Wilson's tales of the borders and of Scotland : historical, traditionary, and imaginative : with a glossary

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THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

RIVERSIDE

/f&M*-*^. *A .

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WILSON'S

TALES OF THE BORDERS

AND OF SCOTLAND:

historical, (Eraoitionaru, ant) Ematrinattuc.

WITH A GLOSSARY.

Revised by
ALEXANDER LEIGHTON,

ONE OF THE ORIGINAL EDITOKS AND CONTRIBUTORS.

VOL. XII.

EDINBURGH :
WILLIAM P. NIMMO.

V \

/*<

CONTENTS.

The Lawyer's Tales, (A lexander Leighton) —

Lord Kames's Puzzle, 5

The Orphan, (John Machay Wilson), 36

The Burgher's Tales, (Alexander Leighton) —

The Brownie of the West Bow, 44

Gleanings of the Covenant, (Professor Thomas

Gillespie) —

The Last Scrap, 72

The Story of Mary Brown, (Alexander Leighton), 79

Tibby Fowler, (John Machay Wilson), 100

The Cradle of Logie, (Alexander Leighton), 109

The Death of the Chevalier de la Beaute, . . . («7b/m

Machay Wilson), 145

The Story of the Pelican, (Alexander Leighton), 153

The Widow's ae Son, (John Machay Wilson), 166

The Lawyer's Tales, (Alexander Leighton) —

The Story of Mysie Craig, 172

The Twin Brothers, (John Machay Wilson), 189

The Girl Forger, (Alexander Leighton), 224

The Two Red Slippers, (Alexander Leighton), 242

The Faithful Wife, (A lexander Leighton), 250

WILSON'S
TALES OF THE BOEDEES,

AND OF SCOTLAND.

THE LAWYER'S TALES.

LORD K AMES'S PUZZLE.

On looking over some Session papers which had be-
longed to Lord Karnes, with the object, I confess, of
getting hold of some facts — those entities called by
Quintilian the bones of truth, the more by token, I
fancy, that they so often stick in the throat — which
might contribute to my legends, I came to some sheets
whereon his lordship had written some hasty remarks,
to the effect that the case Napier versus Napier was the
most curious puzzle that ever he had witnessed since he
had taken his seat on the bench. The papers were
fragmentary, consisting of parts of a Reclaiming Petition
and some portion of a Proof that had been led in sup-
port of a brieve of service ; but I got enough to enable
me to give the story, which I shall do in such a con-
nected manner as to take the reader along with me, I
hope pleasantly, and without any inclination to choke
upon the foresaid bones.

Without being very particular about the year, which
really I do not know with further precision than that it
was within the first five years of Lord Karnes's senator-
ship, I request the reader to fancy himself in a small

5

6 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

domicile in Toddrick's Wynd, in the old city of Edin-
burgh ; and I request this the more readily that, as we
all know, Nature does not exclude very humble places
from the regions of romance, neither does she deny to
very humble personages the characters of heroes and
heroines. Not that I have much to say in the first in-
stance either of the place or the persons ; the former
being no more than a solitary room and a bed-closet,
where yet the throb of fife was as strong and quick as
in the mansions of the great, and the latter composed
of two persons — one, a decent, hard-working woman
called Mrs. Hislop, whose duty in this world was to
keep her employers clean in their clothes, wherein she
stood next to the minister, insomuch as cleanliness is
next to godliness — in other words, she was a washer-
woman ; the other being a young girl, verging upon
sixteen, called Henrietta, whose qualities, both of mind
and body, might be comprised in the homely eulogy,
" as blithe as bonnie." So it may be, that if you are
alarmed at the humility of the occupation of the one —
even with your remembrance that Sir Isaac Newton ex-
perimented upon soap-bubbles — as being so intractable
in the plastic-work of romance, you may be appeased
by the qualities of the other ; for has it not been our
delight to sing for a thousand years, yea, in a thousand
songs, too, the praises of young damsels, whether under
the names of Jenny or Peggy, or those of Clarinda or
Florabella, or whether engaged in herding flocks by
Logan Waters, or dispensing knights' favours under the
peacock ? But we cannot afford to dispose of our young
heroine in this curt way, for her looks formed parts of
the lines of a strange history ; and so we must be
permitted the privilege of narrating that, while Mrs.
Hislop's protegee did not come within that charmed
circle which contains, according to the poets, so many

LORD K AMES'S PUZZLE. 7

angels without wings, slie was probably as fair every
whit as Dowsabell. Yet, after all, we are not here
concerned with beauty, which, as a specialty in one
to one, and as a universality in all to all, is beyond the
power of written description. "We have here to do
simply with some traits which, being hereditary, not
derived from Mrs. Hislop, have a bearing upon our
strange legend : the very slightest cast in the eyes,
which in its piquancy belied a fine genial nature in the
said Henney ; and a classic nose, which, partaking of
the old Eoman type, and indicating pride, was equally
untrue to a generosity of feeling which made friends of
all who saw her — except one. A strange exception this
one ; for who, even in this bad world, could be an
enemy to a creature who conciliated sympathy as a
love, and defied antipathy as an impossibility? Who
could he be ? or rather, who could she be ? for man
seems to be excluded by the very instincts of his nature.
The question may be answered by the evolution of
facts ; than which what other have we even amidst
the dark gropings into the mystery of our wonderful
being?

Mrs. Hislop's head was over the skeil, wherein lay
one of the linen sheets of Mr. Dallas, the writer to the
signet, which, with her broad hands, she was busy
twisting into the form of a serpent ; and no doubt there
were indications of her efforts in the drops of perspira-
tion which stood upon her good-humoured, gaucy face,
so suggestive of dewdrops ('bating the poetry) on the
leaves of a big blush peony. In this work she was
interrupted by the entrance of Henney, Avho came
rushing in as if under the influence of some emotion
which had taken her young heart by surprise.

"What think ye, minny ?" she cried, as she held up
her hands.

8 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

"The deil has risen again from the grave where he
was buried in Kirkcaldy," was the reply, with a laugh.

" No, that's no it," continued the girl.

"Then what is it ?" was the question.

" He's dead," replied Henney.

"Who is dead?" again asked Mrs. Ilislop.

"The strange man," replied the girl.

And a reply, too, which brought the busy worker to
a pause in her work, for she understood who the he was,
and the information went direct through the ear to the
heart ; but Henney, supposing that she was not under-
stood, added —

" The man who used to look at me with yon terrible
eyes."

" Yes, yes, dear, I understand you," said the woman,
as she let the coil fall, and sat down upon a chair,
under the influence of strong emotion. " But who
told you?"

"Jean Graham," replied the girl.

An answer which seemed, for certain reasons known
to herself, to satisfy the woman, for the never another
word she said, any more than if her tongue had been
paralyzed by the increased action of her heart ; but as
we usually find that when that organ in woman is quiet
more useful powers come into action, so the sensible
dame began to exercise her judgment. A few minutes
sufficed for forming a resolution ; nor was it sooner
formed than that it was begun to be put into action,
yet not before the excited girl was away, no doubt to
tell some of her companions of her relief from the bug-
bear of the man with the terrible eyes. The formation
of a purpose might have been observed in her puckered
lips and the speculation in her grey eyes. The spirit
of romance had visited the small house in Toddrick's
"Wynd, where for fifteen years the domestic lares had

LORD KAMES S PUZZLE. 9

sat quietly surveying the economy of poverty. She
rose composedly from the chair into which the effect
of Henney's exclamation had thrown her, went to the
blue chest which contained her holiday suit, took out,
one after another, the chintz gown, the mankie petti-
coat, the curcb, the red plaid ; and, after washing from
her face the perspiration drops, she began to put on her
humble finery — all the operation having been gone
through with that quiet action which belongs to strong
minds where resolution has settled the quivering chords
of doubt.

Following the dressed dame up the High Street, we
next find her in the writing-booth of Mr. James Dallas,
writer to his Majesty's Signet. The gentleman was,
after the manner of his tribe, minutely scanning some
papers — that is, he was looking into them so sharply
that you would have inferred that he was engaged in
hunting for " flaws ;" a species of game that is both a
prey and a reward — et prcsda et premium, as an old
proverb says. Nor shall we say he was altogether
pleased when he found his inquiry, whatever it might
be, interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Margaret His-
lop of Toddrick's Wynd ; notwithstanding that to this
personage he and Mrs. Dallas, and all the Dallases,
were indebted for the whiteness of their linen. No
doubt she would be wanting payment of her account ;
yet why apply to him, and not to Mrs. Dallas ? And,
besides, it needed only one glance of the writer's eye
to show that his visitor had something more of the look
of a client than a cleaner of linen ; a conclusion which
was destined to be confirmed, when the woman, taking
up one of the high-backed chairs in the room, placed
it right opposite to the man of law, and, hitching her
round body into something like stiff dignity, seated
herself. Nor was this change from her usual deport-

10 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

merit the only one she underwent ; for, as soon ap-
peared, her style of speech was to pass from broad
Scotch, not altogether into the " Inglis" of the upper
ranks, but into a mixture of the two tongues ; a feat
which she performed very well, and for which she had
been qualified by having lived in the service of the
great.

" And so Mr. Napier of Eastleys is dead?" she began.

" Yes," answered the writer, perhaps with a portion
of cheerfulness, seeing he was that gentleman's agent,
or " doer," as it was then called ; a word far more ex-
pressive, as many clients can testify, at least after they
are "done;" and seeing also that a dead client is not
finally " done" until his affairs are wound up and con-
signed to the green box.

"And wha is his heir, think ye?" continued his
questioner.

" Why, Charles Napier, his nephew," answered the
writer, somewhat carelessly.

" I'm no just a'thegither sure of that, Mr. Dallas,"
said she, with another effort at dignity, which was un-
fortunately qualified by a knowing wink.

" The deil's in the woman," was the sharp retort, as
the writer opened his eyes wider than he had done since
he laid down his parchments.

" The deil's in me or no in me," said she ; " but this
I'm sure of, that Henrietta Hislop — that's our Henney,
ye ken — the brawest and bonniest lass in Toddrick's
Wynd (and that's no saying little), is the lawful heiress
of Mr. John Napier of Eastleys, and was called Hen-
rietta after her mother."

" The honest woman's red wud," said the writer,
laughing. " Why, Mrs. Hislop, I always took you
for a shrewd, sensible woman. Do you really think
that, because you bore a child to Mr. John Napier,

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 11

therefore Henney Hislop is the heiress of her reputed
father?"

" Me bear a bairn to Mr. Napier!" cried the offended
client. " Wha ever said I was the mother of Henney
Hislop?"

" Everybody," replied he. " We never doubted it,
though I admit she has none of your features."

" Everybody is a leear, then," rejoined the woman
tartly. " There's no a drap of blood in the lassie's
body can claim kindred with me or mine ; though, if it
were so, it would be no dishonour, for the Hislops were
lairds of Highslaps in Ayrshire at the time of Malcolm
Mucklehead."

" And Avhose daughter, by the mother's side, is she,
then ?" asked he, as his curiosity began to wax stronger.

" Ay, you have now your hand on the cocked egg,"
replied she, with a look of mystery. " The other was
a wind ane, and you've just to sit a little and you'll see
the chick."

The writer settled himself into attention, and the
good dame thought it proper, like some preachers who
pause two or three minutes (the best part of their dis-
course) after they have given out the text, to raise a
wonder how long they intend to hold their tongue, and
thereby produce attention, to retain her speech until
she had attained the due solemnity.

" It is now," she began, in a low mysterious voice,
"just sixteen years come June, — and if ye want the
day, it will be the 15th, — and if ye want the hour, we
may say eleven o'clock at night, when I was making-
ready for my bed, — I heard a knock at my door, and
the words of a woman, ' Oh, Mrs. Hislop, Mrs. Hislop ! '
So I ran and opened the door ; and wha think ye I
saw but Jean Graham, Mr. Napier's cook, with een like
twa candles, and her mouth as wide as if she had been

12 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

to swallow the biggest sup of porridge that ever crossed
ploughman's craig ? "

" ' What's ado, woman ?' said I, for I thought some-
thing fearful had happened.

" ' Oh.' cried she, ' my lady's lighter, and ye're to
come to Meggat's Land, even noo, this minute, and bide
nae man's hindrance.'

" ' And so I will,' said I, as I threw my red plaid
ower my head ; then I blew out my cruse, and out we
came, jolting each other in the dark passage through
sheer hurry and confusion — down the Canongate, till
Ave came to Meggat's Land, in at the kitchen door, ben
a dark passage, up a stair, then ben another passage,
till we came to a back room, the door of which was
opened by somebody inside. I was bewildered — the
light in the room made my een reel ; but I soon came
to myself, when I saAv a man and Mrs. Kemp the
howdie busy rowing something in flannel.

"'Get along,' said the man to Jean; 'you're not
wanted here.'

" And as Jean made off, Mrs. Kemp turned to me —

" ' Come here, Mrs. Hislop,' said she.

"So I slipt forward ; but the never a word more
was said for ten minutes, they were so intent on getting
the bairn all right — for ye ken, sir, it was a new-born
babe they were busy with : they were as silent as the
grave ; and indeed everything was so still, that I heard
their breathing like a rushing of wind, though they
breathed just as they were wont to do. And when
they had finished —

" ' Mrs. Hislop,' said the man, as he turned to me,
' you're to take this child and bring it up as your own,
or anybody else's you like, except Mr. Napier's, and
you're never to say when or how you got it, for it's a
banned creature, with the curse upon it of a malison for

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 1

• i

the sins of him who beorot it and of her who bore it.
Swear to it ;' and he held up his hand.

" And I swore ; but I thought I would just take the
advice of the Lord how far my words would bind me to
do evil, or leave me to do gude, when the time came.
So I took the bairn into my arms.

"'And wha will pay for the wet-nurse?' said I;
' for ye ken I am as dry as a yeld crummie. But there
is a woman in Toddrick's Wynd wha lost her bairn
yestreen : she is threatened wi' a milk-fever, and by
my troth this little stranger will cure her ; but, besides
the nourice-fee, there is my trouble.'

"'I was coming to that,' said he, 'if your supple
tongue had left you power to hear mine. In this
leathern purse there are twenty gOAvden guineas — a
goodly sum ; but whether goodly or no, you must be
content ; yea, the never a penny more you may ex-
pect, for all connection between this child and this
house or its master is to be from this moment finished
for ever.'

" And a gude quittance it was, I thought, with a
bonny bairn and twenty guineas on my side, and no-
thing on the other but maybe a father's anger and salt
tears, besides the wrath of God against those who for-
sake their children. So with thankfulness enough I
carried away my bundle ; and ye'll guess that Henney
Hislop is now the young woman of fifteen avIio was
then that child of a day."

"And is this all the evidence," said the writer, "you
have to prove that Henrietta Hislop is the daughter of
Mr. and Mrs. Napier?"

" Maybe no," replied she ; " if ye weren't so like the
English stranger wha curst the Scotch kail because he
did not see on the table the beef that was coming from
the kitchen, besides the haggis and the bread-pudding.

14 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

You've only as yet got the broth, and, for the rest, I
will give you Mrs. Kemp, wha told me, as a secret,
that the child was brought into the world by her own
hands from the living body of Mrs. Napier. Will that
satisfy you?"

"No," replied Mr. Dallas, who had got deeper and
deeper into a study. " Mr. Napier, I know, was at
home that evening when his wife bore a child : that
child never could have been given away without his
consent ; and as for the consent itself, it is a still greater
improbability, seeing that he was always anxious for
an heir to Eastleys."

"And so maybe he was," replied she; "but I see
you* are only at the beef yet, and you may be better
pleased when you have got the haggis, let alone the
pudding. Yea, it is even likely Mr. Napier wanted an
heir, and, what is more, he got one, at least an heiress ;
but sometimes God gives and the devil misgives. And
so it was here ; for Mr. Napier took it into his head that
the child was not his, and, in place of being pleased
with an heir, he thought himself cursed with a bastard,
begotten on his wife by no other than Captain Preston,
his lady's cousin. And where did the devil find that
poison growing but in the heart of Isabel Napier, the
sister of that very Charles who is now thinking he will
heir Eastleys by pushing aside poor Henney? And
then the poison, like the old apple, was so fair and
tempting ; for Mr. Napier had been married ten years,
and enjoyed the love that is so bonnie a 'little while when
it is new,' and yet had no children, till this one came so
exactly nine months after the captain's visit to Scotland,
that Satan had little more to do than hold up the
temptation. You see, sir, how things come round ; but
still, according to the old fashion, after a long, weary,
dreary turn. Mrs. Napier died next day after the

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 15

birth ; Mr. Napier lived a miserable man ; Henney was
brought up in poverty, and sometimes distress, but now
I hope she has come to her kingdom."

Here Mrs. Hislop stopped ; and as there could be no
better winding-up of a romance than by bringing her
heroine to her kingdom at last, she felt so well pleased
with her conclusion, that she could afford to wait longer
for her expected applause than the fair story-tellers in
the brigata under Queen Pampinea ; and it was as well
that she was thus fortified, for the writer, in place of
declaring his satisfaction with her proofs, seemed, as he
lay back in his chair in a deep reverie, to be occupied
once more in hunting for flaws. At length, raising him-
self on his chair, and fixing his eyes upon her with that
look of scepticism which a writer assumes when he ad-
dresses a would-be new client who wants to push out
an old one with a better right —

" Mrs. Hislop," said he, " if it had not been that I
have always taken you for an honest woman, I would
say that you are art and part in fabricating a story
without a particle of foundation. There may possibly
be some mystery about the birth and parentage of the
young girl. You may have got her out of the house
of Meggat's Land in the Canongate from a man — not
Mr. Napier, you admit — who may have been the father
of it by some mother residing in the house ; and Mrs.
Kemp may have been actuated, by some unknown
means, to remove the paternity from the right to the
wrong person. All this is possible ; but that the child
could be that one which Mrs. Napier bore is impossible,
for this reason — and I beg of you to listen to it — that
Mrs. Napier's child was dead-born, and ivas, according to
good evidence, buried in the same coffin with the mother.'1''

A statement this, which, delivered in the solemn
manner of an attorney who was really honest, and who

16 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

knew much of this history, appeared to Mrs. Hislop so
strange that her tongue was paralyzed ; an effect which
had never before been produced by any one of all the
five causes of the metaphysicians. Even her eyes
seemed to have lost their power of movement ; and as
for her wits, they had, like those of the renowned
Astolpho, surely left, and taken refuge in the moon.

