her empty chair, saying
how sorry he had been when he learnt he
would not see her again, and how kind she
was to him in his young days, though he did
not always follow her good advice. I said
no words could tell her kindness in my need ;
and presently we found ourselves talking to-
gether of that last meeting, David seeming
to thirst for every particular I could give
him of his General's patience and undaunted
courage. He rose abruptly and stood at the
window as he heard, but in a broken voice
begged me to proceed ; so to comfort him,
I told how Aunt Lilias had come in ; of the
sweet counsel she and my Brother did take

Lady Beatrix. 223

together, and how he had been upheld all that
dreadful time.

" Had I not known something of that," said
David, " I would have shot myself."

" Dear Friend, he told me how ye would
have saved his life at the desperate hazard of
your own."

" And yet he was taken, and I am left."

But we consoled ourselves with the thought
that Montrose and Hay and the others are
better off than those who now triumph over
them.

After he was gone I tarried in the great
dim parlour that seemed less sad now his
strong pleasant voice had sounded in it,
reading o'er and o'er the letters he had
brought me. Margaret Sterling said in hers,
it was something like old times to see him
again, and she wondered if she would ever see
me more, for she did miss me sair, e'en now ;
and Lilias wrote of her new happiness, but
that it was incomplete while I was away, who
had (said she) been so kind to her, with many
other loving expressions, especially that she
was glad to think that most noble martyr her
Uncle had known the Gentleman.

After this. David came often to see me ;
sometimes that he might shew me the draw-
ings he had made in Italy or the Holy Places,

224 Journal of

for indeed he hath cunning both of eye and
hand ; sometimes too he would perswade me
to sing and play our old tunes on the lute
or spinnet, and it seemed as though my Bro-
ther's Prediction were being fulfilled that he
spake to comfort me, namely, that we would
meet again better friends than ever, and I
thought now, after so many years we could
be comfortable and quiet together; though
sometimes I did see Mistress Grant looking
very wise, yea, and there were tones in his
voice that reminded me of old times. One
day looking for some musick, we found the
Romance of Cassandra, with my marker
therein, lying in the very drawer where my
poor Aunt Dorothy had locked it away from
me years ago : " Ah," quoth he, " you have
the keys now." How long it seemed since he
finding me moping and melancholick, had
brought the book to cheer me, and how
grievously enraged was I when it was taken
away ere I was half through it ; not the less
so at its being likened to the conjuring books
burnt at Ephesus.

Now too I had leisure to mark how his face
had become bronzed and resolute, and his
lips closed together when he was silent ; and
I thought how mine own Aspect must be
changed, for I did see him sometimes looking
earnestly upon me.

Lady Beatrix. 225

At length, some three weeks being now
passed, he came one morning with a grave and
troubled countenance, and asked me if my
letters were yet ready for him to convey unto
our friends. " What, my Lord," I cried, " are
ye going already ?"

He replied, "It may be that I will go to-
morrow, and not come back any more."

" Indeed, I shall be sorry" — but he inter-
rupted me, passionately urging his former suit.
Then when I hesitated, thinking he did but
feel a generous pity for my lonely estate, and
told him how my youth was fled this many a
year, he declared that he loved me all the
better for it, saying also how he would cherish
me all his life, and had loved me ever since he
could remember, with other words that thrill
my heart to recall them. At last when being
scarce able to speak, I laid my hand in his, it
was strange to see his deep joy and to feel so
happy : yet after he was gone, my heart mis-
gave me lest I should have dealt but selfishly
with him, for if he had quite given up all
thoughts of me he might have found some
younger woman who would have made him
happier than I. Wherefore I sought to com-
pose my mind with prayer, and then recol-
lected how my dear Brother had desired this,
wondering if he knew, and thinking David
Q

226 Joiirnal of

loved me for his sake as well as mine own :
now too I am assured that many waters can-
not quench love.

Mistress Grant and the old Porter were
loath to lose me, but I feel sure we shall yet
return and dwell in our own homes.

On one of the last evenings I went to the
chamber where Montrose had lain, and which
I had dared to enter but once since then, so
chill and empty was it, but now as I sate alone
in the twilight I could recall the voice and the
aspect that had been as musick and light
unto me.

Of all our kindred there were able to be
present at our marriage only a few of my
Lord's relations and my Lord of Southesk,1
who gave me away, also the old Laird of
Grange and his noble lady, who did, as a
mother, bestow her blessing upon me.

I know not whether there were more of joy
or sorrowe in the first meeting with our kindred
here, but Margaret exulted over me, declaring
that nought had so gladdened her for yeares
as our marriage, not even that of her own

1 The father of Montrose's young wife. It was at his
house that Montrose was allowed to stop and see his two
sons on his way to execution. — Ed.

