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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 
Lasounde 1 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 
rest 1 

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 Sable 1 , 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 thro 1 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 



I 3 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 w r as 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 
v r ould 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. 








PR c Smith, Jane Mary Fowler D 

54-53 Journal of Lady Beatrix 

S82J6 Graham 



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