" If yoix are not satisfied with my words," continued
the writer (no doubt ironically, for where could he
have found better evidence of the effect of his state-
ment?), " I will give you writing for the truth of what
I have said to you."

And rising and going towards a green tin box, he
opened the same, and taking therefrom a piece of paper,
he resumed his scat.

" Now listen," said he, as he unfolded an old yellow-
coloured sheet of paper, and then he read these words:
" ' Your presence is requested at the funeral of Hen-
rietta Preston, my wife, and of a child still-born, from
my house, Meggat's Land, Canongate, to the burying-
ground at St. Cuthberts, on Friday the 19th of this
month June, at one o'clock ;' and the name at this
letter," continued Mr. Dallas, "is that of 'John Napier
of Eastleys.' Will that satisfy you?"

And the " doer" for Mr. Charles Napier, conceiving
that he had at last effectually " done" his client's op-
ponent, seemed well pleased to sit and witness the fur-
ther effect of his evidence on the bewildered woman ;
but we are to remember that a second stroke sometimes
only takes away the pain of the former, and a repetition
of blows will quicken the reaction which slumbered
under the first. Whether this was so or not in our
present instance, or whether Mrs. Hislop had recovered
her wits by a process far shorter than that followed by
the foresaid Astolpho, we know not ; but certain it is,

LOuD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 17

that she recovered the powers of both her eyes and her
tongue in much less time than the writer expected,
and in a manner, too, very different from that for which
he was probably prepared.

" Weel," replied she, smiling, " it woidd just seem
that even the haggis has not pleased you, Mr. Dallas ; "
and, putting her hand into a big side-pocket, that
might have served a gaberlunzie for a wallet, she ex-
tracted a small piece of paper. She continued : "But
ye see a guid, honest Scotchwoman 's no to be sus-
pected of being shabby at her own table ; so read ye
that, which you may take for the bread-pudding."

And the writer, having taken the paper, and held it
before his face for so long a time that it might have
suggested the suspicion that the words therein written
stuck in his eyes, and would not submit to that strange
process whereby, unknown to ourselves, Ave transfer
written vocables to the ear before we can understand
them, turned a look ivpon the woman of dark sus-
picion—

" Where, in God's name, got you this ?" he said.

" Just read it out first," replied she. " Ye read yer
ain paper, and why no mine?"

And the writer read, perhaps more easily than he
could understand, the strange words :

" This child, born of my wife, and yet neither of my
blood nor my lineage, I repudiate, and, unable to push
it back into the dark world of nothing from which it
came, I leave it with a scowl to the mercy which coun-
tervaileth the terrible decree whereby the sins of the
parent shall be visited on the child. This I do on the
loth of June 17 — . John Napier of Eastleys, in the
comity of Mid-Lothian."

After reading this extraordinary denunciation, Mr.
Dallas sat and considered, as if at a loss what to say ;

VOL. XXITT. B

18 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

but whether it was that scepticism was at the root of
his thoughts, or that he assumed it as a mask to con-
ceal misgivings to which he did not like to confess, he
put a question :

" Where got you this notable piece of evidence ?"
" Ay," replied Mrs. Hislop, " you are getting rea-
sonable on the last dish. That bit of paper, which to
me and my dear Henney is Avorth the haill estate of
Eastleys, was found by me carefully pinned to the
flannel in which the child was wrapt."

" Wonderful enough surely," repeated he, " if true "
— the latter words being pronounced with emphasis
which made the rough liquid letter sound like a hurl-
ing stone ; " but," he continued, " the whole document,
in its terms of crimination and exposure, and not less
the wild manner of its application, is so unlike the act
of a man not absolutely frantic, that I cannot believe it
to be genuine."

" But you know, Mr. Dallas," replied she, "that Mr.
John Napier was a man who, if he threw a stone, cared
little whether it struck the kirk window or the mill
door."

" That is so far true ; but, passionate and unforgiv-
ing as he was, he was not so reckless as to be regardless
whether the stone did not come back on his own head."
" And it's no genuine!" she resumed, as, disregarding
his latter words, she relapsed into her more familiar
dialect, "The Lord help ye! canna ye look at first
the ae paper and then the ither ? and if they're no alike,
mustna the ither be the forgery ?"

An example of the conditional syllogism which might
have amused even a writer to the signet, if he had not
been at the very moment busy in the examination of
the handwriting of the funeral letter and that of the
paper of repudiation and malison — the resemblance, or

LOED KAMES'S PUZZLE. 19

rather the identity of which was so striking, as to re-
duce all his theories to confusion.

"By all that's good in heaven, the same," he muttered
to himself ; and then addressing his visitor, "■ I confess,
Mrs. Hislop," said he, " that this paper has driven me
somewhat off my point of confidence ; but I suppose
3'ou will see that, if the child was actually, as the letter
indicates, buried with its mother, Henrietta's rights are
at an end. It is just possible, however, I fairly admit,
that Mr. Napier, who was a very eccentric man, may
have so worded the letter as to induce the world to
believe that the so-considered illegitimate child had
been dead-born, while he gratified — privately he might
verily think — his vengeance by writing this terrible
curse. Still I think you are wrong ; but as this won-
derful paper gives you a plausible plea, I would recom-
mend you to Mr. White, in Mill's Court, who will see
to the young woman's rights. He will be the flint, and
I the steel; and between our friendly opposition we
will produce a spark which will light up the candle of
truth."

" Ay," replied she ; " only as the spark of fire comes
from the steel, we'll just suppose you are the flint — and
by my troth you're hard enough ; but, come as it may,
it will light the lantern that will show Henney Napier
to the bonnie haughs of Eastleys."

Mrs. Hislop having got back her paper from Mr.
Dallas, left the writer's chambers, and directed her
steps to Mill's Court, where she found Mr. White, even
as she had Mr. Dallas, busy poring over Lrw papers.
She was, as we have seen, one of those people who can
make their own introduction acceptable, and, moreover,
one of those women, few as they are, who can tell a
story with the continuity and fitting emphasis necessary
to secure the attention of a busy listener. So Mr. White

20 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

heard her narrative, not only with interest, but even a
touch of the pervading sympathy of the spirit of ro-
mance. And so he might ; for who doesn't see that the
charm of mystery can be enhanced by the hope of
turning it to account of money? Then he Avas so much
of a practical man as to know that while every string
has two ends, the true way to get hold of both is to
make sure in the first place of one. Wherefore he
began to interrogate his client as to who could speak
to the doings in the house in Meggat's Land on that
eventful night when the child was born ; and having
taken notes of the answers to his questions, he paused
a little, as if to consider what was the first step he ought
to take into the region of doubt, and perhaps of intrigue,
where at least there must be lies floating about like films
in the clear atmosphere of truth. Nor had he meditated
many minutes till he rose, and taking up his square hat
and his gold-headed cane, he said —

" Come, we will try what we can discover in a quarter
where an end of the ravelled string ought to be found,
whether complicated into a knot by the twisting power
of self-interest or no."

And leading the way, he proceeded with his client
down the High Street, where, along under the glim-
mering lamps, were the usual crowds of loungers, com-
posed of canny Saxon and fiery Celt, which have always
made this picturesque thoroughfare so remarkable. Not
one of all these had any interest for our two searchers ;
but it was otherwise when they came toward the Canon-
gate Tolbooth, where, out from a dark entry sprang a
young woman, and bounding forward, seized our good
dame round the neck. This was no other than Henney
Hislop herself, who, having been alarmed at the long-
absence of her " mother," as she called her, and of
course believed her to be, was so delighted to find her,

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 21

that she sobbed out her joy in such an artless way, that
even the writer owned it was interesting to behold.
Nor was the picture without other traits calculated to
engage attention ; for the girl Avhose fortunes had been
so strange, and were perhaps destined to be still more
strange, was dressed in the humblest garb — the short
gown and the skirt peculiar to the time ; but then
every tint was so bright with pure cleanliness, the ear-
rings set off so fine a skin, the indispensable strip of
purple round the head imparted so much of the grace
of the old classic wreath ; and beyond all this, which
might be said to be extraneous, her features — if you
abated the foresaid cast or slight squint in the eyes,
which imparted a piquancy — were so regular, if not
handsome, that you could not have denied that she
deserved to be a Napier, if she was not a very Napier
in reality. A few words whispered in Mrs. Hislop's
ear, and the girl was off, leaving our couple to pro-
ceed on their way. Even this incident had its use ; for
Mr. White, who had known Mr. Napier, and had faith
(as who has not?) in the hereditary descent of bodily
aspects, could not restrain himself from the remark,
however much it might inflame the hopes of his client —

" The curse has left no blight there," said he. " That
is the very face of Mr. Napier — the high nose especially ;
and as for the eyes, with that unmistakeable cast, why,
I have seen their foretypes in the head of John Napier
a hundred times."

An observation so congenial to Mrs. Ilislop, that she
could not help being a little humorous, even in the
depth of an anxiety which had kept her silent for the
full space often minutes.

" Nose, sir ! there Avasn't a man frae the castle yett
to Holyrood wha could have produced that nose except
John Napier,"

22 TALES OF THE BOEDERS.

And without further interruption than her own laugh,
they proceeded till they came to the entry called Big
Lochend Close, up which they went some forty or fifty
steps till they came to an outer door, which led by a
short dark passage to two or three inner doors in suc-
cession, all leading to separate rooms occupied by sepa-
rate people. No sooner had they turned into this
passage than they encountered a woman in a plaid and
with a lantern in her hand, who had just left the third
or innermost room, and whose face, as it peered through
the thick folds of her head-covering, was illuminated by
a gleam from the light she carried. She gave them little
opportunity for examination, having hurried away as if
she had been afraid of being searched for stolen pro-
perty.

" Isbel Napier," whispered Mrs. Hislop ; " she wha
first brought evil into the house of the Napiers, with
all its woe."

" And who bodes us small hope here," said he, " if
she has been with the nurse."

And entering the room from which the ill-omening
woman had issued, they found another, even her of
whom they were in search, sitting by the fire, torpid
and corpulent, to a degree which indicated that as
it had been her trade to ' nurse others, she had not
forgotten herself in her ministrations.

" Mrs. Temple," said Mr. "White, who saw the policy
of speaking fair the woman who had been so recently
in the company of an evil genius ; "I am glad to find
you so stout and hearty."

" Neither o' the twa, sir," replied she ; " for I am
rather weak and heartless. Many a ane I hae nursed
into health and strength, but a' nursing comes hame
in the end."

" And some, no doubt, have died under your care,"

LOED KAMES'S PUZZLE. 23

continued the writer, -with a view to introduce his
subject ; " and therefore you should be grateful for the
life that is still spared to you. You could not save
the life of Mrs. Napier."

" That's an auld story, and a waefu' ane," she replied,
with a side-look at Mrs. Hislop ; " and I hae nae heart
to mind it. Some said the lady wasna innocent ; and
doubtless Mr. Napier thought sae, for he took high
dealings wi' her, and looked at her wi' a scorn that
would have scathed whinstanes. Sae it was better
she was ta'en awa — ay, and her baby wi' her ; for if it
had lived, it would have dree'd the revenge o' that
stern man."

"The child!" said Mr. White, " did it die too ? "

" Dee ! ye may rather ask if it ever lived ; for it
never drew breath, in this world at least."

A statement so strange, that it brought the eyes of
the two visitors to each other ; and no doubt both of
them recurred in memory to the statement in the
funeral letter, which, whatever may have been the
case with the assertion now made by the nurse, never
^ould have been dictated by her they had met in the
passage ; and no doubt, also, they both remembered
the statement made by Mr. Dallas, to the effect that
both the mother and child were buried together.

" Never drew breath, you say, nurse ! " resumed Mr.
"White, with an air of astonishment ; " why, I have
been given to understand, not only that the child was
born alive, but that it is actually living noAV."

"Weel," replied the nurse, "maybe St. Cuthbert
has wrought a miracle, and brought the child out o'
the grave by the West Church ; but he has wrought
nae miracle on me, to mak' me forget what my een
saw, and my hands did, that day when 1 helped to
place the dead body o' the innocent on the breast o'

24 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

its dead mother ; ay, and bent her stiff arms sae as to
bring them ower her bairn, just as if she had been
fauldino; it to her bosom. And sae in this fashion
were they buried."

" And you would swear to that, Mrs. Temple ?" said
the writer.

" Ay, upon fifty Bibles, ane after anither," was the
reply, in something like a tone of triumph.

Nor could the woman be induced to swerve from
these assertions, notwithstanding repeated interroga-
tions ; and the writer was left to the conclusion —
which he preferred, rather than place any confidence
in the funeral letter — that the nurse's statement was
in some mysterious way connected with the visit of
Isabel Napier ; and yet, not so very mysterious, after
all, when we are to consider that her brother was pre-
paring to claim Eastleys, as Avell as the valuable furni-
ture of the house in Me<ra;at's Land, as the nearest
lawful heir of his deceased uncle. The salvo was at
least comfortable to both Mr. White and his client, and
no doubt it helped to lighten their steps, as, bidding-
adieu to the the " hard witness," they left her to the
nursing which comes "aye hame in the end."

But their inquiries were not finished ; and retracing
their steps up the Canongate, they landed in the
Fountain Close, where, under the leading of Mrs.
Ilislop, the writer was procured another witness, with
a name already familiar to him through the communi-
cation of his client ; and this was no other than that
same Jean Graham, who was sent to Toddrick's Wynd
on that eventful night, fifteen years before, to bring
Mrs. Hislop to the house in Meggat's Land ; — one of
those simple souls — we wish there were more of them
in the world — who look upon a lie as rather an operose
affair, and who seem to be truthful from sheer lazi-

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 25

ness. There was, accordingly, no difficulty here ; for
the woman rolled off her story just as if it had been
coiled up in her mind for all that length of time.

" There was a terrible stir in the house that night,"
she began. "The nurse, wha is yet living in Loch-
end Close, and Mrs. Kemp the howdie, wha is dead,
were wi' my lady ; and John Cowie, the butler, was
busy attending our master, who had been the haill day
in ane o' his dark fits, for Ave heard him calling for
Cowie in a fierce voice ever and again ; and Ins step
sounded ower our heads upon the floor as he walked
back and fore in his wrath. Then I was sent for you,
and brought you, and you'll mind how Cowie bade me
go along ; but I had mair sense, for I listened at the
door, and heard what the butler said to ye when he
gied ye the bairn ; and think ye I didna see ye carry
it along the passage as ye left '? Sae far I could under-
stand; but when 1 heard nurse say the bairn was dead,
Mrs. Kemp say the bairn was still-born, and Cowie
declare it was better it was dead and awa, I couldna
comprehend this ava; nor do I weel yet ; but we just
thought that as there was something wrang between
master and my lady, he wanted us to believe that the
bairn was dead, for very shame o' being thought the
father, when maybe he wasna. And then he was so
guid to me and my neighbour Anne Dickson, — ye
mind o' her — puir soul, she's dead too, — that we
couldna, for the very heart o' us, say a word o' what
we knew. But now when Mr. Napier is dead, and
the brother o' that wicked Jezebel, Isbel Napier, may
try to take the property frae Henney, wha I aye
kenned as a Napier, with the very nose and een o' the
father, I have spoken out ; and may the Lord gie the
right to whom the right is due ! "

"It's all right," said the writer, after he had jotted

26 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

with a pencil the evidence of Jean, as well as that
of the nurse ; " and if we could find this John Cowie,
we might so fortify the orphan's rights, as to defy
Miss Napier and her brother, and Mr. Dallas, and all
the witnesses they can bring."

"Ay," continued the woman, "but I doubt if you'll
catch him. He left Mr. Napier's service about ten
years ago, and I never heard mair o' him."

" Nor I either," said Mrs. Hislop.

" Well, we must search for him," added Mr. White ;
" for that man alone, so far as I can see, is he who will
unravel this strange business."

And thus the day's work finished. The writer
parted for Mill's Court, and Mrs. Hislop, filled with
doubts, hopes, and anxieties, sought her humble dwell-
ing in Toddrick's YVynd, where Henney waited for her
with all the solicitude of a daughter ; but a word did
not escape her lips that might carry to the girl's mind
a suspicion that the golden cord of their supposed re-
lationship ran a risk of being severed, even with the
eventual condition that one, if not both of the divisions,
would be transmuted into a string of diamonds.

Meanwhile the agent was in his own house, revolv-
ing all the points of a puzzle more curious than any
that had yet come within the scope of his experience.
Sometimes he felt confidence, and at other times de-
spair; and of course he had the consolation, which
belongs to all litigants, that the opposite party was
undergoing the same process of oscillation. It was
clear enough that Cowie was the required (Edipus ;
and if it should turn out that he was dead, or could
not be found, the advantage was, with a slight decli-
nation, on the part of Charles Napier ; insomuch as,
while he was indisputably the nephew of the deceased,
the orphan, Henrietta, was under the necessity of

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 27

proving her birth unci pedigree. And so, as it ap-
peared, Mr. Dallas was of that opinion, for the very
next day he applied to Chancery for a brieve to get
Charles Napier served nearest and lawful heir to his
uncle ; and as in legal warfare, where the judges are
cognisant only of patent claims, there is small room for
retiring tactics, Mr. White felt himself obliged, how-
ever anxious he was to gain time, to follow his oppo-
nent's example by taking out a competing brieve in
favour of Henrietta.