Lady Beatrix. 227

sister, and that she alwaies knew it would
come to pass ; but this I doubt.

My good kind Husband hath promised,
when we shall have a little longer enjoyed the
society of our friends, that he will take me to
Italy, and when I scrupled he said he would
enjoy the pictures, gardens, and other gallant
sights far more now than when he went alone,
wondering what I would say, and thinking
'twas of no use to wish for me.

Milan, April 2^th, 1658. — Too long would
it take me were I to recount all the marvells
we have seen already in Florence and Ravenna,
but what hath passed this week must be
written in mine own old book. We had taken
refuge in the great solemn Cathedral from the
heat and glare without, and having sate awhile
quietly in that dim religious light, hearkening ye
soft musick that floated in the vault above our
head, my husband suddenlie remembered that
one Cardinal Charles Borromeeus lieth buried
there who counted not his life dear unto himself
in the time of ye Pestilence. " Wherefore,"
quoth David, " as he was indeed a Saint, let us
visit his grave." Which, when we had sought
awhile in vaine, he said, " Let us see whether
between us we can muster enough Italian to

o

ask the gentleman and lady yonder." While
he was addressing himself in right good

228

Journal of

Italian unto the gentleman, I could not choose
but look upon the lady with him, so sweet and
lovely was her countenance, though she was
far from young. She stood listening to David,
then turning toward me started, looked away,
and then again gazed earnestly upon me.
E'en then the gentleman courteously offered
to lead us into the Crypt, handing me down
the stair-way, the lady came with us, scarcely
speaking, but listening to all we said. Her
husband told us all we would hear, and finally
offered to guide us to the top of the Steeple
that we might see the sun rise next morning,
which kindness we gladly accepted. Accord-
ingly we were in the church early on the mor-
row, while the shadows still were dim in the
arches, and bats flitting round the columns ;
here we were presently joined both by the
gentleman and the lady. There was a brief
consultation between Signor Torriani (for that
was his name) and my husband, during which
the Signora with some hesitation asked me of
what Country we were, and being told, " I
knew it ! " she exclaimed, and then, very
timidly, asked if we were exiles on account
of the late Troubles in Scotland — then, if we
had ever known any of the chief leaders ?

" Yea, indeed," I replied, " the Captain-
General on the King's side was my only
Brother."

Lady Beatrix. 229

She changed colour, but even then the gen-
tlemen came to offer their aid in mounting
the stairs, wherefore being arrived at the first
marble platform of the roof, I feigned to be
too tired to go further, but I would not detain
the others. Signora Torriani looked grate-
fully upon me, and her husband said,
" Annetta would gladly tarry with me." Then
when we were alone together, she caught my
hand, saying, we could talk freely here among
the Angels.

" I know who you are, Signora ; my Brother
hath told me what passed in his youth."

" Then he did not forget me ?"

" So far from it that almost the last time I
was with him, he charged me, if ever we
should meet, to say he had aye remembered
you."

And, taking the ring from my finger where-
on it had lain so many years, I restored it to
her as its rightfull owner, telling her how it
had been cherished : and truly I miss it sore
at night, when I used to fold my other hand
over it 'ere I went to sleep. She looked upon
it, and then begged me if it would not be too
grievous, to tell her of his last days. Where-
fore I informed her of such things as it might
comfort her to know, and especially was she
pleased that I had seen him 'ere he died

230

among his foes, so that the end was not all as
desolate as she had fancied. Then I repeated
how he had said himself that his Father was
with him, and she cried, " Surely his soul must
be 'ere now among the saints in Paradise — I
have so prayed for him."

" Ah, lady, wherefore for the Dead, when
the living need it so sorely ?"

She laid her hand caressingly on mine,
looking upon me with her soft dark eyes.
" Poverina ! your heart was then well-nigh
broken."

But the fierce anguish that had almost been
lulled to sleep rose again in my heart as I
thought of him in his prime, and took away
my breath, so that I could not answer, and
she began reproaching herself for recalling it,
till I assured her that the remembrance never
left me, and we kissed one another, and sate
silent, hand in hand, till the statues of martyrs
around us were rosey with the early beams,
and we became aware of our companions re-
turning. 'Ere they approached within ear-
shot I could not help saying hurriedly, " When
first my Brother told me, his words were, ' I
had known her husband and liked him. I
hope she is happy and comforted with him.' '

She answered with a look that assured
me more than her words, " Oh, yes, he is

Lady Beatrix. 231

very good to me, and I have three darling
children."

By this time they joined us, David express-
ing his regret that I had not seen the view,
and his fears that I must be indisposed, for it
was not my wont to be so faint-hearted. Just
then, luckily, Signer Torriani stepped up,
warmly seconding his wife's invitation that we
should go to their house and see their sons
and daughter : which when we did on the day
following, his bearing was still more gentle,
and even deferential, than it had been from
the first. To-morrow we see them again 'ere
we depart, and then perhaps no more in this
world.