The parties were now face to face in court, and the
battle behoved to be fought out ; but as in all legal
cases, where the circumstances are strange or peculiar,
the story soon gets wind, so here the Meggat's Land
romance was by-and-by all over the city. Nor did it
take less fantastic forms than usual, where sympathies
and antipathies are strong in proportion to the paucity
of the facts on which they are fed. It was a favourite
opinion of some, that the case could only be cleared by
supposing that a dead stranger child had been surrep-
titiously passed off, and even coffined, as the true one ;
while others, equally skilled in the art of divining,
maintained that the child given to Mrs. Hislop by
Cowie was a bastard of his own, by the terrible woman
Isabel Napier, who was thus, according to the ordinary
working of public prejudice, raised to a height of crime
sufficient to justify the hatred of the people : on which
presumption, it behoved to be assumed that the paper
containing the curse was a forgery by Cowie and his
associate in crime, and that the money paid to Mrs.
Hislop was furnished by the lady ; all which supposi-
tions, and others not less incredible, Avere greedily
accepted, for the very reason that it required some-
thing prodigious to explain an enigma which exhausted
the ordinary sources of man's ingenuity ; just as we

28 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

find in many religions, where miracles — the more ab-
surd, the more acceptable — are resorted to to explain
the mystery of man's relation to God, a secret which
no natural light can illuminate.

But all these suppositions were destined to undergo
refractions through the medium of a new fact. The
case, by technical processes, came before the Court of
Session, where the diversity of opinion was, proportion-
ably to the number of judges, as great as among the
quidnuncs outside. The only clear idea in the heads of
the robed and wigged wiseacres was, that the case,
Napier versus Napier, was a puzzle which no man could
read or solve. It seemed fated to be as famous as the
old Sphinx, the insoluble Moenander, or the tortuous
labyrinth, or the intricate key of Hercules — ne Apollo
quiclem intelligat ; and if it had not happened that Lord
Karnes suggested the possibility of getting an additional
piece of evidence through the examination of the coffin
wherein Mrs. Napier was buried, the court might have
been sitting over the famous case even in this year of
the nineteenth century. The notion was worthy of his
lordship's ingenuity ; and accordingly a commission was
issued to one of the Faculty to proceed to the West
Church burying-ground, and there cause to be laid
open and examined the coffin of the said Mrs. Henrietta
Preston or Napier, with the view to ascertain whether
or not the body of a child had been placed therein
along with the corpse of the mother.

This commission was accordingly executed, and the
report bore, that " he, the commissioner,- had proceeded
to the burying-ground of the parish of St. Cuthberts,
and there caused David Scott, the sexton, to lay open
the grave of the said Henrietta Preston or Napier, and
to open the coffin therein contained ; which having ac-
cordingly been done by the said David Scott and his

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 29

assistants, the commissioner, upon a faithful examina-
tion, aided by the experience of the said David Scott,
did find the skeletons of two bodies in the said coffin
identified as that of the said lady, one whereof was that
of a woman apparently of middle age, and the other
that of a babe, which lay upon the chest of the larger
skeleton in such a way or manner as to be retained or
held in that position by the arms of the same being laid
across it ; that having satisfied himself of these facts,
the commissioner caused the coffin to be again closed
and the grave covered with all decency and care. And
he accordingly made this report to their lordships."

The fact thus ascertained, in opposition to the ex-
pectation of those who favoured the orphan, was viewed
by the court as depriving, to a great extent, the case
of that aspect of a riddle by which it had been so un-
fortunately distinguished ; and as the case had been
hung up even beyond the time generally occupied by
cases at that period, when, as it was sometimes re-
marked, law-suits were as often settled by the old rule,
Romanus sedendo vincit — by the death of one or other
of the parties — as by a judgment, the case was again
put to the Roll for a hearing on the effect of the new
evidence. It was contended for the nephew by Mr.
Wight, that the question was now virtually settled, in-
somuch that the court was not bound to solve riddles,
but to find to whom pertained a certain right of inherit-
ance. The birth of the child had been sworn to by
the nurse, as well as its death, and the final placing of
it in the coffin ; and now the court had, as it were,
ocular demonstration of these facts by the body having
been seen by their own commissioner, placed on the
breast of the mother in that very peculiar way described
by Mrs. Temple. All claim on the part of the girl was
thus virtually excluded, for the proceedings which took

30 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

place that evening in another room, under circum-
stances of suspicion, were sworn to only by Mrs.
Hislop herself, an interested witness, and were only
partially confirmed by an eavesdropper, who, as eaves-
droppers generally do (except when their own charac-
ters are concerned), perhaps heard according as foregone
prejudices induced her to wish. These suspicious
proceedings might be explained by as many hypotheses
as had been devised by the wise judges of the taverns,
among which was the theory of the living child being
Cowie's own by Isabel Napier, and palmed off as Mrs.
Napier's to hide the shame of the true mother, — all
unlikely enough, no doubt, but not so impossible as
that the coffined child should now be alive and await-
ing the issue of this case, in the expectation of being
Lady of Eastleys.

On the other side, Mr. Andrews, counsel for Henri-
etta, maintained that while his learned brother assumed
the one half of the case as proved, and repudiated the
other as a lie or a myth, he had a right to embrace the
other half, and pronounce the first a stratagem or trick.
The proceedings in the back-room into which Jean
Graham introduced Mrs. Hislop were more completely
substantiated than those in the bedroom where Mrs.
Napier lay ; for while the one were sworn to by Mrs.
Hislop herself, a soothfast witness, and confirmed in all
points by the woman Graham, the other were attempted
to be proven by the solitary testimony of the nurse
Temple. The paper containing the curse was as indis-
putably in the handwriting of Mr. Napier as was the
funeral letter. The money paid was proved by the fact
that the orphan had been kept and educated for fifteen
years. The name Henrietta was not likely to have
been a mere coincidence, and it was still more unlikely
that a respectable woman such as Mrs. Hislop would

LOED KAMES'S PUZZLE. 31

invent a story of affiliation so strangely in harmony
with the secrets of the house in Meggat's Land, and
fortify it by a forged document. Then Mrs. Hislop
was unable to write, and no attempt had been made on
the other side to prove that Henrietta had a father
other than he who was pointed out by the paper of the
curse. So he (the counsel) might follow the example
of his brother, and hold the other half of the case to be
unexplainable by hypotheses, however ridiculous. The
child having been disposed of to Mrs. Hislop, — a fact
thus proved, — what was to prevent him (the counsel)
from going also to the haunts of the tabernian Solons,
or anywhere else in the regions of fancy, for the. theory
that Mr. Napier, or some plotter for him in the shape
of Mrs. Kemp or John Cowie, substituted the dead
child of a stranger for the living one of his wife, and
bribed the nurse Temple to tell the tale she had told ?
to which she would be the more ready by the golden
promptings of the woman Isabel Napier, the niece,
whose brother would, in the event of the stratagem
being concealed, succeed to the estate of Eastleys.

At the conclusion of these pleadings, the judges were
inclined to be even more humorous than they had been
previous to the issuing of the commission, for they had
thought they saw their way to a judgment against the
orphan. The president (Braxfield), it is said, indulged
in a joke, to the effect that he had read somewhere — it
was not for so religious a man to say where — of a
child having been claimed by two mothers ; he would
like to see two fathers at that work, at least he would
not be one ; but here the claim was set up by Death
on the one side, and Life (if a personification could be
allowed) on the other, and they could not follow the
old precedent, because he suspected none of their lord-
ships would like to see the grim claimant at the bar to

32 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

receive his half. And so they chuckled, as judges
sometimes do, at their own jokes — generally very bad
— altogether oblivious of the fable of the frogs who
could see no fun in a game which was death to them ;
for, as we have indicated, the opinion of a great
majority was against the claim of the young woman :
nor would the decision have been suspended that day,
had not Mr. Andrews risen and made a statement —
perhaps as fictitious as a counsel's conscience would
permit — to the effect that the agent (Mr. White) had
procured some trace of the butler Cowie, who could
throw more light on the case than Death had done,
and that if some time were accorded to complete the

1

inquiry, something might turn up which would alter
the complexion even of this Protean mystery. The
request was granted.

But, in truth, Mr. Andrews' suggestion was simply
a bit of ingenuity, intended to ward off an unfavourable
judgment, and allow a development of the chapter of
accidents ;--a wise policy; for as the womb of Time is
never empty, so Fate writes in the morning a chapter
of every man's life of a day, at which in the evening-
he is sometimes a little surprised. No trace had yet
been got of Cowie ; it was not even known whether
he was alive. But if Ave throw some fourteen days
into the wallet-bag of Saturn, we may come to a day
whereupon a certain person, in an inn far down in a
valley of "Westmoreland, and in the little town called
Kirby Lonsdale, was busy reading the Caledonian Mer-
cury— for it was not more easy to say where the
Winged Mercury of that time would not go, than it is
to tell where a certain insect without wings, " which
aye travels south," might not be found in England as
an immigrant. It was at least no wonder that the paper
should contain an account of the romance wrapped up

lord kames's puzzle. 33

in the case Napier versus Napier ; and certainly, if we
could have judged from the face of the individual, we
would have set him down as one given to the reading
of riddles ; for, after he had perused the paragraph, he
looked as if he knew more about that case than all the
fifteen, with the macers to boot. Nor was he con-
tented with an indication of a mere look of wisdom : he
actually burst out into a laugh — an expression won-
drously unsuited to the gravity of the subject. You
who read this will no doubt suspect that we are merely
shading this man for the sake of effect : and this is true ;
but you are to remember that, while we are chroniclers
of things mysterious, we work for the advantage to you
of putting into your power to venture a shrewd guess ;
in making which, you are only working in the destined
vocation of man, for the world is only guesswork all
over, and you yourself are only guesswork as a part of
it. The reader of the Mercury was verily Mr. John
Cowie, whilom butler to Mr. John Napier, and now
waiter in the Lonsdale Arms of the obscure Kirby — a
place like Peebles, where, if you wanted to deposit a
secret, you could do so by crying it out at the market-
cross ; and, moreover, he was verily in possession of the
key to the Napier mystery.

Accordingly, Mr. White of Mill's Court in two days
afterwards received a letter, informing him that John
Cowie was the writer of the same, and that, if a reason-
able consideration were held out to him, he would pro-
ceed to the northern metropolis, and there settle for
ever a case which apparently had kept the newsmongers
of Edinburgh in aliment for a length of time much ex-
ceeding the normal nine days. Opportune and happily
come in the very nick of time as the latter was — for
the delay allowed by the court had all but expired —
Mr. White saw the danger of promising anything which

VOL. XXIII. C

34 TALES OP THE BORDERS.

could be construed into a reward ; but he could use
other means of decoying the shy bird into his meshes ;
and these he used in his answer with such effect, that
the man who could solve the mystery was in Edinburgh
at the end of a week. Nor was Mr. White unprepared
to receive him, for he had previously got a commission
to examine him and take his deposition : but then an
agent likes to know what a witness will say before he
cites him ; and the canny Scotchman, of all men in the
world, is the most uncanny if brought to swear without
some hope of being benefited by his oath. There was,
therefore, need of tact as well as delicacy : and Mr.
White contrived in the first place to get his man to take
up his quarters in the house in Mill's Court. A good
supper and chambers formed the first demulcent — we
do not say bribe, because, by a legal fiction, all eating
and drinking is set down to the score of hospitality. A
Scotch breakfast followed in the morning, at which
were present Mrs. White and Mrs. Hislop, and our
favourite Henney — the last of whom, spite of all the
efforts of her putative mother to keep from her the
secret of her birth and prospects, had caught the infec-
tion of the general topic of the city, and wondered at
her strange fortune, much as the paladin in the " Or-
lando" did when he got into the moon. No man can
precognosce like a woman, and here were three ; but
perhaps they might have all failed, had it not been for
the natural art of Henney, who, out of pure goodness and
gratitude, Avas so delighted with the man who had rolled
her in a blanket and sent her to her beloved mother,
as she still called her, that she promised to make him
butler at Eastleys, and keep him comfortable all his days.
" Now," said the cautious agent, " this promise of
Henney's is not made in consideration of your giving
evidence for her before the commissioner."

LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE. 35

" I'm thinking of nothing but her face," said John.
" I could swear to it out of a thousand ; and Heaven
bless her ! for I think I am again in the once happy
house in Meggat's Land."

And John pretended he was wiping a morsel of egg
from his mouth, while the handkerchief was extended
as far as the eye.

" A terrible night that was," he continued. " Mrs.
Napier had been in labour all day ; and when Mrs.
Kemp told me to tell my master that my lady had
been delivered of twins "

" Tivins /" cried they all, as if moved by some
Sympathetic chord which ran from heart to heart.

" Ay, twins," he repeated ; " one dead, and another
living — even you yourself, Henney, who are as like
your father as if there never had been a Captain Pres-
ton in the world."

And thus was John Cowie precognosced. We need
not say that he was that very day examined before the
commissioner. He gave an account of all the proceed-
ings of the house in Meggat's Land on the eventful night
to which we have referred. The case was no longer
a puzzle ; and accordingly a decision was given in
favour of Henrietta, whereby we have one other ex-
ample of truth and right emerging from darkness into
light. Some time afterwards, the heiress, with Mrs.
Hislop alongside, and John Cowie on the driver's box,
proceeded to Eastleys and took possession ; where Hen-
rietta acted the part of a generous lady, Mrs. Hislop
that of a kind of a dowager, and John was once more
butler in the house of the Napiers. We stop here.
Those who feel interest enough in (he fortunes of
Henney to inquire when and whom she married, and
what were the subsequent fortunes of a life so strangely
begun, will do well to go to Eastleys.

36 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

THE ORPHAN.

About forty years ago, a post-chaise was a sight more
novel in the little hamlet of Thorndean, than silk gowns
in country churches during the maidenhood of our
great- grandmothers ; and, as one drew up at the only
public-house in the village, the inhabitants, old and
young, startled by the unusual and merry sound of its
wheels, hurried to the street. The landlady, on the
first notice of its approach, had hastily bestowed upon
her goodly person the additional recommendation of a
clean cap and apron ; and, still tying the apron-strings,
ran bustling to the door, smiling, colouring, and
courtesying, and courtesying and colouring again, to
the yet unopened chais<\ Poor soul ! she knew not
well how to behave — it was an epoch in her annals of
innkeeping. At length the coachman, opening the
door, handed out a lady in widow's weeds. A beauti-
ful, golden-haired child, apparently not exceeding five
years of age, sprang to the ground without assistance,
and grasped her extended hand. " What an image o'
beauty!" exclaimed some half-dozen bystanders, as the
fair child lifted her lovely face of smiles to the eyes of
her mother. The lady stepped feebly towards the inn,
and though the landlady's heart continued to practise
a sort of fluttering motion, which communicated a
portion of its agitation to her hands, she waited upon
her unexpected and unusual guests with a kindliness
and humility that fully recompensed for the expertness
of a practised waiter. About half an hour after the

THE ORPHAN. 37

arrival of her visitors, she was seen bustling from the
door, her face, as the villagers said, bursting with
importance. They were still in groups about their
doors, and in the middle of the little street, discussing
the mysterious arrival; and, as she hastened on her
mission, she was assailed with a dozen such questions
as these — "Wat ye wha she is?" "Is she ony great
body ?" " Hae ye ony guess what brought her here ?"
and, "Is yon bonny creature her ain bairn?" But to
these and sundry other interrogatories, the important
hostess eave for answer, " Hoot, I hae nae time to
haver the noo." She stopped at a small, but certainly
the most genteel house in the village, occupied by a
Mrs. Douglas, who, in the country phrase, was a very
douce, decent sort of an old body, and the widow of a
Cameronian minister. In the summer season Mrs.
Douglas let out her little parlour to lodgers who
visited the village to seek health, or for a few weeks'
retirement. She was compelled to do this from the
narrowness of her circumstances ; for, though she was
a " clever-handed woman," as her neighbours said,
" she had a sair fecht to keep up an appearance ony-
way like the thing ava." In a few minutes Mrs.
Douglas, in a clean cap, a muslin kerchief round her
neck, a quilted black bombazine gown, and snow-white
apron, followed the landlady up to the inn. In a
short time she returned, the stranger lady leaning upon
her arm, and the lovely child leaping like a young
lamb before them. Days and weeks passed away, and
the good people of Thorndean, notwithstanding all
their surmises and inquiries, were no wiser regarding
their new visitor; all they could learn was, that she
was the widow of a young officer, who was one of the
first that fell when Britain interfered with the French
Revolution ; and the mother and her child became

38 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

known in the village by the designation of "Mrs.
Douglas's twa pictures!" — an appellation bestowed on
them in reference to their beauty.

The beautiful destroyer, however, lay in the mother's
heart, now paling her cheeks like the early lily, and
again scattering over them the rose and the rainbow.
Still dreaming of recovery, about eight months after
her arrival in Thorndean, death stole over her like a
sweet sleep. It was only a few moments before the
angel hurled the fatal shaft, that the truth fell upon
her soul. She was stretching forth her hand to her
work-basket, her lovely child was prattling by her
knee, and Mrs. Douglas smiling like a parent upon
both, striving to conceal a tear while she smiled, when
the breathing of her fair guest became difficult, and
the rose, which a moment before bloomed upon her
countenance, vanished in a fitful streak. She fluno;
her feeble arms around the neck of her child, who
now wept upon her bosom, and exclaimed, " Oh ! my
Elizabeth, who will protect you now, my poor, poor
orphan?" Mrs. Douglas sprang to her assistance.
She said she had much to tell, and endeavoured to
speak ; but a gurgling sound only was heard in her
throat ; she panted for breath ; the rosy streaks,
deepening into blue, came and went upon her cheeks
like the midnight dances of the northern lights ; her
eyes flashed with a momentary brightness more than
mortal, and the spirit fled. The fair orphan still clung
to the neck, and kissed the yet warm lips of her dead
mother.

As yet she was too young to see all the dreariness of
the desolation around her ; but she was indeed an
orphan in the most cruel meaning of the word. Her
mother had preserved a mystery over her sorrows and
the circumstances of her life, which Mrs. Douglas had

THE ORPHAN. 39

never endeavoured to penetrate. And now she was
left to be as a mother to the helpless child, for she
knew not if she had another friend ; and all that she
had heard of the mother's history was recorded on the
humble stone which she placed over her grave : " Here
resteth the body of Isabella Morton, widow of Captain
Morton; she died amongst us a stranger, but beloved."
The whole property to which the fair orphan became
heir by the death of her mother did not amount to
fifty pounds, and amongst the property no document
was found which could throw any light upon who were
her relatives, or if she had any. But the heart of Mrs.
Douglas had already adopted her as a daughter ; and,
circumscribed as her circumstances were, she trusted
that He who provided food for the very birds of
heaven, would provide the orphan's morsel.

Years rolled on, and Elizabeth Morton grew in
stature and in beauty, the pride of her protector, and
the joy of her age. But the infirmities of years grew
upon her foster-mother, and, disabling her from follow-
ing her habits of industry, stern want entered her
happy cottage. Still Elizabeth appeared only as a
thing of joy, contentment, and gratitude ; and often
did her evening song beguile her aged friend's sigh
into a smile. And to better their hard lot, she hired
herself to watch a few sheep upon the neighbouring
hills, to the steward of a gentleman named Sommer-
ville, who, aboixt the time of her mother's death, had
purchased the estate of Thorndean. He was but little
beloved, for he was a hard master, and a bad husband ;
and more than once he had been seen at the hour of
midnight, in the silent churchyard, standing over the
grave of Mrs. Morton. This gave rise to not a few
whisperings respecting the birth of poor Elizabeth.
He had no children ; and a nephew, who resided in his

40 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

house, was understood to be his heir. William Som-
merville was about a year older than our fair orphan ;
and ever, as he could escape the eye of his uncle, he
would fly to the village to seek out Elizabeth as a
playmate. And noAv, while she tended the few sheep,
he would steal round the hills, and placing himself by
her side, teach her the lessons he had that day been
taught, while his arm in innocence rested on her neck,
their glowing cheeks touched each other, and her
golden curls played around them. Often Avere their
peaceful lessons broken by the harsh voice and the
blows of his uncle. But still William stole to the
presence of his playmate and pupil, until he had com-
pleted his fourteenth year ; when he was to leave
Thorndean, preparatory to entering the army. He
was permitted to take a hasty farewell of the villagers,
for they all loved the boy ; but he went only to the
cottage of Mrs. Douglas. As he entered, Elizabeth
Avept, and he also burst into tears. Their aged friend
beheld the yearnings of a young passion that might
terminate in sorrow ; and taking his hand, she prayed
God to prosper him, and bade him farewell. She was
leading him to the door, when Elizabeth raised her
tearful eyes ; he beheld them, and read their meaning,
and, leaping forward, threw his arms round her neck,
and printed the first kiss on her forehead ! " Do not
forget me, Elizabeth," he cried, and hurried from the
house.

Seven years from this period passed away. The lovely
girl was now transformed into the elegant woman, in the
summer majesty of her beauty. For four years Eliza-
beth had kept a school in the village, to which her
gentleness and winning manners drew prosperity ; and
her grey-haired benefactress enjoyed the reward of her
benevolence, Preparations were making at Thorndean

THE ORPHAN. 41

Hall for the reception of William, who was now re-
turning as Lieutenant Sommerville. A post-chaise in
the village had then become a sight less rare ; but
several cottagers were assembled before the inn to wel-
come the young laird. He arrived, and with him a
gentleman between forty and fifty years of age. They
had merely become acquainted as travelling compan-
ions ; and the stranger being on his way northward,
had accepted his invitation to rest at his uncle's for a
few days. The footpath to the Hall lay through the
churchyard, aboiit a quarter of a mile from the village.
It was a secluded path, and Elizabeth was wont to re-
tire to it between school hours, and frequently to spend
a few moments in silent meditation over her mother's
grave. She was gazing upon it, when a voice arrested
her attention, saying, " Elizabeth — Miss Morton !" The
speaker was Lieutenant Sommerville, accompanied by his
friend. To the meeting of the young lovers we shall
add nothing. But the elder stranger gazed on her face
and trembled, and looked on her mother's grave and
wept. "Morton!" he repeated, and read the inscrip-
tion on the humble stone, and again gazed on her face,
and again wept. "Lady!" he exclaimed, "pardon a
miserable man — what was the name of your mother ?
— who the family of your father ? Answer me, I im-
plore you ! " " Alas ! I know neither," said the won-
dering and now unhappy Elizabeth. " My name is
Morton," cried the stranger; " I had a wife ; I had a
daughter once, and my Isabella's face was thy face!"
While he yet spoke, the elder Sommerville drew near
to meet his nephew. His eyes and the stranger's
• met. " Sommerville!" exclaimed the stranger, starting.
" The same," replied the other, his brow blackening
like thunder, while a trembling passed over his body.
He rudely grasped the arm of his nephew, and dragged

42 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

him away. The interesting stranger accompanied Eliza-
beth to the house of Mrs. Douglas. Painful were his
inquiries ; for, while they kindled hope and assurance,
they left all in cruel uncertainty. "Oh, sir!" said
Mrs. Douglas, " if ye be the faither o' my blessed bairn,
I dinna wonder at auld Sommerville growing black in
the face when he saw ye ; for, when want came hard
upon our heels, and my dear motherless and faitherless
bairn was driven to herd his sheep by the brae-sides
— there wad the poor, dear, delicate bairn (for she was
as delicate then as she is bonnie now) been lying — the
sheep a' feeding round about her, and her readin' at
her Bible, just like a little angel, her lee lane, when the
brute wad come sleekin' down ahint her, an' giein' her
a drive wi' his foot, cursed her for a little lazy some-
thing I'm no gaun to name, an' rugged her bonnie
yellow hair, till he had the half o' it torn out o' her
head; or the monster wad riven the blessed book out
o' her hand, an' thrown it wi' an oath as far as he could
drive. But the nephew was aye a bit fine callant ; only,
ye ken, wi' my bairn's prospects, it wasna my part to
encourage ony thing."

Eagerly did the stranger, who gave his name as
Colonel Morton, hang over the fair being who had
conjured up the sunshine of his youth. One by one,
he was weeping and tracing every remembered feature
of his wife upon her face, when doubt again entered
his mind, and he exclaimed in bitterness, "Merciful
Heaven ! convince me ! Oh, convince me that I have
found my child!" The few trinkets that belonged to
Mrs. Morton had been parted with in the depth of
her poverty. At that moment Lieutenant Sommerville
I lustily entered the cottage. He stated that his uncle
had left the Hall, and delivered a letter from him to
Colonel Morton. It was of few words, and as follows :

THE ORPHAN. 43

" Morton, — We were rivals for Isabella's love ; you
wera made happy, and I miserable. But I have not
been unrevenged. It "was I who betrayed you into the
hands of the enemy. It was I who reported you dead —
who caused the tidings to be hastened to your widowed
wife, and followed them to England. It was I who
poisoned the ear of her friends, until they cast her off ;
I dogged her to her obscurity, that I might enjoy
my triumph ; but death thwarted me as you had done.
Yet I will do one act of mercy — she sleeps beneath the
grave where we met yesterday ; and the lady before
whom you wept — is your own daughter."

He cast down the letter, and exclaimed, "My child !
my long lost child !" And, in speechless' joy, the father
and the daughter rushed to each other's arms. Shall
we add more ? The elder Sommerville left his native
land, which he never again disgraced with his presence.
William and Elizabeth wandered by the hill-side in bliss,
catching love and recollections from the scene. In a few
months her father bestowed on him her hand, and Mrs.
Douglas, in joy and in pride, bestowed upon both her
blessing.

44 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

THE BURGHER'S TALES.

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW.

I cannot say so much for the authenticity of the legend
I am now to relate, as I have been able to do for some
of the others in this collection ; but that is no reason, I
hope, for its failing to interest the reader, who makes
it a necessary condition of his acceptance, that a legend
shall keep within the bounds of human nature : not
that any one of us can say what these bounds are, for
every day of our experience is extending them in both
the inner and outer worlds ; and we never can be very
sure whether the tilings which rise upon the distant
horizon of our nocturnal visions are less unstable and
uncertain than those that exist under our noses. True
it is, at any rate, that the legend was narrated to me
in a meagre form by a lady, sufficiently ancient to be
supposed to be a lover of strange stories, and not ima-
ginative or wicked enough to concoct them.

That part of Edinburgh called the West Bow was, at
the date of our legend, the tinsmiths' quarter ; a fact
which no one who chanced to walk clown that way
could have doubted, unless indeed he was deaf. Amona
the fraternity there was one destined to live in annals
even with more posthumous notoriety than he of the
same place and craft, who long got the credit of being
the author of the " Land o' the Leal." His name was
Thomas, or, according to the Scottish way of pronounc-
ing it, Tammas Dodds ; who, with a wife going under
the domestic euphuism of Jenny, occupied as a dwelling-

«
THE BEOWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 45

house a small flat of three rooms, in the near neighbour-
hood of his workshop. This couple had lived together
five years, without having any children procreated of
their bodies, or any quarrel born of their spirits ; and
thus they might have lived to the end of their lives,
if a malign influence, born of the devil, had not got
possession of the husband's heart.

This influence, which Ave may be permitted by good
Calvinists to call diabolical, was, as a consequence, not
only in its origin, but also in its medium, altogether
extraneous to our couple. For so far as regards Mrs.
Jenny Dodds, she was, as much as a good wife could
be, free from any great defects of conduct ; and as for
the tinsmith himself, he had hitherto lived so sober and
douce a life, that we cannot avoid the notion, that if he
had not been subject to "■ aiblins a great temptation,"
he would not have become the victim of the arch-
enemy. Thus much Ave say of the dispositions of the
tAvo parties ; and were it not that certain peculiarities
belonged to Jenny, which, as reappearing in an after-
part of our story, it is necessary to know, Ave would
not have gone further into mere character — an element
which has little to do generally Avith legends, except
in so far as it either produces the incidents, or may be
developed through them. The first of these peculiari-
ties was a settled conviction that she had as good a
right to rule Tammas Dodds, as being her property, as
if she had drunk of the waters of St. Kevin. Nor was
this conviction merely natural to her ; for she could
lay her finger on that particular part of Sacred Writ
which is the foundation of the generally-received maxim,
" One may do Avhat one likes with one's oavu." No
doubt, she kneAv another passage in the same \rolume
with a very different meaning ; but then Mrs. Dodds
did not wish to remember that, or to obey it when she

46 TALES Or THE BORDERS.

did remember it ; and we are to consider, without
going back to that crazy school of which a certain
Aristippus was the dominie, that wishing or not wishing
has a considerable influence upon the aspects of moral
truth, if it does not exercise over them a kind of
legerdemain of which we are unconscious, whereby it
changes one of these aspects into another, even when
these are respectively to each other as white is to black.
This " claim of right" does not generally look peaceful.
No more it should ; for it is clearly enough against
nature ; and one seldom kicks at her without getting
sore toes. True enough, there do appear cases where
it seems to work pretty well ; but when they are in-
quired into, it is generally found either that the husband
is a simpleton, submitting by mere inanity, or a man
avIio has resisted to the uttermost, and is at last crumpled
up by pure " Caudlish" iteration and perseverance.
How Tammas took it may yet appear.

Proceeding with the peculiarities : another of those
was, that Mrs. Dodds, like her of Auchtermuchty, or
Mrs. Grumlie, carried domesticity to devotion, scarcely
anything in the world having any interest to her soul save
what was contained in the house — from Tammas, the
chief article of furniture, down, through the mahogany
table, to the porridge-pot ; clouting, mending, darning,
cleaning, scouring, washing, scraping, wringing, drying,
roasting, boiling, stewing, being all of them clone with
such duty, love, and intensity of purpose, that they
were veritable sacrifices to the lares. This was doubt-
less a virtue ; and as doubtless it was a vice, insomuch
as, if we believe another old Greek pedagogue of the
name of Aristotle, " all virtues are medial vices, and
all vices extreme virtues." How Tammas viewed this
question may also appear. But we may proceed to
state, that Mrs. Janet Dodds was not content with

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 47

doing all those things with such severity of love or
duty. She was always telling herself what she in-
tended to do, either at the moment or afterwards.
"This pan needs to be scoured." " Thae stockings
maun be darned." "This sark is as black as the lum,
and maun be plotted." " The floor needs scrubbing."
" Tammas's coat is crying, ' A steek in time saves nine,'
and by my faith it says true ;" and so on. Nor did it
signify much whether Thomas or any other person was
in the house at the time — the words were not intended
for anybody but herself ; and to herself she persisted
in telling them with a stedfastness which only the ears
of a whitesmith could tolerate ; even with the con-
sideration that he was not, as so many are, deaved with
scandal — a delectation which Janet despised, if she did
not care as little for what Avas going on domestically
within the house on the top of the same stair, as she
did for the in-door affairs of Japan or Tobolsk. We
may mention, also, that she persevered in reading the
same chapter of the Bible, and in singing the same
psalm, every Sunday morning. In addition to these
characteristics, Janet made it a point never to change
the form or colour of her dress ; so that if all the
women in Edinburgh had been of her taste and mode
of thinking, all the colours by which they are diversified
and made interesting would have been reduced to the
dead level of hodden-grey ; the occupation of the imp
Fashion would have been gone ; nay, the angels, for
fear of offending mortals, wotdd have eschewed the
nymph Iris, from whom the poets say they steal tint-",
and dipt their wings in a grey cloud before appearing
in the presence of the douce daughters of men.

With all these imperfections — and how many hus-
bands would term some of them perfections ! — the
married life of Thomas and Janet Dodds might have

48 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

gone on for another five years, and five to that, if it
had not been that Thomas, in a weary hour, cast a
glance with a scarlet ray in it on a certain Mary Blyth,
who lived in the Grassmarket — a woman of whom our
legend says no more than that she was a widow, besides
being fair to the e}*e, and pleasant to the ear. We
could wish that we had it not to say ; but as truth is
more valuable than gold, yea, refined gold, we are
under the necessity of admitting that that red ray be-
tokened love, if an affection of that kind could be called
by a name so hallowed by the benedictions of poets and
the songs of angels. You must take it in your own
way, and with your own construction ; but however
that may be, we must all mourn for the fearful capa-
bilities within us, and the not less awful potentialities
in the powers without— the one hidden from us up to
the moment wdien the others appear, and all wrestling
with the enemy prevented by what is often nothing less
than a fatal charm. From that moment, Thomas Dodds
wras changed after the manner of action of moral poisons;
for we are to remember that while the physical kill, the
other only transmute, and the transmutation may be
from any good below grace to any evil above the devil.
This change in the mind of the husband included his
manner of viewing those peculiarities in the mental
constitution of Janet to which we have alluded. Her
desire to rule him was now rebellion; her devotion to
" hussyskcp" was nothing better than mercenary grub-
bing; her adhesion to her hodden-grey was vulgar affec-
tation; and as to her monologues, they were evidence
of insanity. Such changes in reference to other objects
happen to every one of us every day in the year, only
we don't look at and examine them ; nor, if Ave did,
could we reconcile them to any theory of the mind —
all that we can say being, that if we love a certain ob-

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 49

ject, we hate any other which comes between ns and
our gratification ; and thus, just as Mr. Thomas Dodds
loved Mrs. Mary Blyth, so in an equal ratio he hated
his good helpmate Jenny. And then began that other
wonderful process called reconciliation, whereby the
wish gradually overcomes scruples through the cunning
mean of falsifying their aspects. Whereunto, again,
the new mistress contributed in the adroit -way of all
such -wretches — instilling into his ear the moral poison
which deadened the apperception of these scruples at
the same time that it brought out the advantages of
disregarding them. The result of all which was, that
Jenny's husband, of whom she had made a slave, for
his own good and benefit, as she thought, and not
without reason, arrived, by small degrees, and by
relays of new motives, one after another, at the con-
clusion of actually removing her from this big world,
and of course also from that little one to her so dear,
even that of her household empire.