Not long after the king was restored, and
the old wish was fulfilled, that the long-scat-
tered kindred should again dwell peacefully in
their own homes. Yet not all, for the loyal
single-hearted Napier had died a little while
before, tended by his wife and sisters. Lilias
also departed with her good husband, William
Burrowe, to his southern home.

CHAPTER XXII.
May MDCLXL

HIS day have I watched with my
kinswomen in a window looking on
the very street along which Eliza-
beth saw my Brother led in a
And now again was he borne in
all the lonof street was

Captive.

triumphantlie, and
thronged and every window, only that over
against us one house stood dark and deserted,
in the balcony whereof eleven years ago Argyle
had waited with many friends, thinking to exult
over his ancient Enemy. They say that many
Elders feared to be present, lest the dry bones
should bleed ; but all the Grahames were as-
sembled to bear those relicks from the Chapel
of Holy rood to their place beside our grand-
father's grave. My husband and young Napier
walked among the mourners. After them
came the Hays, bearing the bones of good Sir

Journal of Lady Beatrix. 233

Francis, and we remembered how he had
exulted, in that he was doomed to share his
General's unhallowed grave beneath the gal-
lows. Truly they were lovely and pleasant
in their lives, and in their death they are not
divided.

Yet it maketh my heart to bleed that they
have disturbed the bones of Cromwell, seeing
too that he hath daughters living whom he
loved. As for the report that his Mother's
body and Mrs. Claypole's have been molested,
I will not believe it.

Mayxxvj, 1662. — The head of Argyle is to
be set to-morrow on the Gavel of the Tolbooth,
where he caused my Brother's to stand these
eleven years. And it is right ; yet may God
pardon him ! he is an old man now, and they
say he wept at the account of his Foe's last
moments ; though when I reminded my hus-
band thereof, he answered more impatiently
than he had ever spoken to me before, that
they were but Crocodile's Teares.

My Nephew hath endeavoured to bring
Macleod of Assynt to justice, by whom his
Father was in his utter need given into Leslie's
hands ; but owing to all manner of corrupt
Influence the hound hath escaped, and Leslie
is in high favour — may God judge and avenge
our cause at last !

234 Journal of

Christmasse, 1665. — My cousin Grahame of
Fentrie hath sent his youngest son hither on
his way to St. Andrew's : a handsome lad, but
so grave and silent my Husband vowed at first
he knew not what to make of him ; it seemed
as though not shyness alone, but a sort of
awefull reverence did chain his tongue in our
presence. One morning, however, I entering
unperceived, did find him gazing on my Bro-
ther's portrait with a look as though he were
about to follow him to the Charge. I said,
" Good Cousin, that portrait of Sir Antonio's
doth shew him as he would have looked on ye
Battel-field, but there is another that sheweth
his face as I can remember it, which ye shall
see if ye will accompany me to my Closet."

He thanked me eagerly, and I led him be-
fore the copy I made in Chalks of Mr. Dob-
son's portrait. Long did he gaze and stead-
fastly on the kind face from which surely all
evill would shrink away, then muttered, "Well
for Lord Mathertie and my Father that have
seen and spoken with him."

"Yea, better still for those that are with him,
away from the shame of these days."

" And the most crying shame, that he hath
not worthily been avenged."

" Nay, cousin, there hath been enough of
bloodshed and misery."

Lady Beatrix. 235

Then at his request I related many things
of those happy years when I dwelt with my
brother, and shewed the old books that had
come to us, and did at last bestow on him
Montrose his old college copy of Lucan, on
the fly-leaf whereof he had in his youthhead
written some verses, though not so good as he
made since.

My poor young cousin will be very lonely
when his father and all this generation are
gone, yet any loneliness will be better than
that he should be as those who care neither
for Religion, Loyaltie, nor Country; yea better
he should be the most fanaticall Enthusiast,
than that he should care for nought but
himself.

Sometimes I think Argyle and the others
did my brother good service in that they sent
him away from the evil to come ; but David
saith, had he lived things would not have
come to such a pass. Yet even had he en-
dured to go to Court, we have heard how the
old Chancellour's faithfull service hath been
requited — and of how much more would Mont-
rose be thought worthy ?

I used to doubt if the Dead can know what
passeth here, when many times I sate all
night in the window-seat, too weary-hearted
to undress and go to bed, yet never a sign or

236 journal oj Laay Beatrix.

token came to me that he remembered me
amid the glorious company to which he was
gone ; but now I think they may indeed bear
to know of our sorrows, and leave us in God's
hand, but how can they look upon our sins ?