A resolution this, which, terrible and revolting as it
may appear to those who are happily beyond the in-
fluence of " the wish," was far more easily formed than
executed ; for Nature — although improvident herself
of her children, swalloAving them up in thousands by
earthquakes, tearing them by machinery, and drowning
them in the sea by shiploads — is very careful to defend
one of them against another. Every scheme the hus-
band could think of was surrounded with difficulties,
and one by one was laid aside, till he came to that of
precipitating his faithful Jenny, as if by accident, into
a deep pool in the North Loch, that sheet of water
which contained as many secrets in its bosom as that
more romantic one in Italy, not far removed from
a certain pious nunnery. Even here there was the
difficulty of getting Jenny out at night, and down

VOL. XXIII. D

50 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Cranstoun's Close, and to west of the foot thereof,
where the said deep pool was, for no other ostensible
purpose in the world than to see the moon shedding
her beams on the surface of the water — an object not
half so beautiful to her as the clear tin pan made by
her own Tammas, and in which she made her porridge
every morning. But the adage about the will and
the way is of such wondrous universality, that one
successful effort seems as nothing in the diversity of
man's inventions ; and so it turned out to be compara-
tively easy to get Janet out one evening for the reason
that her husband did not feel very well, and would
like his supper the better for a walk along the edge
of the loch, in which, if it was her pleasure, she would
not refuse to accompany him. So pleasant a way of
putting the thing harmonized with Janet's love of rule,
and she agreed upon the condition she made with her-
self, by means of the eternal soliloquy, that she would
put on the stew to be progressing towards unctuous-
ness and tenderness before they went. Was that to be
Janet's last act of her darling hussyskep ? It would
not be consistent with our art were we to tell you ;
but this much is certain, that Janet Dodds went down
Cranstoun's Close along with her beloved Tammas,
that shortly after she was plunged by him into the said
deep hole of the loch, and cruelly left there to sink or
swim, while he hastened back to tell his new love, Mrs.
Blyth, how desperately he had done her bidding. But
sometimes running away has a bad look ; and it hap-
pened that as Thomas was hurrying up the dark close,
he met a neighbour brother of the craft, who cried to
him, " What, ho ! Tammas Dodds ; whaur frae and
whaur tae, man?" To which, seeing how the act of
running away would look in the Justiciary Court, he
replied with wonderful invention for the moment, that

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 51

Janet had fallen into the deep pool of the loch, and
that though he had endeavoured to get her out, he had
failed, by reason of his not being able to swim, and
that he was running to get some one to help to save
her, whereupon he entreated his brother craftsman to
go with him to the spot, and help him to rescue his
beloved wife, if she weren't yet dead. So away they
went, in a great hurry, but to no purpose ; for when
they came to the said pool, no vestige of a creature
being therein they could see, except some air-bubbles
reflecting the moonbeams, and containing, no doubt,
the living breath of the drowned woman.

Nor when the terrible news was spread through the
city, and a boat and drags were made to do their utter-
most, under the most willing hands, could the body be
found. It was known, that the bank there was pretty
steep in declivity, and the presumption was, that the
body had rolled down into the middle of the loch,
where, in consequence of the muddiness of the waters,
it would be difficult to find it. The efforts were con-
tinued next morning, and day by day, for a week,
with no better success, till at last it was resolved to
wait for "the bursting of the gall-bladder," when,
no doubt, Mrs. Janet Dodds's body would rise and
swim on the top of the waters. An event this which
did not occur till about three weeks had passed ; at the
end of which time a crowd of people appeared at Mr.
Dodds's door, bearing a corpse in a white sheet. It
was received by the disconsolate Thomas with becom-
ing resignation, and laid on the bed, even the marriage-
bed, realizing that strange meeting of two ends which
equalizes pain and pleasure, and reduces the product
to nil. Nor were many hours allowed to pass when,
decayed and defaced as it was, it was consigned to a
coffin without Mr. Dodds being able to bring his re-

52 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

solution to the sticking point of trying to recognise in
the confused mass of muscle and bone, forming what
was once a face, the lineaments of her who had been
once his pride, and now, by his own act, had become
his shame and condemnation in the siarht of Heaven.

O

Next day she was consigned to the tomb, in so solemn
a manner, that if man were not man, one would have
had a difficulty in recognising in that gentle hand that
held the head-cord, and dropped it so softly on the
coffin, the same member which drove the innocent
victim into the deep waters.

There is a continuous progress in all things ; a fact
which Ave know only after we get hold of the clue.
And so, when Mrs. Mary Blyth appeared as Mrs. Mary
Dodds, in room of the domesticated Jenny, it was in
perfect accordance with the 1<tw of cause and effect. No
doubt they did their best to be happy, as all creatures
do, even the devil's children, only in a wrong shaft ; but
they had made that fearful miscalculation, which is the
wages of sin, when they counted upon conscience as a
pimp to their pleasures, in place of a king's-evidence
against them, that king being the Lord of heaven and
earth. And so it turned out in the course of several
years, that, as their love lost its fervour, their respec-
tive monitors acquired greater power in pleading the
cause of her who was dead, and convincing them,
against their will (for the all-powerful wish has no
virtue here), that they had done a cruel thing, for
which they were amenable to an avenging guardian of
the everlasting element of good in nature's dualism.
Yet, strange enough, each of the two kept his and her
own secret. Their hearts burned, even as the fire
which consumes the wicked, under the smother of a
forced silence — itself a torment and an agony ; yea,
neither of the two woidd mention the name of Jenny

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 53

Dodds for the entire world. And there was more than
a mutual fear that one should know what the other
thought. Each was under a process of exculpation
and inculpation — a mutual blaming of each other in
their hearts, without ever yet a word said to indicate
their thoughts. It was the quarrel of devils, who
make the lesser crime a foil to show the greater, and
call it a virtue for the reason that they would rather
be the counterfeits of good than the base metal of evil ;
yet with no advantage, for hypocrisy is only the glow
which conceals the worm in its retreat within it. The
plea of the wife was, that she was courted by the man,
and that although she might have wished Jenny out
of the way, and hinted as much, she never meant
actual murder ; while his, again, was the old Barnwell
charge, that his better nature had been corrupted by
the woman, and that he did it at her suggestion, and
under the influence of her siren power. They thus got
gradually into that state of feeling by which the run-
away convicts from a penal settlement were actuated,
when, toiling away through endless brakes and swamps
where neither meat nor drink could be procured, they
were so maddened by hunger, that each, with a con-
cealed knife under his sleeve, watched his neighbour
for an opportunity to strike ; nor could one dare to fall
behind, without the suspicion being raised in the minds
of his companions, that he was to execute his purpose
when they were off their guard. So like, in other
respects too ; for these men, afraid to speak their
thoughts of each other, journeyed on in deep silence,
and each was ready to immolate his friend at the altar
of selfishness, changed into a bloodthirsty Dagon by the
fiends Hunger and Thirst.

The years Avcre now to be counted as seven since
Janet Dodds was plunged into the deep pool of the

54 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

North Loch, and the state of mind of the married
criminals, which we have tried to describe, had been
growing and growing, for two of these years, as if
it threatened to get stronger the older they grew, and
the nearer the period of judgment. One morning
when they were in bed — for even yet, while they con-
cealed their thoughts from each other, and the name
of Jenny Dodds wfts a condemned word in their voca-
bulary, even as the sacred name among the Romans,
they had evinced no spoken enmity to each other —
they heard a tirl at the door. The hour was early,
and the douce genius of the grey dawn was deliberat-
ing with herself whether it was time to give place to
her advancing sister, the morning. Mrs. Mary Dodds
rose to answer the knock, and Thomas listened with
natural curiosity to know who the early visitor was,
and what was wanted. He heard a suppressed scream
of fear from his wife, and the next moment she
came rushing into the room ; yet the never a word
she uttered, and her lips were so white and dry that
you might have supposed that her silence was the
result of organic inability. Nor even when she got
into bed again, and tried to hide her head with the
bed-clothes, did her terror diminish, or her lips become
more obedient to the feeling within ; so that Thomas
knew not what to think, except it was that she had
seen a ghost — not an unnatural supposition at a time
when occult causes and spiritual appearances were as
undoubted as the phenomena of the electric telegraph
are in our day. But he was not destined to be left
many minutes more in ignorance of the cause of Mrs.
Mary Dodds's terror, for, upon listening, he heard some
one come into the kitchen, and bolt the door on the
inside — so much for his ears ; then he turned his eyes
to the kitchen, into which he could, as well as the light

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 55

of the grey dawn would permit, see from where he lay ;
and what did he see ?

' ' How comes it ? whence this mimic shape ?
In look and lineament so like our kind.
Yon might accost the spectral thing, and say,
'Good e'en t'ye.'"

No other than the figure of Mrs. Janet Dodds herself.
Yes, there she was in her old grey dress, busy taking
off that plaid which Thomas knew so well, and hanging
the same upon the peg, where she had hung it so often
for five long years. Thomas was now as completely
deprived of the power of speech as she who lay, equally
criminal as himself, alongside of him ; but able at least
to look, or rather, unable to shut their eyes, they
watched the doings of the strange morning visitor.
They saw that she was moving about as if she were
intent upon domestic work ; and, by-and-by, there she
was busy with coals and sticks brought from their re-
spective places, putting on the fire, which she lighted
with the indispensable spunk applied to the spark in
the tinder-box. Next she undertook the sweeping of
the floor, saying to herself — and they heard the words
— " It looks as if it hadna been swept for seven years."
Next she washed the dishes, which had been left on the
table, indulging in the appropriate monologue implying
the necessity of the work. Thereafter it appeared as if
she was dissatisfied with the progress of the fire, for
she was presently engaged in using the bellows, every
blast of which was heard by the quaking couple in bed,
and between the blasts the words came, " Ower late
for Tammas's breakfast." So the blowing continued,
till it was apparent enough, from the reflection of the
flame on the wall, that she was succeeding in her efforts.
Then, having made herself sure of the fire, she went

56 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

to the proper place for the porridge goblet, took the
same and put a sufficient quantity of water therein,
placed it on the fire, and began to blow again with the
same assiduity as before, with still interjected sentences
expressive of her confidence that she would overcome
the obstinacy of the coals. And overcome it she did,
as nppeared from the entire lighting up of the kitchen.
Was ever Border Brownie so industrious ! Some time
now elapsed, as if she were sitting with due patience till
the water should boil. Thereafter she rose, and they
saw her cross the kitchen to the lobby, where the meal
was kept, then return with a bowl containing what she
no doubt considered a sufficient quantity. The stirring
utensil called a "theedle" had also got into its proper
place, and by-and-by they heard the sound of the
same as it beat upon the bottom and sides, guided by
an experienced hand, and, every now and then, the
sweltering and totling of the pot. This process was
now interrupted by the getting of the grey basin into
which the porridge behoved to be poured ; and poured
it was, the process being followed by the sound of
" the clauting o' the laggan," so familiar to Scotch ears.
" Now it's ready for him," said the figure, as it moved
across the kitchen again, to get the spoon and the
bowl of milk, both of which they saw her place beside
the basin.

All things being thus completed according to the
intention of the industrious worker, a period of silence
intervened, as if she had been taking a rest in the
chair which stood by the fire. A most ominous inter-
lude, for every moment the couple in bed expected
that she would enter the bedroom, were it for nothing
else than to " intimate breakfast ; " an intimation
which, if one could have judged by their erect hair
and the sweat that stood in big drops on their brows,

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 57

they were by no means prepared for. They were not
to be subjected to this fearful trial, for the figure (so
we must persist in calling it) was seen again to cross
the kitchen, take down the plaid, and adjust it over
the head according to the manner of the times. They
then heard her draw the bolt, open the door, and shut
the same again after her as she departed. She was
gone.

Mr. Thomas Dodds and his wife now began to be able
to breathe more freely. The hair resumed its flexibility,
and the sweat disappeared ; but, strange as it may seem,
they never exchanged a word with each other as to who
the visitor was, nor as to the morning's work she had
so industriously and silently (with the exception of her
monologues) executed. Too certain in their convictions
as to the identity, whether in spirit or body, of the figure
with that of her they had so cruelly put out of the way,
they seemed to think it needless to question each other ;
and, independently of this, the old terror of the conscience
was sufficient to seal their lips now, as it had done for a
period before. Each of them supposed that the visitor
was sent for the special purpose of some particular
avengement of the crime upon the other ; the appear-
ance in so peaceful a way, in the meantime, being
merely a premonition to show them that their con-
sciences were not working in vain ; and if Thomas was
the greater sinner, which he no doubt suspected, in
spite of himself, he might place against that conviction
the fact that the inscrutable visitor had shown him the
kindness at least of preparing his breakfast, and en-
tirely overlooking the morning requirements of his
spouse. Under these thoughts they rose and repaired
with faltering step and fearful eyes to the kitchen.
There everything was in the order they had antici-
pated from what they had seen and heard. Each

58 TALES OF THE BORDEKS.

looked with a shudder at the basin of porridge as if
it had been invested Avith 'some terrible charm — nay,
might it not have been poisoned ? — a thought which
rushed instantaneously into the head of Thomas, and
entirely put to flight the prior hypothesis that he had
been favoured by this special gift of cookery. The basin
was accordingly laid aside by hands that trembled to
touch it, and fear was a sufficient breakfast for both of
them on that most eventful morning.

This occurrence, as may readily be supposed, was
kept a profound secret. They both saw that it might
be the forerunner of divine means to bring their evil
deeds to light ; and, under this apprehension, their taci-
turnity and mutual discontent, if not growing hatred,
continued, broken only by occasional growls and curses,
and the ejaculations forced out by the inevitable cir-
cumstances of their connection. The effect of the
morning visit was meanwhile most apparent upon the
man who committed the terrible act. He could not
remain in the house, which, even in their happiest
condition, was slovenly kept, showing everywhere the
want of the skilled hands of that queen of housewives,
Mrs. Janet Dodds — so ill-requited for her devotion to
her husband. Nay, he felt all this as a reproof to him,
and sorely and bitterly lamented the fatal act whereby
he had deprived of life the best of wives, and the most
honest and peaceful of womankind. Then the awe of
divine vengeance deepened these shadows of the soul
till he became moody and melancholy, walking hither
and thither without an object, and in secluded places,
looking fearfully around him as if he expected every
moment the spectre visitor of the morning to appear
before him. Nor was he less miserable at home, where
the growing hatred made matters worse and worse every
hour, and where, when the grey dawn came, he expected

THE BKOWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 59

another visit and another scene of the same description
as the last.

Nearly a week had thus passed, and it was Sabbath
morning. The tinsmiths' hammers were silent, the
noisy games of the urchins were hushed, the street of
the Bow resounded only occasionally to the sound of a
foot — all Edinburgh was, in short, under the solemnity
enjoined by the Calvinism so much beloved by the
people ; and surely the day might have been supposed
to be held in such veneration by ministering spirits,
sent down to earth to execute the purposes of Heaven,
that no visit of the feared shadow would disturb even
the broken rest of the Avicked. So perhaps thought
our couple ; but their thoughts belied them, for just
again, as the dawn broke over the tops of the high
houses, the well-known tirl was heard at the door.
Who was to open it ? For days the mind of the wife
had been made up. She would not face that figure
again ; no, if all the powers of the Avorld were there to
compel her ; and as for Thomas, conscience had re-
duced the firmness of a man who once upon a time
could kill to a condition of fear and trembling. Yet
terrified as he was, he considered that he was here
under the obligation to obey powers even higher than
his conscience, and disobedience might bring upon him
some evil greater than that under which he groaned.
So up he got, trembling in every limb, and proceeding
to the door, opened the same. What he saw may be
surmised, but Avhat he felt no one ever knew, for the
one reason that he had never the courage to tell it, and
for the other that no man or woman was ever placed in
circumstances from which they could draw any con-
clusion which could impart even a distant analogy.
This much, however, was known : Thomas retreated
instantly to bed, and the visitor, in the same suit of

60 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

hodden-grey, again entered, passed the bolt, took off
her plaid, hung it up, and began the duties which she
thought were suited to the day and the hour. So much
being thus alike, the couple in the bedroom no doubt
augured a repetition of the old process. They were
right, and they were wrong. Their eyes were fixed
upon her, and watched her movements ; but the watch
was that of the charmed eye, which is said to be without
motive. They saw her once more go deliberately and
tentily through the old process of putting on the fire,
and they heard again the application of the bellows,
every blast succeeding another with the regularity of a
clock, until the kitchen was illuminated by the rising
flame. This was all that could be called a repetition ;
for in place of going for the porridge goblet, she went
direct for the tea-kettle, into which she poured a suf-
ficient quantity of water, saying the while to herself,
"Tammas maun hae his tea breakfast on Sabbath
morning " — words which Thomas, as he now lay quak-
ing in bed, knew very well he had heard before many
a time and oft. Nor were the subsequent acts less in
accordance with the old custom of the dwelling. There
was no sweeping of the floor or scouring of pans on the
sacred morning ; in place of all which she had some-
thing else to do, for surely we must suppose that this
gentle visitor was a good Calvinist, and would perform
only the acts of necessity and mercy. These she had
done in so far as regarded necessity, and now they saw
her go to the shelf on which the Bible was deposited —
a book which, alas! for seven years had not been
opened by either of the guilty pair. Having got what
she wanted, she sat down by the table, opened the
volume at a place well thumbed, and began to read
aloud a chapter in the Corinthians, which Thomas
Dodds, the more by reason that he had heard it read

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 61

two hundred and fifty times, knew by heart. This
being finished, she turned up a psalm, yea, that very
psalm which Janet Dodds had sung every Sunday
morning, and, presently, the kitchen was resonant with
the rising notes of the Bangor, as they came from a
throat trembling with devotion —

" I waited on the Lord my God,
And patiently did bear ;
At length to me He did incline
My voice and cry to hear.

"He took me from a fearful pit,
And from the miry clay,
And on a rock He set my feet,
Establishing my way."

The service finished, they saw her replace the book
where she had found it ; and by this time the kettle was
spewing from the mouth thereof a volume of steam, as
if it were cabins; to its old mistress to relieve it from
the heat of the fire ; nor was she long in paying due
obedience. The tea-pot was got where she seemed to
know it would be found, so also the tea-canister. The
quantity to be put in was a foregone conclusion, and
steadily measured with the spoon. The water was
poured in, and the utensil placed on the cheek of the
chimney in order to the indispensable infusion. Next
the cup and saucer were placed on the table, then fol-
lowed the bread and butter, and the sugar and the
milk ; all being finished by the words to herself,
" There's nae egg in the house." Having thus finished
her work, she took down her plaid, adjusted it care-
fully, opened the door, and departed.