Meanwhile it is pleasant to hear from Lilias
that she is in peace and prosperitie, dwelling
in the sunny red-brick house that Mrs. Anas-
tasia loved to talk of in her exile. The Plague
indeed hath been in their market-town, but it
hath done good in rousing men's Consciences,
and now they are devising goodly charities for
the Orphans it hath made. She speaketh of
the delight they take in the society of a Mr.
Thomas Kenn, a brother-in-law of Mr. Izaak
Walton, that good old Sergeant Burrowe told
me about in the fair green Forest years ago.

CHAPTER XXIII.

September 28//z, 1679.

G A I N are there fightings and fears
all around ! Ah, when will the land
have rest after so many years ? My
Husband would not be held from
riding out with young John Grahame and all
our Neighbours to disperse the unlawfull As-
semblies of disaffected folk. If aught evil
should befall him likewise, surely it may be
written on my Tombstone, Last of all, the
Woman died also.

Even as I sate mournfully musing over all
the sorrow these Rebells have wrought upon
me and mine, my tirewoman came in, saying
that an old Dame was asking to speak with
me alone. I desired that she should be
brought to me in my closet ; and presently
she entered, with garments travell-soiled, and
sore trouble in her face, so that I made her

230 journal, of

be seated, and would have sent for food and
wine, but that she declared she could let
nothing pass her lips till she had spoken her
errand, and that she had walked more than
twenty miles to ask a boon, not for herself,
but for her last-remaining son, who was now
hiding for his life in the forest near our Castle.
She had, indeed, been able to bring food to
him from her distant cottage, but now there
was reason to fear, his hiding-place must soon
be discovered ; moreover, she dreaded lest
sickness should o'ertake him, if he were much
longer without shelter. " Wherefore, Lady,"
she said, " I have come to you in my trouble,
thinking that you may have pity, and save
me from such sorrow as ye have known your-
self."

" But," I said, " if your son hath broken the
Laws, how can I help him, unless, indeed, he
will surrender himself to my Husband, and
walk peaceably in future?"

She answered, " That if Lord Mathertie
were willing to shew Mercy, yet there were
others with him from whom she could hope
nothing, and that the only way to save her
son was, if peradventure I would take him in
and shelter him for a few days, till the pur-
suit should be over in this neighbourhood."
I hesitated, not being willing to encourage

Lady Beatrix. 239

Schism and Sedition ; but she urged that her
son was ever a quiet, peaceable man, and
though he had ofttimes preached to the
people on the hill-side, yet it was always on
matters pertaining to their souls ; moreover,
that he had sharply rebuked their violence
and disloyaltie. It seemed a pity this worthy
man should suffer, when so many furious Pha-
natiques are raving loose about the Country,
wherefore I resolved to do what I could for
him ; but first I craved to know his name.
She hesitated, looked down, and said, " I will
tell the Truth— Adam Leslie."

Thereat I sprang up in fierce wrath, ex-
claiming, " And you dare to come before me
on such an errand ? "

She stood bending down, her hands wrung
together, then said, "Alas, Lady, I know too
well how your life was darkened by the deed
of my Kinsman ; and yet, had I been there, I
would have done my best to help your Brother
in his utmost need."

As she spoke, she looked up to his portrait ;
mine eyes also fastened thereon, and it seemed
as though he were gazing upon me with grave,
calm face, far above all our troubles. Where-
fore, after a while, I turned to my Guest, and
bid her be of good cheer, for truly it would no
ways profit if her Life were made desolate

240 j-ournal oj

also, and I would do what in me lay to pre-
vent it. Thereupon the poor soul burst into
a passion of weeping, and I made her rest,
and brought her food and cordials ; then when
she was somewhat restored, we conferred to-
gether how best her son might be holpen, and
it was resolved that he should meet me at
the garden-door after Nightfall, whence I
would bring him to a Chamber under the
western gable, which, with the staircase lead-
ing thereunto, is avoided by the servants
on account of strange noises heard there.
Only old Lasonde need be told of his pre-
sence.

She left me in order to fetch her son ; and
I, when the twilight was come, took my way
through the shadows, feeling strangely guilty
at avoiding mine own servants, yet my heart
told me I was right, and Montrose his pic-
tured face did seem in the gloom to look
approvingly upon me.

. Octr. 4//z. — My husband returned safe and
sound last night, bringing with him Sir George
Sterling and two or three more Officers to
tarry and sleep. They had gone through
some skirmishes, which David seemed to have
enjoyed, in that they minded him of old
Times ; but Sir George complained that the
pestilent Preacher, Adam Leslie, had escaped

Lady Beatrix. 241

to spread his abominable Doctrines, though
he knew ye Scoundrell could not be far off.
And when John Grahame said, in his wearie
way, That he was an harmless fellow enough,
not worth the powder it would take to shoot
him, George Sterling declared, His name
alone was enough to hang him.

I was glad to set them all down to cards,
and this morning, when they had taken their
stirrup-cups, and were departed for Edin-
borough, I made up a small pacquet of pro-
visions, and sought my strange Guest to tell
him that now the way was clear to the Sea,
and he might go in Peace. He said he would
make his way to the Low Countries, and when
I could not refrain from asking what was to
become of his old Mother ? he replied, That
his Countrey would be her Countrey, for she
had none left besides him.

Then I knew that I had done well. I saw
him safely through the garden, and at parting
he spake few words, but from the heart : spe-
cially he said, Blessed are the Mercifull — a
saying we have all forgotten in these days.

7//z. — My Husband returned last night with
Sir George only. He was graver than his
wont, and setting his pistols over the fireplace
he said he cared not if they remained there
the rest of his life. Sir George then bade me

R

242 Journal of

guess who of all the Privy Council was most
bitter to fight against the Whigs, not with
sword and pistol, but with Boot and Thumb-
screw ?

I soon guessed Lauderdale, from my old
remembrance of him, and David said, " We
cared not to give him much of our company,
so Sterling and I took up our Quarters with
good old Bishop Wishart, who desired me to
convey unto you his Blessing."

George Sterling added that he is hale and
hearty, but weary of the times ; and withdraw-
ing as much as may be from publick affairs he
quietly awaiteth his summons to follow his
Friends of old days.

We spent the Evening pleasantly together,
but afterwards, when David and I were alone
in our Chamber, it seemed right I should own
unto him what had passed in the matter of
that Fugitive. I had not expected he would
be so sore displeased, for he bitterly reproached
me that I had made his house an harbour for
Traitours, declaring there were few enough
now left to honour the memory of Montrose,
yet he should have thought I was to be trusted.
These words cut me to the heart, but I said
very little, and soon he was praying me to
forgive his vehemencie.

" I might have remembered," quoth he,

Lady Beatrix. 243

"that you never could endure to see a stag
at Bay, or to look even on those Dutch pic-
tures at Monsieur de Dampierre's, of a wild
boar torn by hounds ; how much more then
would ye have pity on a Man ? though he
came of a race more accursed than boars or
wolves ? "

He kissed me and was soon asleep, but I
still felt sad, yet even then, came such comfort
as I have never known since that Anguish
fell upon us ; for it seemed as though in the
watches of the night my Brother stood beside
me, with a look as of one resting triumphantly
after sore Conflict : he spake not, yet I knew
he was pleased with me.

In the morning twilight I woke, and found
my Husband leaning over me, asking if I had
had pleasant dreams, for I had talked in my
sleep and lifted my hands. I told him all I
could, and he eagerly enquired if the Appari-
tion had looked at all towards him ?

41 Yea," I said, "very kindly."

He fell into a muse ; the birds began to stir
in the dewy ivy leaves without the lattice, all
else was still in the grey light. At last my
Husband said,

" I remember long ago when I walked alone
round Hierusalem, it seemed sometimes as
though all anger and bitterness had died out

244 Journal of

of my heart, — and the Peace that lasted a
little while with me, is with him for ever."

" Long ago he was debating with me what
manner of death were best, and he deemed
those were favoured by Heaven who depart
without knowing age nor sickness ; and was it
not even so with him ? yet had he time also
to look Death in the face."

" Well, it may be — and you and I would
have given our very lives to keep him here in
sorrow and bitterness."

We found George Sterling already in the
hall waiting for us, and when we urged him to
stay this one day, he said he must go back to
Margaret, who would be anxious. However
it soon appeared that he had taken a heavie
Rheum on his long ride, wherefore we sent
to bid Margaret join him here, which she did
'ere the Gloaming, and we have spent the
evening talking peaceably by the fire of old
times and old friends, till Margaret declared
It was well Lilias hath such a fine family,
though we may scarce see them, and that the
young Napiers come on sae fast, else we were
all growing old together, and would soon be
leaving one another behind. I wonder which
of us will be the next to go. I hope not
David — nor yet Margaret — nor Elizabeth : it
is well I cannot choose.

Lady Beatrix. 245

. — Ever since those last words my mind
hath been running on old times. Now the
Sterlings have departed home to the Keir,
and David goes a hunting most days, I have
much time for musing and for wandering
alone on the wild brown Moorlands, or in the
deep quiet woods where faded leaves drop
upon me as I go to the ruined hermitage, yet
do I scarcely feel alone ; sometimes I find
myself laughing at recollections of old jests,
things poor Archibald had said that provoked
me at the time, mistakes I had made when
first I did keep house, yea, the shrill tones of
our French servants will ring in mine ears,
and many voices that I have scarce thought
of since, and when I first wake I seem to hear
my Brother speaking in another part of the
house, as when in bright Autumn mornings
he would order his horse, and I would hasten
down to ride with him away through the dewy
woodlands.