The effect produced by this second spectral appear-
ance could scarcely be exaggerated, yet we suspect you
will not find it of that kind which is most in harmony

62 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

with human nature, except in the case of Mrs. Dodds
the second, who lay, as on the former occasion, sweat-
ing and trembling. It was now different with the
husband, on whom apparently had fallen some of the
seeds of the word, as they were scattered by the lips
of the strange visitor, and conscience had prepared the
soil. The constitutional strength of character which
had enabled him to perpetrate a terrible deed of evil,
was ready as a power to achieve his emancipation, and
work in the direction of good. So, without saying a
word of all that had been acted that morning, he rose
and dressed himself, and, going into the kitchen, he
sat down without the fear of poison, and partook of the
breakfast which had been so strangely prepared for
him, nor was he satisfied till he read the chapter and
psalm with which he had been so long familiar. He
then returned to the bedroom, and addressing his wife —
" You now see," said he, " that Heaven has found
us out. That visitor is nae ither than Mrs. Janet
Dodds returned frae the grave, and sure it is that nane
are permitted to leave that place o' rest except for a
purpose. No, it's no for naething that Janet Dodds
comes back to her aidd hame. What the purpose may
be, the Lord only knows ; but this seems to me to be
clear enough — that you and I maun pairt. You see
that nae breakfast has been laid for you. I have tacn
mine, and nae harm has come o't ; a clear sign that
though we are baith great criminals, you are considered
to be the warst o' the twa. It was you wha put poison
into my ear and cast glamour ower my een ; it was you
wha egged me on, for ' the lips of a strange woman
drop as a honeycomb, and her words are smoother than
oil ; but her feet take hold of hell.' That I am guilty.
I know; and 'though hand join in hand, the wicked
shall not go unpunished.' I will dree my doom what-

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 63

ever it may be, and so maun you yours ; but there
may be a difference, and so far as mortal can yet see,
yours will be waur to bear than mine. But, however
a' that may be, the time is come when you maun leave
this house. ' Cast out the strange woman, and conten-
tion shall go out; yea, strife and reproach shall cease;'
but ' go not forth hastily to strive, lest thou know not
what to do in the end, when thy neighbour hath put
thee to shame.' Keep your secret frae a' save the
Lord ; and may He hae mercy on your soul!"

With Avhich words, savouring as they did of the ob-
jurgations of the black pot to the kettle, Mr. Thomas
Dodds left his house, no doubt in the expectation that
Mrs. Dodds secunda would move her camp, and betake
herself once more to her old place of residence in the
Grassmarket. Where he went that day no man ever
knew, further than that he was seen in the afternoon
in St. Giles's Church, where, no doubt, he did his best
to make a cheap purchase of immunity to his soul and
body, in consideration of a repentance brought on by
pure fear, produced by a spectre ; and who knows but
that that was a final cause of the spectre's appearance ?
We have seen that it was a kindly spirit, preparing
porridge and tea for him at the same time that it made
his hair stand on end, and big drops of sweat settle upon
his brow or roll down therefrom — a conjunction this of
the tawse and the jelly-pot, whereby kind and loving
parents try to redeem naughty boys. Nor let it be
said that. this kindly dealing with a murderer is con-
trary to the ways of Heaven ; for, amidst a thousand
other examples, did not Joshua, after the wall of Jericho
lay flat at the blast of a trumpet, save that vile woman
Eahab at the same time that he slew the young and the
old, nay, the very infants, with the edge of the sword ?
All which, though we are not, by token of our sins, able

64 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

to see the reason thereof, is doubtless consonaut to a
higher justice — altogether unlike our goddess, who is
represented as blind, merely because she is supposed
not to see a bribe ■when offered to her by a litigant.
So the penitence of Mr. Thomas Dodds might be a
very dear affair after all, in so much as terror is a con-
dition of the soul which, of all we are doomed to ex-
perience, is the most difficult to bear, especially if it is
a terror of divine wrath. On his return to his house
in the evening, he found that Mrs. Mary had taken him
at his word and decamped, but not without providing
herself with as good a share of the " goods in com-
munion" as she could, perhaps, at two or three returns,
carry off. So was she like Zebulun in all save her
righteousness, for she " rejoiced in her going out; " nay,
she had some reason, for she had discovered that in a
secret drawer of an old cabinet there was a pose of
gold collected by the industrious hands of Mrs. Janet,
and unknown to her husband, every piece of which she
carried off in spite of all fear of the spectre, which, if a
sensible one, might have been supposed to be more
irritated at this heedless spoliation than at all the
Jezebel had yet done, with the exception of the coun-
selling her death in the deep hole of the North Loch.
On seeing all this robbery, Mr. Dodds became more
and more aware of the bad exchange he had made by
killing his good spouse to enable him to take another,
who had merely found more favour in his eyes by
reason of her good looks; and we may augur how much
deeper his feeling of regret would have been, had he
known the secret pose, so frugally and prudently lead
up, perhaps for his sake, at least for the sake of both,
when disease or old age might overtake them, in a
world where good and evil, pleasure and pain, appear
to be fixed quantities, only shoved from one to another

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 65

by wisdom and prudence, 3-et sometimes refusing to be
moved even by these means.

After satisfying himself of the full extent of the
robbery, which, after all, he had brought upon himself,
and very richly deserved, he sat down upon a chair
and began to moralize, after the manner of those late
penitents who have found themselves out to be either
rogues or fools — the number of whom comprehends,
perhaps, all mankind. He had certainly good reason
to be contrite. The angel in the house had become a
spectre, and she who was no angel, either in the house
or out of it, had carried off almost everything of any
value he possessed. Nor did he stop at mere unspoken
contrition, he bewailed in solemn tones his destiny,
and then began to cast up all the perfections of good
Janet, the more perfect and beautiful these seeming in
proportion as he felt the fear of her reappearance, per-
haps next time, in place of making his breakfast, to run
away with him to the dire place of four letters. All
her peculiarities were now virtues — nay, the very things
which had appeared to him the most indefensible took
on the aspect of angelic endowments. While her care-
ful housewifely was all intended for his bodily health
and comfort, her perseverance in adhering to the one
chapter and the one psalm was due to that love of
iteration which inspires those who are never weary of
well-doing. And what was more extraordinary, one
verse of the psalm — that which we have quoted — had
special reference to the manner of her death, and her
deliverance from condemnation in the world to come.
No doubt the man who meditates upon his own crime
or folly at the very moment when he is suffering from
its sharp recalcitrations, is just about as miserable ;i
wretch as the reformatory of the world can present ;
but when, to the effects upon himself, he is compelled to

VOL. XXITT. E

GQ TALES OF THE BORDERS.

think of the cruelty he has exercised towards others —
and those perhaps found out to be his best friends — we
doubt if there are airy words beyond the vocabulary of
the condemned that are sufficient to express his anguish.
Even this did not comprehend all the suffering of Mr.
Dodds, for, was he not under doom without knowing
what form it was to assume, whether the spectre (whose
cookery might be a sham) would choke him, burn him,
or run away with him?

Deeply steeped in this remorseful contemplation,
during which the figure of his ill-used wife flitted
before the eye of his fancy with scarcely less of sub-
stantial reality than she had shown in her spectral
form, he found that he had lost all regard to time.
The night was fast setting in, the shadows of the tall
houses were falling deeper and deeper on the room, and
the Sabbath stillness was a solemn contrast to the per-
turbations inside the chamber of his soul, where " the
serpents and the cockatrices would not be charmed."
Still, everything within and without was dreary, and
the spoliation of his means did not tend to enliven the
outer scene, or impart a charm to the owner. While
in this state of depression, Tammas heard a knock at
the door. It was not, as on the former occasions, what
is called a tirl. It might be a neighbour, or it might
be an old crony, and he stood in need of some one to
raise his spirits, so he went to the door and opened it.
But what was his horror when he saw enter a female
figure, in all respects so like his feared visitor that he
concluded in the instant that she was the same ! nor
could all his penitence afford him resolution enough
to make a proper examination ; besides, it was grey
dark, and even a pair of better eyes than he could
boast of, might, under the circumstances soon to appear,
have been deceived. Retreating into the kitchen, he

I

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 67

was followed by this dubious, and yet not dubious
visitor, who, as he threw himself upon a chair, took a
seat right opposite to him.

" Ye'll no ken me, Tammas Dodds ?" said she.

Whereupon Tammas looked and looked again, and
still the likeness he dreaded was so impressive, that, in
place of moving his tongue, he moved, that is, he shud-
dered, all over.

"What — eh?" at length he stuttered; "ken ye?
wha in God's name are ye ? No surely Mrs. Janet
Dodds in the likeness of the flesh ! "

" No, but her sister, Mrs. Paterson," replied the
other. " And is it possible ye can hae forgotten the
only woman who was present at your first marriage ? "

" Ay, ay," replied Tammas, as he began to come to
a proper condition of perceiving and thinking ; " and
it was you, then, wha was here this morning ?"

" No, no," replied she ; " I have not been hei'e for
seven long years, even since that terrible night when
you pushed Janet into the North Loch."

" And may Heaven and its angels hae mercy upon
me !" ejaculated he.

" Aiblins they may," said she, " for your purpose was
defeated ; yea, even by that Heaven and thae angels."

"What mean you, woman?" cried the astonished
man. " What, in the name o' a' that's gude on earth
and holy in heaven, do ye mean ? "

" Just that Janet Dodds is at this hour a leevin'
woman," was the reply.

"The Lord be thanked!" cried Tammas again, "for
' He preserveth all them that love Him.' "

" ' But all the wicked He will destroy,'" returned she;
" and surely it was wicked to try to drown sae faithful
a wife and sae gude a Christian."

" Wicked !" rejoined he, in rising agony. " ' Let the

68 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

righteous smite me, it shall be a kindness ; and let
them reprove me, it shall,' as Solomon says, 'be an
excellent oil.' "

" I am glad," continued the woman, " to find you
with a turned heart ; but whaur is the Jezebel ye took
in her place ? "

" Awa this day," replied he. " I have found her
out, and never mair is she wife o' mine."

" Sae far weel and better," said she.

" Ay, but speak to me o' Janet," cried he, earnestly.
" Come, tell me how she escaped, whaur she is, and
how she is ; for now I think there is light breaking
through the fearfu' cloud."

" Light indeed," continued Mrs. Paterson ; " and
now, listen to a strange tale, mair wonderfu' than
man's brain ever conceived. When ye thought ye
had drowned her, and cared naething doubtless — for
ye see I maun speak plain — whether her spirit went to
the ae place or the ither, ay, and ran awa to add to
murder a lee, she struggled out o' the deep, yea —

' He took her from the fearfu' pit,
And from the miry clay.'

And when she got to the bank she ran as for the little
life was in her, until she came to the foot of Halker-
stone's Wynd, where she crossed to the other side of
the loch. When she thought hersei' safe, she took
the road to Glasgow, where I was then living wi' my
husband, wha is since dead. The night was dark, but
self-preservation maks nae gobs at dangers ; so on she
went, till in the grey morning she made up to the
Glasgow carrier, wha agreed to gie her a cast even to
the end o' his journey. It was the next night when
she arrived at my door, cold and hungry, and, what
was waur, sair and sick at heart. She told me the

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 69

hail story as weel as she could for sobs and greeting ;
for the thought aye rugged at her heart that the man
she had liked sae -weel, and had toiled for night and
day, should hae turned out to be the nvurderer o' his
ain wife."

" And weel it might hae rugged and rugged," ejacu-
lated Tammas.

" I got aff her wet clothes," continued she, " and
gave her some strong drink to warm her, and then we
considered what was to be dune. My husband was for
off to Edinburgh to inform on ye, even if there should
hae been a drawing o' the neck on't ; but Janet cried,
and entreated baith him and me to keep the thing
quiet. She said she couldna gae back to you ; and as
for getting you punished, she couldna bear the thought
o't. And then we a' thought what a disgrace it would
be to our family if it were thought that my sister had
been attempted to be murdered by her husband. We
knew weel enough ye would say she had fallen in by
accident ; and when afterwards we heard that ye had
buried a body that had been found in the loch, we
made up our minds as to what we would do. We just
agreed to keep Janet under her maiden name. Nane
in Glasgow had ever seen her before, and her ain
sorrows kept her within doors, so that the secret wasna
ill to keep. Years afterwards, my husband was ta'en
from me, and Janet and I came, about twa months
syne, to live at Juniper Green, wi' John Paterson, my
husband's brother, wha had offered us a hame."

" And is Janet there now ? " cried Tammas, im-
patiently.

" Ay," continued Mrs. Paterson ; " but, alas ! she's
no what she was. She gets at times out o' her reason,
and will be that way for days thegether. The doctor
has a name for it ower lang for my tongue, but it tells

70 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

naething but what we ken ower weel. When in thae
fits she thinks she is here in the Bow, and living with
you, and working and moiling in the house just as she
used to do langsyne. Mairower, and that troubles us
maist ava, she will be out when the reason's no in, so
that we are obliged to watch her. Five days syne she
was aff in the morning before daylight, and even so
late as this morning she played us the same trick ;
whaur she gaed we couldna tell, but I had some sus-
picion she was here."

"Ay," replied Mr. Dodds, as he opened his eyes very
wide ; " she was here wi' a vengeance."

Thus Mrs. Paterson's story was finished ; and our
legend of the Brownie, more veritable, we opine, than
that of Bodsbeck, is also drawing to a conclusion.
Tammas, after a period of meditation, more like one of
Janet's hallucinations than a fit of rational thinking,
asked his sister-in-law whether she thought that Janet,
in the event of her getting quit of her day-dreams,
would consent to live with him again. To which
question she answered that she was not certain ; for
that Janet, when in her usual state of mind, was still
wroth against him for the attempt to take away her
life ; but she added that she had no objection, seeing
he was penitent, to give him an opportunity to plead
for himself. She even went further, and agreed to
use her influence to bring about a reconciliation. It
was therefore agreed between them that the sister
should call again when Janet had got quit of her
temporary derangement, and Thomas might follow up
this intimation with a visit. About four days there-
after, accordingly, Mrs. Paterson kept her word, and
next day Mr. Dodds repaired to Juniper Green. At
first Janet refused to see him; but upon Mrs. Pater-
son's representations of his penitence and suffering, she

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW. 71

became reconciled to an interview. We may venture
to say, without attempting a description of a meeting
unparalleled in history, that if Janet Dodds had not
been a veritable Calvinist, no good could have come of
all Mr. Dodds's professions; but she knew that the
Master cast out the dumb spirit which tore the pos-
sessed, and that that spirit attempted murder not less
than Tammas. Wherefore might not his dumb spirit
be cast out as well by that grace which aboundeth in
the bosom of the Saviour? We do not say that a
return of her old love helped this deduction, because
we do not wish to mix up profane with sacred things.
Enough if we can certify that a very happy conclusion
was the result, The doctor did his duty, and Janet
having been declared compos mentis, returned to her
old home. Her first duty was to look for " the pose."
It was gone in the manner we have set forth ; but
Janet could collect another, and no doubt in due time
did; nor did she fail of any of her old peculiarities, all
of which became endeared to Thomas by reason of
their being veritable sacrifices to his domestic comfort.

72 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT.

THE LAST SCRAP.

It is a fact well known to Dr. Lee, and to many besides,
that notwithstanding the extensive researches of Wod-
row and others, there have died away in the silent
lapse of time, or are still hovering over our cleuchs
and glens, in the aspect of a dim and misty tradition,
many instances of extreme cruelty and wanton oppres-
sion, exercised (during the reign of Charles n.) over
the poor Covenanters, or rather Nonconformists, of
the south and west counties of Scotland. In parti-
cular, although the whole district suffered, it was in
the vale of the Nith, and in the hilly portion of the
parish of Closeburn, that the fury of Grierson, Dalzell,
and Johnstone — not to mention an occasional simoom,
felt on the withering approach of Clavers with his
lambs — was felt to the full amount of merciless per-
secution and relentless cruelty. The following anec-
dote I had from a sister of my grandmother, who lived
till a great age, and who was lineally descended from
one of the parties. I have never seen any notice what-
ever taken of the circumstances ; but am as much con-
vinced of its truth, in all its leading features, as I am
of that of any other similar statements which are made
in Wodrow, " Naphtali," or the " Cloud of Witnesses."

The family of Harkness has been upwards of four
hundred years tenants on the farm of Queensberry,
occupying the farm-house and steading situated upon
the banks of the Caple, and known by the name of

THE LAST SCEAP. 16

Mitchelslacks. The district is wild and mountainous,
and, at the period to which I refer, in particular, almost
inaccessible through any regularly constructed road.
The hearts, however, of these mountain residents were
deeply attuned to religious and civil liberty, and re-
volted with loathing from the cold doctrines and com-
pulsory ministrations of the curate of Closeburn. They
were, therefore, marked birds for the myrmidons of
oppression, led on by Claverhouse, and " Eed Rob," the
scarlet-cloaked leader of his band.

It was about five o'clock of the afternoon, in the
month of August, that a troop of horse was seen cross-
ing the Grlassrig — a flat and heathy muir — and bearing
down with great speed upon Mitchelslacks. Mrs. Hark-
ness had been very recently delivered of a child, and
still occupied her bed, in what was denominated the
chamber, or cha'mer — an apartment separated from
the rest of the house, and set apart for more particular
occasions. Her husband, the object of pursuit, having
had previous intimation, by the singing or whistling of
a bird (as was generally reported on such occasions),
had betaken himself, some hours before, to the moun-
tain and the cave — his wonted retreat on similar visits.
From this position, on the brow of a precipice, inac-
cessible by any save a practised foot, he could see his
own dwelling, and mark the movements which were
going on outside. The troop, having immediately
surrounded the houses, and set a guard upon every
door and window, as well as an outpost, or spy, upon
an adjoining eminence, immediately proceeded with the
search — a search conducted with the most brutal in-
civility, and even indelicacy ; subjecting every child
and servant to apprehensions of the most horrid and
revolting character. It would be every way improper
to mention even a tithe of the oaths and blasphemy

74 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

which were 'not only permitted, but sanctioned and
encouraged, by their impious and regardless leader.
Suffice it to say, that after every other corner and
crevice was searched in vain, the cha'mer was invaded,
and the privacy of a female, in very interesting and
delicate circumstances, rudely and suddenly entered.