That grave stately Monsieur de Turenne !
I can almost see him again in his bravery ; he
died as he would have wished, and knoweth
now the Truth that he had wandered after ;
and Monsieur de Rosny, I wonder what hath
become of him ; we would not know one
another if we were now to meet. I found in
ye cabinet of sweet wood my Brother gave

240 journal oj

me, a Billet from Madame de Rambouillet,
bidding us to hear Monsieur de Corneille read
one of his Tragedies ; and many other relicks
I had locked therein when Margaret sent my
packages after me to Hayes House, — that
Autumn ; the broken fan I had bought with
Lilias on the Quai, which went with me to
many a merry meeting, the posy of grass-
plumes Anastasia gathered and set in my hat
at Fontainebleau, and a little piece of the
blush-coloured gown wherein my Brother
liked to see me attired. I wore it that night
when he had me out to look upon the stars,
and that other night when Mrs. Burrowe so
put my dear David to the blush that I might
even then have known his secret.

In the evening, while David is asleep in the
great chair, or when I wake early ere it be
time to rise, I love to read Mr. Milton's Poems,
or Dante's yet again : but often mine eyes will
o'erflow with tears for no reason, seeing my
heart is light, and I marvel that God hath
given me so much happiness.

David liketh me to play the old tunes to
him before bedtime, and when the Sterlings
were here, we would often take our old parts
as of yore : I think I shall know Sir Francis
Hay's voice when I hear it again.

Ffebruarie ij. — A letter hath been brought

Lady Beatrix. 247

hither express from my Lady Elizabeth, at
Merchistoun Castle, bidding us in the name of
her Son and Daughter-in-law to the christen-
ing of her seventh grandchild — the youngest
born of that worthy gentleman, who, when he
was a round-eyed innocent little boy, did, I
verily believe, hold me in Life, when it seemed
all too empty — he and his little sisters with
their soft clinging hands and sweet prattle.

We will seek to bring Elizabeth back hither
with us to tarry as long as her daughters will
spare her. David saith he is sure I need a
change, yet I am well, only sometimes I fancy
not all so strong as in my younger years. But
in these short days it is hard to tell, and it
may be that in the Spring I will be rising long
ere he is awake, as was my wont when I was
glad to greet another morrow — and later, when
I left my bed for very restlessnesse, to refresh
mine eyelids with dew instead of sleep, though
more often I would put off as long as might
be beginning another day.

Already the days are lengthening, and I
may begin to watch for the tips of the snow-
drops and the purple cloud in the summits of
the Elms, and to think of light April mornings
when the fields are yet grey, and the daisies
sleeping drenched with dew under long sha-
dows of hawthorn trees, in whose fresh leaves

240 j-ournai of

the Mavis is singing for Thankfulness, and all
the air is full of joyous chirm. For I long
after the springtide as never before, as if those
who have left us were coming back with the
pleasant times.

These are the last words written in the old
well-worn book ; the familiar handwriting is
firm and graceful as ever, there is nothing to
make us think the parting is so near, but the
remaining pages are a blank, and had it not
been for the visit of Elizabeth Napier, we
should have known nothing of the close of
that life in whose shifting joys and sorrows
we had learned to take an interest as keen as
if the Lady Beatrix had indeed been our
familiar friend.

Happily, however, as on a former occasion,
Lady Elizabeth tells us of many things that
we should be sorry not to know, her letter
being addressed this time to her sister-in-law,
Lilias Burrowe.

DEAR SISTER (she begins) I write unto you
with heavie tidings, for I must answer your
last letter unto sweet Beatrix. Dear Lilias,
she will never more gladden us with her
pleasant ways — God took her a week ago.

Now will I tell you as best I may the man-

Lady Beatrix. 249

ner of her last days. She had joined us at
Merchistoun, seemingly in her usual cheer,
yet I fancied some change had passed upon
her, though she was cordial and kindly as
ever. One day when she had my Grand-
children about her, telling them stories and
rhymes, my son joined himself to them, and
prayed to be allowed to listen, for he said
among the earliest things he could remember
was the great bay window where she repeated
the very same ballads to him and his sisters.
She made reply, " You did not know that you
children were helping me through a way as
dark and perillous as ever any of my Knights
had to traverse."

Having spent a week all together very
happily, my Lord and Lady Mathertie did
bring me hither. Beatrix was active as ever
in looking after her household, loving and
chearfull, specially with her husband, but
she would talk with me of old times more than
she had ever done, telling me many things of
that Saint and Hero her Brother, that I had
never known till now, nor did any memory
seem now to give her pain, so that I ventured
to ask her much concerning her happy life
with him that before I would not. Also she
said, she was now able calmly to recall the
agony she had gone through the night I had

250 Journal of

told her of her Brother's fate, and how as she
felt her brain beginning to whirl, she was glad
the thoughts were being stunned within her.

I did indeed at first ask her if she were
wise in suffering her mind to run so upon
those things, and was answered that she could
not help it ; these thoughts, yea, the very
feeling of old days came over her, so that
when she woke in the morning she could
sometimes scarce believe she was not in
France. And as she spoke, often her face
would look young again, for a soft flush would
rise in her cheek and light in her eyen ; yet a
dread came upon me that she was ceasing to
belong to us.

Your letter pleased her not a little, and she
held great debate with my Lord Mathertie
whether you and yours should all be bidden
hither, that you might see your Kindred and
shew them your children ; or whether she and
her Husband should go down into the South;
for they had greatly enjoyed their sojourn
with you some ten yeares since, and she liked
your fair green hayfields by waters that go
softly past the old stately Cathedral, saying
they minded her of her favourite Poems
called ' L' Allegro' and '// Penseroso,' in a
book your Father-in-law gave her long ago.
Her Husband said he would fain see again

Lady Beatrix. 251

that honest Mr. Izaak Walton, though he
vrould be shot if he'd let himself be inveigled
into standing hours together in a quagmire
for the chance of taking a Trout, the good
man declaring the while that all loyall Sub-
jects must love angling.

Beatrix asked if he did remember one
moonlight ramble to a copsewood where they
might hear the Nightingale ?

" Yea," quoth my Lord ; " and what were
those lines ye repeated that Lilias was so
pleased withal ?"

" They were Sir William Drummond's :

" ' What soule so sicke which but to heare thy songs
(Attired in sweteness] swetely is not driven,

Quite to forget Earths turmoils, spites and wrongs,
And lift a reverent eye and thought to Heauen I ' "

My Lord then observed that Sir William
could never have heard the Nightingale ; but
was corrected that the Poet, after the Death
of the young Lady he should have married,
went abroad to divert his grief, and might
then have heard that " Sweet artlesse songster ;"
and that the " F loners of Sion" were among his
later works. I requested to be allowed to see
the book, and she would not be withholden
from going to her Closet to fetch it. For a
long while her Husband talked so pleasantly
with me we did not think how time was going;

252 Journal of

at last, however, it struck us both that she was
long away, and he was e'en saying, "She
must be tarrying to read all the books up-
stairs," when the door opened, and she entered
slowly, with a soft rustling of her garments,
that seemed to spread a stillness round the
room. There was something in her calm face
as if a waft of death had gone forth against
her, yet she came quietly back to her chair,
and said, " Here, Betty, is the book ; it hath
long been my Companion, and now you shall
have it"

Then turning over a few pages, she read in
her low sweet voice, as followes :

" As doth ye Pilgrim therefore whom ye night
By darknesse would imprison on his waye,

Think on thy Home (my Soul) and think aright,
Of what yet rests thee of Life's wasting day :

Thy Svn posts westward, passed is thy morn,
And twice it is not giuen thee to be born?

We resumed our pleasant talk till bedtime,
when she embraced me with even more than
her wonted affection. All that night the great
dog was baying, tho' I hoped it was only at
the moon, which went in and out among the
black clouds like a hunted creature.

The next morning Beatrix went slowly
round the yard and garden, and along her
favourite mossy path in the wood, gazing on

Lady Beatrix. 253

the familiar things till I knew she was bidding
them farewell ; and I marked how she walked
not erect as of yore, but went bowed and
wearily. Afterwards she had me into her
Chamber and told me with the utmost com-
posure that she wished to speak with me
because she knew she must soon depart from
us ; and when I admonisht her (though my
heart smote me the while) that she should
not entertain such Ideas, she replyed, That
she had received her summons.

" Do ye mind," she continued, " I was a
long time in bringing you that book last night ?
I had looked up at my Brother's portraict, as
was ever my wont, and the eyes seemed to
rest full upon mine ; then I could not choose
but tarry awhile at the casement watching the
moonlight flitting like pale flame over the
hills, when my Brother's voice spake beside
me, saying, ' The time is come' '

And when I urged that it might be an illu-
sion, her mind ever dwelling so much on him,
and specially of late, she answered :

" That voice I have thirsted for all these
many years, how should I be mistaken in it ?
and indeed tho' I could see nothing, I felt I
was not alone."