"The old fox is here," said Clavers, passing his
sword lip to the hilt betwixt the mother and her infant,
sleeping unconsciously on her arm, and thrusting it
home with such violence that the point perforated the
bed, and even penetrated the floor beneath.

"Toss out the whelp," vociferated Red Eob — always
forward on such occasions ; " and the b — ch will fol-
low." And, suiting the action to the word, he rolled
the sleeping, and happily well-wrapped, infant on the
floor.

"The Lord preserve my puir bairn!" was the in-
stantaneous and instinctive exclamation of the agonized
and now demented mother, springing at the same time
from her couch, and catching up her child with a look
of the most despairing alarm. A cloud of darkened
feeling seemed to pass over the face and features of the
infant,* and a cry of helpless suffering succeeded, at
once to comfort and to madden the mother. " A
murderous and monstrous herd are ye all," said she,
again resuming her position, and pressing the affrighted,
rather than injured child to her breast. " Limbs of
Satan and enemies of God, begone ! He whom ye seek
is not here ; nor will the God he serves and you defy,
ever suffer him, I fervently hope and trust, to fall into
your merciless and unhallowed hands."

At this instant a boy about twelve years of age was
dragged into the room, and questioned respecting the

* " In the light of heaven its face
Grew dark as they were speaking. "

THE LAST SCRAP. 75

place of his father's retreat, sometimes in a coaxing, and
at others in a threatening manner. The boy presented,
to every inquiry, the aspect of dogged resistance and
determined silence.

" Have the bear's cub to the croft," said Clavers,
" and shoot him on the spot."

The boy was immediately removed ; and the dis-
tracted mother left, happily for herself, in a state of
complete insensibility. There grew, and there stiil
grows, a rowan-tree in the corner of the garden or
kailyard of Mitchelslacks ; to this tree or bush the poor
boy was fastened with cords, having his eyes bandaged,
and being made to understand, that, if he did not re-
veal his father's retreat, a ball would immediately pass
through his brain. The boy shivered, attempted to
speak, then seemed to recover strength and resolution,
and continued silent.

" Do you wish to smell gunpowder ?" ejaculated Rob,
firing a pistol immediately under his nose, whilst the
ball perforated the earth a few paces off.

The boy uttered a loud and unearthly scream, and
his head sunk upon his breast. At this instant, the
aroused and horrified mother was seen on her bended
knees, with clasped hands, and eyes in which distrac-
tion rioted, at the feet of the destroyers. But nature,
which had given her strength for the effort, now
deserted her, and she fell lifeless at the feet of her
apparently murdered son. Even the heart of Clavers
was somewhat moved at this scene ; and he was in the
act of giving orders for an immediate retreat, when
there rushed into the circle, in all the frantic wildness
of a maniac, at once the father and the husband. He
had observed from his retreat the doings of that fearful
hour; and, having every reason to conclude that he
was purchasing his own safety at the expense of the

76 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

lives of his whole family, he had issued from the cave,
and hurled himself from the steep, and was now in the
presence of those whom he deemed the murderers of
his family.

" Fiends — bloody, brutal, heartless fiends — are ye
all ! And is this your work, ye sons of the wicked and
the accursed one ? What ! could not one content ye ?
"Was not the boy enough to sacrifice on your accursed
temple to Moloch, but ye must imbrue your hands in
the blood of a weak, an infirm, a helpless woman ! Oh,
may the God of the Covenant," added he, bending
reverently down upon his knees, and looking towards
heaven, "may the God of Jacob forgive me for cursing
ye ! And, thou man of blood" (addressing Clavers
personally), " think ye not that the blood of Brown,
and of my darling child, and my beloved wife — think
ye not, wot ye not, that their blood, and the blood of
the thousand saints which ye have shed, will yet be
required, ay, fearfully required, even to the last drop,
by an avenging God, at your hands?"

Having uttered these words with great and awful
energy, he was on the point of drawing his sword, con-
cealed under the flap of his coat, and of selling his
life as dearly as possible, when Mrs. Harkness, who
had now recovered her senses, rushed into his arms,
exclaiming —

" Oh Thomas, Thomas, what is this ye hae done ?
Oh, beware, beware ! — I am yet alive and unskaithed.
God has shut the mouths of the lions ; they have not
been permitted to hurt vie. And our puir boy, too,
moves his head, and gives token of life. But you,
you, my dear, dear, infatuated husband — oh, into what
hands have ye fallen, and to what a death are ye now
reserved ! "

" Unloose the band," vociferated Clavers ; " make

THE LAST SCRAP. i 7

fast your prisoner's hands, and, in the devil's name, let
us have done with this drivelling ! "

There was a small public-house at this time at
Closeburn mill, and into this Clavers and his party
went for refreshment ; whilst an adjoining barn, upon
which a guard was set, served to secure the prisoner.
No sooner was Mr. Harkness left alone, and in the
dark — for it was now nightfall — than he began to
think of some means or other of effecting his escape.
The barn was happily known to him ; and he recol-
lected that, though the greater proportion of the gable
was built of stone and lime, yet that a small part to-
wards the top, as was sometimes the case in these
days, was constructed of turf, and that, should he effect
an opening through the soft material, he might drop
with safety upon the top of a peat-stack, and thus
effect his escape to Creechope Linn, with every pass
and cave of which he was intimately acquainted. In
a word, his escape was effected in this manner ; and
though the alarm was immediately given, and large
stones rolled over the precipices of the adjoining linn,
he was safely ensconced in darkness, and under the
covert of a projecting rock ; and ultimately (for, in the
course of a few days, King William and liberty were
the order of the day) he returned to his wife and his
family, there to enjoy for many years that happiness
which the possession of a conscience void of offence to-
wards God and towards man is sure to impart. The
brother, however, of this more favoured individual
was not so fortunate, as may be gathered from Wod-
row, and the " Cloud of Witnesses ;" for he was
executed ere the day of deliverance, at the Gallowlee,
and his most pathetic and eloquent address is still
extant.

Let us rejoice with trembling that we live in an age

78 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

and under a government so widely different from those
now referred to ; and whilst on our knees we pour
forth the tribute of thankfulness to God, let us teach
our children to prize the precious inheritance so dearly
purchased by our forefathers.

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 79

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN.

If the reader of what I am going to relate for his or
her edification, or for perhaps a greater luxury, viz.
wonder, should be so unreasonable as to ask for my
authority, I shall be tempted, because a little piqued,
to say that no one should be too particular about the
source of pleasure, inasmuch as, if you will enjoy
nothing but what you can prove to be a reality, you
will, under good philosophical leadership, have no
great faith in the sun — a thing which you never saw,
the existence of which you are only assured of by a
round figure of light on the back of your eye, and
which may be likened to tradition ; so all you have to
do is to believe like a good Catholic, and be contented,
even though I begin so poorly as to try to interest you
in two very humble beings who have been dead for
many years, and whose lives were like a steeple with-
out a bell in it, the intention of which you cannot
understand till your eye reaches the weathercock upon
the top, and then you wonder at so great an erection
for so small an object. The one bore the name of
William Halket, a young man, who, eight or nine
years before he became of much interest either to
himself or any other body, was what in our day is
called an Arab of the City — a poor street boy, who
didn't know who his father was, though, as for his
mother, he knew her by a pretty sharp experience,
insomuch as she took from him every penny he made
by holding horses, and gave him more cuffs than cakes

80 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

in return. But Bill got out of this bondage by tlie
mere chance of having been taken a fancy to by Mr.
Peter Ramsay, innkeeper and stabler, in St. Mary's
Wynd (an ancestor, we suspect, of the Ramsays of
Barnton), who thought he saw in the City Arab that
love of horse-flesh which belongs to the Bedoviin, and
who accordingly elevated him to the position of a
stable-boy, with board and as many shillings a week
as there are days in that subdivision of time.

Nor did William Halket — to whom for his merits
we accord the full Christian name — do any discredit
to the perspicacity of his master, if it was not that he
rather exceeded the hopes of his benefactor, for he
was attentive to the horses, civil to the farmers, and
handy at anything that came in his way. Then, to
render the connection reciprocal, William was grate-
fully alive to the conviction that if he had not been,
as it were, taken from the street, the street might have
been taken from him, by his being locked up some
day in the Heart of Midlothian. So things went on
in St. Mary's Wynd for five or six years, and might
have gone c*i for twice that period, had it not been
that at a certain hour of a certain day William fell in
love with a certain Mary Brown, who had come on
that very day to be an under-housemaid in the inn ;
and strange enough, it was a case of "love at first
sight," the more by token that it took effect the
moment that Mary entered the stable with a glass of
whisky in her hand sent to him by Mrs. Ramsay. No
doubt it is seldom that a fine blooming young girl,
with very pretty brown hair and very blue eyes,
appears to a young man with such a recommendation
in her hand ; but we are free to say that the whisky
had nothing to do with an effect which is well known
to be the pure result of the physical attributes of the

THE STOEY OF MARY BROWN. 81

individual. Nay, our statement might have been
proved by the counterpart effect produced upon Mary
herself, for she was struck by William at the same
moment when she handed him the glass ; and we are
not to assume that the giving of a pleasant boon is
always attended with the same effect as the receiving
of it.

But, as our story requires, it is the love itself be-
tween these two young persons, whose fates were so
remarkable, we have to do with — not the causes, which
are a mystery in all cases. Sure it is, humble in
position as they were, they could love as strongly, as
fervently, perhaps as ecstatically, as great people — nay,
probably more so, for education has a greater chance
of moderating the passion than increasing it ; and so,
notwithstanding of what Plutarch says of the awfully
consuming love between Phrygius and Picrea, and also
what Shakespeare has sung or said about a certain
Romeo and a lady called Juliet, we are certain that
the affection between these grand personages was not
more genuine, tender, and true, than that which bound
the simple and unsophisticated hearts of Will Halket
and Mary Brown. But at best we merely play on the
surface of a deep subject when we try with a pen to
describe feelings, and especially the feelings of love.
We doubt, if even the said pen were plucked from
Cupid's wing, whether it would help us much. We are
at best only left to a choice of expressions, and perhaps
the strongest we could use are those which have already
been used a thousand times — the two were all the
world to each other, the world outside nothing at all
to them ; so that they could have been as happy on
the top of Mount Ararat, or on the island of Juan
Fernandez, provided they should be always in each
other's company, as they were in St. Mary's Wynd.

VOL. XXIII. F

82 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And as for whispered protestations and chaste kisses —
for really their love had a touch of romance about it
you could hardly have expected, but which yet kept it
pure, if not in some degree elevated above the loves of
common people— these Avere repeated so often about
the quiet parts of Arthur's Seat and the King's Park,
and the fields about the Dumbiedykes and Dudding-
stone Loch, that they were the very moral aliments on
■which they lived. In short, to Mary Brown the great
Duke of Buccleuch was as nothing compared to Willie
Halket, and to Willie Halket the beautiful Duchess of
Grammont would have been as nothing compared to
simple Mary Brown. All which is very amiable and
very necessary ; for if it had been so ordained that
people should feel the exquisite sensations of love in
proportion as they were beautiful, or rich, or endowed
Avith talent (according to a standard), our world would
have been even more queer than that kingdom de-
scribed by Gulliver, where the ugliest individual is
made king or queen.

Things continued in this very comfortable state at
the old inn in St. Mary's Wynd for about a year, and
it had come to enter into the contemplation of Will
that upon getting an increase of his wages he would
marry Mary, and send her to live with her mother, a
poor, hard-working washerwoman, in Big Lochend
Close; whereunto Mary was so much inclined, that
she looked forward to the day as the one that promised
to be the happiest that she had yet seen, or would ever
see. But, as an ancient saying runs, the good hour is
in no man's choice ; and about this time it so happened
that Mr. Peter Ramsay, having had a commission from
an old city man, a Mr. Dreghorn, located as a planter
in Virginia, to send him out a number of Scottish
horses, suo-ffested to William that he would do well to

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 83

act as supercargo and groom. Mr. Dreghorn had
offered to pay a good sum to the man who should bring
them out safe, besides paying his passage over and
home. And Mr. Ramsay would be ready to receive
Will into his old place again on his return. As for
Mary, with regard to whom the master knew his man's
intentions, she would remain where she was, safe from
all temptation, and true to the choice of her heart.
This offer pleased William, because he saw that he
could make some money out of the adventure, whereby
he would be the better able to marry, and make a
home for the object of his affections ; but he was by
no means sure that Mary would consent ; for women,
by some natural divining of the heart, look upon
delays in affairs of love as ominous and dangerous.
And so it turned out that one Sabbath evening, when
they were seated beneath a tree in the King's Park,
and William had cautiously introduced the subject to
her, she was like other women.

" The bird that gets into the bush," she said, as the
tears fell upon her cheeks, " sometimes forgets to come
back to the cage again. I would rather hae the lean
lintie in the hand, than the fat finch on the wand."

" But you forget, Mary, love," was the answer of
Will, " that you can feed the lean bird, but you can't
feed me. It is I who must support you. It is to
enable me to do that which induces me to go. I will
come with guineas in my pocket where there are now
only pennies and placks ; and you know, Mary, the
Scotch saying, ' A heavy purse makes a light heart.' "

" And an unsteady one," rejoined Mary. " And you
may bring something else wi' you besides the guineas ;
maybe a wife."

" One of Mr. Dreghorn's black beauties," said Will,
laughing. " No, no, Mary, I am too fond of the flaxen

84 TALES OF THE BOEDERS.

ringlets, the rosy cheeks, and the bine eyes ; and you
know, Mary, you have all these, so you have me in
your power. But to calm your fears, and stop your
tears, I'll tell you what I'll do."

" Stay at hame, Will, and we'll live and dee the-
gither."

" No," replied Will ; "but, like the genteel lover I
have read of, I will swear on your Bible that I will
return to you within the year, and marry j'ou at the
Tron Kirk, and throw my guineas into the lap of your
marriage-gown, and live with you until I die."

For all which and some more we may chaw upon our
fancy ; but certain it is, as the strange story goes, that
Will did actually then and there — for Mary had been
at the Tron Kirk, and had her Bible in her pocket (an
article, the want of which is not well supplied by the
scent-bottle of our modern Maries) — swear to do all he
had said, whereupon Mary was so far satisfied that she
gave up murmuring — peimaps no more than that. Cer-
tain also it is, that before the month was done, Will,
with his livine, kicking charges, and after more of these
said tears from Mary than either of them had arithmetic
enough to enable them to count, embarked at Leith for
Kichmond, at which place the sugar-planter had under-
taken to meet him.

We need say nothing of the voyage across the
Atlantic, somewhat arduous at that period, nor need
we pick up Will again till we find him in Richmond,
with his horses all safe, and as fat and sleek as if they
had been fed by Neptune's wife, and had drawn her
across in place of her own steeds. There he found
directions waiting from Mr. Dreghorn, to the effect that
he was to proceed with the horses to Peach Grove, his
plantation, a place far into the heart of the country.
But Will was content ; for had he not time and to spare

THE STOEY OF MARY BROWN. 85

within the year, and he would see some more of the new
world, which, so far as his experience yet went, seemed
to him to be a good place for a freeman to live in ? So
off he went, putting up at inns by the way, as well sup-
plied with food and fodder as Mr. Peter Ramsay's,
in St. Mary's Wynd, and showing off his nags to the
planters, who wondered at their bone and muscle, the
more by reason they had never seen Scotch horses be-
fore. As he progressed, the country seemed to Will
more and more beautiful, and by the time he reached
Peach Grove he had come to the unpatriotic conclusion
that all it needed was Mary Brown, with her roses, and
ringlets, and eyes, passing like an angel — lovers will be
poets — among these ebon beauties, to make it the finest
country in the world.

IN or when the Scotsman reached Peach Grove did the
rosy side of matters recede into the shady ; for he was
received in a great house by Mr. Dreghorn with so
much kindness, that, if the horses rejoiced in maize and
oats, Will found himself, as the saying goes, in five-
bladed clovei\ But more awaited him, even thus much
more, that the planter, and his fine lady of a wife as
well, urged him to remain on the plantation, where he
would be well paid and well fed ; and when Will pleaded
his engagement to return to Scotland within the year,
the answer was ready, that he might spend eight months
in Virginia at least, which would enable him to take
home more money, — an answer that seemed so very
reasonable, if not prudent, that " Sawny " saw the ad-
vantage thereof and agreed. But we need hardly say
that this was conceded upon the condition made Avith
himself, that he would write to Mary all the particulars,
and also upon the condition, acceded to by Mr. Dreg-
horn, that he would take the charge of getting the
letter sent to Scotland.

86 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

All which having been arranged, Mr. Halket — for
we cannot now continue to take the liberty of calling
him Will — was forthwith elevated to the position of
driving negroes in place of horses, an occupation which
he did not much relish, insomuch that he was expected
to use the lash, an instrument of which he had been
very chary in his treatment of four-legged chattels, and
which he could not bring himself to apply with any-
thing but a sham force in reference to the two-legged
species. But this objection he thought to get over by
using the sharp crack of his Jehu-voice as a substitute
for that of the whip; and in this he persevered, in spite
of the jeers of the other drivers, who told him the thing-
had been tried often, but that the self-conceit of the
negro met the stimulant and choked it at the very
entrance to the ear ; and this he soon found to be true.
So he began to do as others did ; and he was the sooner
reconciled to the strange life into which he had been
precipitated by the happy condition of the slaves them-
selves, who, when their work was over, and at all holi-
day hours, dressed themselves in the brightest colours
of red and blue and white, danced, sang, ate corn-cakes
and bacon, and drank coffee with a zest which would
have done a Scotch mechanic, with his liberty to pro-
duce a lock-out, much good to see. True, indeed, the
white element of the population was at a discount at
Peach Grove. But in addition to the above source of re-
conciliation, Halket became day by day more captivated
by the beauty of the country, with its undulating surface,
its wooded clumps, its magnolias, tulip-trees, camellias,
laurels, passion-flowers, and palms, its bright-coloured
birds, and all the rest of the beauties for which it is
famous all over the world. But nature might charm as
it might — Mary Brown was three thousand miles away.