Then without any the slightest perturbation
of mind she gave me divers directions, spe-

254 Journal of

cially that I was to write unto you this letter,
and bade you tell Mrs. Anastasia that she hath
never forgotten her, nor the May morning
they spent together. She said the only thing
that troubled her was the leaving of her Hus-
band all alone, for he had been kind and loving
unto her from his very childhood, and had
borne much for her sake ; but she bade me
invite Margaret Sterling, with Sir George, to
the funeral, for that Margaret would be able
to comfort him.

After this her sicknesse encreased fast upon
her, yet throughout the five days that it lasted
spake she never an impatient word, but alwayes
took thought for others ; and all the while
poor David, controuling his heavie grief, sate
by her tending her as skillfully as a woman.

One afternoon, we being both present, she
asked if we had any message she could con-
vey to our friends ? Wherefore I prayed her
to tell my Husband that I was waiting till I
should be sent for to rejoin him, and then
never be parted from him again ; and David
bade her tell Montrose he had never been for-
gotten. After a few more words she said, " I
must lie still now or Mrs. Grant will correct
us — but I forgot, she is one of those waiting
for me." Afterwards her mind sometimes
wandered, but always upon pleasant things ;

Lady Beatrix. 255

once she fancied she was walking with her
Brother and meeting her old friends in the
shining streets of the new H Jerusalem, in the
visible Presence of Christ who had walked
with them unseen all their lives ; and she
said, " I hope David will soon come here for
I have left him very lonely, but God is with
him." More than once she looked steadfastly
before her with a joyfull solemness, and I am
sure she then saw Angels or glorified spirits.
On the fifth evening she lay as if in a trance
while her Life slowly left her, tranquil as a
child, saving that her breath came in sobs, and
the change was stealing over her face. At
last she looked up, first at David, who was
holding her hand all this time, then at me,
and signed to us both to kiss her, then bade me
open the window. Already there was a faint
glimmering of Dawn over the low far-off hills,
and the morning star was shining. The cool
fresh air breathed into the chamber of Death,
and a strange light was kindled in her eyes,
but soon waxed dim, and for a moment a
troubled look came over her face ; she whis-
pered that it was dark, then David spake
something to her in a low tone, whereat she
smiled upon him ; presently there was a deep
sigh and she was gone.

Late in the gloaming next day her cousin

250

journal of

of Claverhouse rode to the door, not knowing
of her death, and was sore troubled when he
heard thereof, and craved earnestly that he
might see her. He looked mournfully upon
her as she lay, like one in a deep sleep, with
a smile half flickering, as it were, about her
lips ; her favourite snowdrops and sprays of
rosemary placed beneath her pretty hands
and on the pillow beside her smooth grey
hair : it seemed as though her youth had re-
turned to her. He is a proud silent man. yet
the large tears gathered in his een, and at last
he said,

" She will be goodly greeted in Paradise,
but I, even if I win there, will enter as a
stranger — unless indeed she may remember
me."

Great was the mourning at her Funerall
among her Husband's kindred whom she had
ever reckoned as her own ; and among all the
poor folk, specially certain half-witted innocent
bodies she had protected, nought causing her
greater displeasure than to hear of their being
anyways mocked or evil entreated.

I tarry here till over the next Sabbath,
David having lovingly invited me to do so ;
moreover the Sterlings are here, and when
they depart they will seek to perswade him to
go with them.

Lady Beatrix. 257

We can see now how wise was sweet Bea-
trix in her desire that Margaret Sterling should
come hither, for nought seemeth to give greater
comfort to my lord Mathertie than to hold
converse with her of the days when you were
all young together in foreign places : of the
Valentine's tide when he had watched her
window vainly in the morning, but when he
came later, Margaret bade him stay; and of
the blithe suppers in Paris, when you would
always make him lead out the Lady Beatrix;
of their dancing together, though some French
gentleman sought to be beforehand with him :
and of the journey they two made when she
would go to comfort Montrose, and they rode
all day through the snow, yet was there Sum-
mer in his heart. And of the time that fol-
lowed, that began sae pleasantly, yet turned
to gloom and bitterness, when he could care
for nothing save the hope of fighting, till
Montrose himself came to him as he sate all
alone, bringing fresh life with him — so what
marvell if he fought seven to one that he might
try to save his General in the evil day ?

Meanwhile he doth most manfully and
Christianly endure this his great grief, saying
that no man hath more cause of Thankfulness
than he, whose one wish hath been fulfilled
after years of hope deferred ; and who hath

s

250 journal oj i^aay neainx.

won the love of that dear lady, and dwelt
with her so long ; and now he is spared awhile
that he may seek with God's help, to be more
and more worthy of that honour and that hap-
pinesse bestowed upon him.

May it be well with all of us who have
counted such among our friends, yea — and
they still are our friends, for they do not for-
get us.

FINIS.

0

PR c Smith, Jane Mary Fowler D

54-53 Journal of Lady Beatrix

S82J6 Graham

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