Meanwhile the time passed pleasantly, for he was

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 87

accumulating money ; Mary's letter would be on the
way, and the hope of seeing her within the appointed
time was dominant over all the fascinations which
charmed the senses. But when the month came in
which he ought to have received a letter, no letter
came — not much this to be thought of, though Mr.
Dreghorn tried to impress him with the idea that
there must be some change of sentiment in the person
from whom he expected the much-desired answer. So
Halket wrote again, giving the letter, as before, to his
master, who assured him it was sent carefully away;
and while it was crossing the Atlantic he was busy in
improving his penmanship and arithmetic, under the
hope held out to him by his master that he would, if
he remained, be raised to a book-keeper's desk ; for
the planter had seen early that he had got hold of a
long-headed, honest, sagacious " Sawny," who would be
of use to him. On with still lighter wing the inter-
mediate time sped again, but with no better result in the
shape of an answer from her who was still the object
of his day fancies and his midnight dreams. Nor did
all this kill his hope. A third letter was despatched, but
the returning period was equally a blank. We have
been counting by months, which, as they sped, soon
brought round the termination of his year, and with
growing changes too in himself; for as the notion began
to Avorm itself into his mind that his beloved Mary was
either dead or faithless, another power was quietly
assailing him from within, — no other than ambition in
the most captivating of all shapes — Mammon. We all
know the manner in which the golden deity acquires
his authority ; nor do we need to have recourse to the
conceit of the old writer who tells us that the reason
why gold has such an influence upon man, lies in the
fact that it is of the colour of the sun, which is the

88 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

fountain of light, and life, and joy. Certain it is, at
least, that Halket having been taken into the counting-
house on a raised salary, began " to lay by," as the
Scotch call it ; and by-and-by, with the help of a little
money lent to him by his master, he began by purchas-
ing produce from the neighbouring plantations, and
selling it where he might, — all which he did with ad-
vantage, yet with the ordinary result to a Scotsman,
that while he turned to so good account the king's
head, the king's head began to turn his own.

And now in place of months we must begin to count
by lustrums ; and the first five years, even -with all the
thoughts of his dead, or, at least, lost Mary, proved in
Halket's case the truth of the book written by a French-
man, to prove that man is a plant; for he had already
thrown out from his head or heart so many roots in the
Virginian soil that he was bidding fair to be as firmly
fixed in his new sphere as a magnolia, and if that bore
golden blossoms, so did he ; yet, true to his first love,
there was not among all these flowers one so fair as the
fair-haired Mary. Nay, with all hope not yet extin-
guished, he had even at the end of the period resolved
upon a visit to Scotland, when, strangely enough, and
sadly too, he was told by Mr. Dreghorn, that having
had occasion to hear from Mr. Peter Ramsay on the
subject of some more horse-dealings, that person had
reported to him that Mary Brown, the lover of his old
stable-boy, was dead. A communication this which, if
it had been made at an earlier period, would have
prostrated Halket altogether, but it was softened by
his long foreign anticipations, and he was thereby the
more easily inclined to resign his saddened soul to the
further dominion of the said god, Mammon ; for, as to
the notion of putting any of those beautiful half-castes
he sometimes saw about the planter's house at Peach

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 89

Grove, in the place of her of the golden ringlets, it was
nothing better than the desecration of a holy temple.
Then the power of the god increased with the offerings,
one of which was his large salary as manager, a station
to which he was elevated shortly after he had received
the doleful tidings of Mary's death. Another lustrum
is added, and we arrive at ten years ; and yet another,
and we come to fifteen ; at the end of which time Mr.
Dreghorn died, leaving Halket as one of his trustees,
for behoof of his wife, in whom the great plantation
vested. If we add yet another lustrum, we find the
Scot — fortunate, save for one misfortune that made
him a joyless worshipper of gold — purchasing from the
widow, who wished to return to England, the entire
plantation under the condition of an annuity.

And Halket was now rich, even beyond what he had
ever wished ; but the chariot-wheels of Time would not
go any slower — nay, they moved faster, and every year
more silently, as if the old Father had intended to
cheat the votary of Mammon into a belief that he
would live for ever. The lustrums still passed : another
five, another, and another, till there was scope for all
the world being changed, and a new generation taking
the place of that with which William Halket and Mary
Brown began. And he was changed too, for he began
to take on those signs of age which make the old man
a painted character ; but in one thing he was not
changed, and that was the worshipful stedfastness,
the sacred fidelity, with which he still treasured in his
mind the form and face, the words and the smiles, the
nice and refined peculiarities that feed love as with
nectared sweets, which once belonged to Mary Brown,
the first creature that had moved his affections, and
the last to hold them, as the object of a cherished
memory for ever. Nor with time, so deceptive, need

90 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

we be so sparing in dealing out those periods of five
years, but say at once that at last William Halket could
count twelve of them since first he set his foot on
Virginian soil ; yea, he had been there for sixty sum-
mers, and he had now been a denizen of the world for
seventy-eight years. In all which our narrative has
been strange, but we have still the stranger fact to set
forth, that at this late period he was seized with that
moral disease (becoming physical in time) which the
French call mat du pays, the love of the country where
one was born, and first enjoyed the fresh springs that
gush from the young heart. Nor was it the mere love
of country, as such, for he was seized with a particular
wish to be where Mary lay in the churchyard of the
Canongate, to erect a tombstone over her, to seek out
her relations and enrich them, to make a worship out
of a disappointed love, to dedicate the last of his
thoughts to the small souvenirs of her humble life.
Within a month this old man was on his way to Scot-
land, having sold the plantation, and taken bills with
him to an amount of little less than a hundred thousand
pounds.

In the course of five weeks William Halket put his
foot on the old pier of Leith, on which some very old
men were standing, who had been urchins when he
went away. The look of the old harbour revived the
image which had been imprinted on his mind when he
sailed, and the running of the one image into the other
produced the ordinary illusion of all that long interval
appearing as a day ; but there was no illusion in the
change, that Mary Brown was there when he departed,
and there was no Mary Brown there now. Having
called a coach, he told the driver to proceed up Leith
Walk, and take him to Peter Ramsay's inn, in St.
Mary's Wynd ; but the man told him there was no inn

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 91

there, nor had been in his memory. The man added
that he would take him to the White Horse in the
Canongate, and thither accordingly he drove him. On
arriving at the inn, he required the assistance of the
waiter to enable him to get out of the coach; nor pro-
bably did the latter think this any marvel, after looking
into a face so furrowed with years, so pale with the
weakness of a languid circulation, so saddened with
care. The rich man had only an inn for a home, nor
in all his native country was there one friend whom he
hoped to find alive. Neither would a search help him,
as he found on the succeeding day, when, by the help
of his staff, he essayed an infirm walk in the great
thoroughfare of the old city. The houses were not
much altered, but the signboards had got new names
and figures; and as for the faces, they were to him even
as those in Crete to the Cretan, after he awoke from a
sleep of forty-seven years — a similitude only true in
tl^is change, for Epimenidas was still as young when
he awoke as when he went to sleep, but William
Halket was old among the young and the grown, who
were unknown to him, as he was indeed strange to
them. True, too, as the coachman said, Peter Ram-
say's inn, where he had heard Mary singing at her
work, and the stable where he had whistled blithely
among his favourite horses, were no longer to be seen
— etiam cineres perierunt — their very sites were oc-
cupied by modern dwellings. What of that small
half-sunk lodging in Big Lochend Close, where Mary's
mother lived, and where Mary had been brought up,
where perhaps Mary had died ? Would it not be a kind
of pilgrimage to hobble down the Canongate to that
little lodging, and might there not be for him a sad
pleasure even to enter and sit doAvn by the same fire-
place where he had seen the dearly-beloved face, and

92 TALES OF THE BORDEKS.

listened to her voice, to him more musical i than the
melody of angels ?

And so, after he had walked about till he was
wearied, and his steps became more unsteady and slow,
and as yet without having seen a face which he knew,
he proceeded in the direction of the Big Close. There
was, as regards stone and lime, little change here ; he
soon recognised the half-sunk window where, on the
Sunday evenings, he had sometimes tapped as a humor-
ous sign that he was about to enter, which had often
been responded to by Mary's finger on the glass, as a
token that he would be welcome. It was sixty years
since then. A small corb would now hold all that re-
mained of both mother and daughter. He turned
away his head as if sick, and was about to retrace his
steps. Yet the wish to enter that house rose again
like a yearning; and what more in the world than some
souvenir of the only being on earth he ever loved was
there for him to yearn for ? All his hundred thousand
pounds were now, dear as money had been to him,
nothing in comparison of the gratification of seeing the
room where she was born — yea, where probably she
had died. In as short a time as his trembling limbs
would carry him down the stair, which in the ardour
of his young blood he had often taken at a bound, he
was at the foot of it. There was there the old familiar
dark passage, with doors on either side, but it was the
farthest door that Avas of any interest to him. Arrived
at it, he stood in doubt. He would knock, and he
would not ; the mystery of an undefined fear was over
him ; and yet, what had he to fear? For half a century
the inmates had been changed, no doubt, over and
over again, and he would be as unknowing as un-
known. At length the trembling finger achieves the
furtive tap, and the door was opened by a woman,

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 93

whose figure could only be seen by him in coming
between him and the obscure light that came in by the
half-sunk window in front ; nor could she, even if she
had had the power of vision, see more of him, for the
lobby was still darker.

"Who may live here?" said he, in the expectation
of hearing some name unknown to him.

The answer, in a broken, cracked voice, was not
slow

" Mary Brown ; and what may you want of her?"

" Mary Brown !" but not a word more could he say,
and he stood as still as a post ; not a movement of any
kind did he show for so long a time that the woman
might have been justified in her fear of a very spirit.

" And can ye say nae mair, sir ?" rejoined she. " Is
my name a bogle to terrify human beings?"

But still he was silent, for the reason that he could
not think, far less speak, nor even for some minutes could
he achieve more than the repetition of the words, " Mary
Brown."

" But hadna ye better come in, good sir?" said she.
" Ye may ken our auld saying, 'The)' that speak in the
dark may miss their mark;' for words carry nae light
in their een ony mair than me, for, to say the truth, I
am old and blind."

And, moving more as an automaton than as one under
a will, Halket was seated on a chair, with this said old
and blind woman by his side, who sat silent and with
blank eyes waiting for the stranger to explain what he
wanted. Nor was the opportunity lost by Halket, who,
unable to understand how she shoidd have called her-
self Mary Brown, began, in the obscure light of the
room, to scrutinize her form and features; and in doing
this, he went upon the presumption that this second
Mary Brown only carried the name of the first ; but as

94 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

he looked he began to detect features which riveted his
eyes ; where the reagent was so sharp and penetrating,
the analysis was rapid — it was also hopeful — it was also
fearful. Yes, it was true that that woman was Ms Mary
Brown. The light-brown ringlets were reduced to a
white stratum of thin hair ; the blue eyes were grey,
without light and without speculation ; the roses on
the cheeks were replaced by a pallor, the forerunner of
the colour of death ; the lithe and sprightly form was
a thin spectral body, where the sinews appeared as
strong cords, and the skin seemed only to cover a
skeleton. Yet, withal, he saw in her that identical
Mary Brown. That wreck was dear to him ; it was a
relic of the idol he had worshipped through life ; it
was the only remnant in the world which had any in-
terest for him ; and he could on the instant have clasped
her to his breast, and covered her pale face with his
tears. But how was he to act ? A sudden announce-
ment might startle and distress her.

"There was once a Mary Brown," said he, who was
once a housemaid in Mr. Peter Ramsay's inn in St.
Mary's Wynd."

"And who can it be that can recollect that?" was
the answer, as she turned the sightless orbs on the
speaker. " Ye maun be full o' years. Yes, that was
my happy time, even the only happy time I ever had
in this world."

"And there was one William Halket there at that
time also," he continued.

Words which, as they fell upon the ear, seemed to
be a stimulant so powerful as to produce a jerk in the
organ ; the dulness of the eyes seemed penetrated with
something like light, and a tremor passed over her en-
tire frame.

"That name is no to be mentioned, sir," she said

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 95

nervously, " except aince and nae mair ; lie was my
ruin ; for he pledged his troth to me, and promised to
come back and marry me, but he never came."

" Nor wrote you?" said Halket.

"No, never," replied she; "I would hae gien the
world for a scrape o' the pen o' Will Halket ; but it's
a' past now, and I fancy he is dead and gone to whaur
there is neither plighted troth, nor marriage, nor giving
in marriage ; and my time, too, will be short."

A light broke in upon the mind of Halket, carrying
the suspicion that Mr. Dreghorn had, for the sake of
keeping him at Peach Grove, never forwarded the
letters, whereto many circumstances tended.

"And what did you do when you found Will had
proved false?" inquired Halket. "Why should that
have been your ruin?"

" Because my puir heart was bound up in him," said
she, " and I never could look upon another man. Then
what could a puir woman do ? My mother died, and I
came here to work as she wrought — ay, fifty years ago,
and my reward has been the puir boon o' the parish
bread ; ay, and waur than a' the rest, blindness."

"Mary !" said Halket, as he took her emaciated hand
into his, scarcely less emaciated, and divested of the
genial warmth.

The words carried the old sound, and she started and
shook.

" Mary," he continued, " Will Halket still lives. He
was betrayed, as you have been betrayed. He Avrote
three letters to you, all of which were kept back by his
master, for fear of losing one who he saw would be
useful to him ; and, to complete the conspiracy, he re-
ported you dead upon the authority of Peter Ramsay.
Whereupon Will betook himself to the making of money ;
but he never forgot his Mary, whose name has been

96 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

heard as often as the song of the birds in the groves
of Virginia."

"Ah, you are Will himself!1' cried she. "I ken
now the sound o' your voice in the word ' Mary,' even
as you used to whisper it in my ear in the fields at St.
Leonard's. Let me put my hand upon your head,
and move my fingers ower your face. Yes, yes. Oh,
mercy, merciful God, how can my poor worn heart
bear a' this!"

" Mary, my dear Mary !" ejaculated the moved man,
" come to my bosom and let me press you to my heart;
for this is the only blissful moment I have enjoyed for
sixty years."

Nor was Mary deaf to his entreaties, for she resigned
herself as in a swoon to an embrace, which an excess
of emotion, working on the shrivelled heart and the
wasted form, probably prevented her from feeling.

"But, oh, Willie!" she cried, " a life's love lost ; a
lost life on both our sides."

"Not altogether," rejoined he, in the midst of their
mutual sobs. " It may be — nay, it is — that our sands
are nearly run. Yea, a rude shake would empty the
glass, so weak and wasted are both of us ; but still
there are a few grains to pass, and they shall be made
golden. You are the only living creature in all this
world I have any care for. More thousands of pounds
than you ever dreamt of are mine, and will be yours.
We will be married even yet, not as the young many,
but as those marry who may look to their knowing
each other as husband and wife in heaven, where there
are no cruel, interested men to keep them asunder;
and for the short time we are here you shall ride in
your carriage as a lady, and be attended by servants ;
nor shall a rude breath of wind blow upon you which
it is in the power of man to save you from."

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 97

" Ower late, Willie, ower late," sighed the exhausted
■woman, as she still lay in his arms. " But if all this
should please my Will — I canna use another name,
though you are now a gentleman — I will do even as
you list, and that which has been by a cruel fate
denied us here we may share in heaven."

"And who shall witness this strange marriage?"
said he. "There is no one in Edinburgh now that I
know or knows me. Has any one ever been kind to
you?"

"Few, few indeed," answered she. "I can count
only three."

" I must know these wonderful exceptions," said he,
as he made an attempt at a grim smile ; " for those
who have done a service to Mary Brown have done a
double service to me. I will make every shilling they
have given you a hundred pounds. Tell me their
names."

" There is John Gilmour, my landlord," continued
she, "who, though he needed a' his rents for a big-
family, passed me many a term, and forbye brought
me often, when I was ill and couldna work, many a
bottle o' wine ; there is Mrs. Paterson o' the Watergate,
too, who aince, when I gaed to her in sair need, gave
me a shilling out o' three that she needed for her
bairns ; and Mrs. Galloway; o' Little Lochend, slipt in
to me a peck o' meal ae morning when I had naething
for breakfast."

" And these shall be at our marriage, Mary," said
he. " They shall be dressed to make their eyes doubt-
ful if they are themselves. John Gilmour will wonder
how these pounds of his rent he passed you from have
grown to hundreds ; Mrs. Paterson's shilling will have
grown as the widow's mite never grew, even in heaven;
and Mrs. Galloway's peck of meal will be made like

VOL. XXIII. G

98 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

the widow's cruse of oil — it will never be finished
while she is on earth."

Whereupon Mary raised her head. The blank eyes
were turned upon him, and something like a smile
played over the thin and wasted face. At the same
moment a fair-haired girl of twelve years came jump-
ing into the room, and only stopped when she saw a
stranger.

" That is Helen Kemp," said Mary, who knew her
movements. " I forgot Helen ; she lights my fire, and
when I was able to gae out used to lead me to the
Park."

" And she shall be one of the favoured ones of the
earth," said he, as he took by the hand the girl, whom
the few words from Mary had made sacred to him,
adding, " Helen, dear, you are to be kinder to Mary
than you have ever been ;" and, slipping into the girl's
hand a guinea, he whispered, " You shall have as
many of these as will be a bigger tocher to you than
you ever dreamed of, for what you have done for
Mary Brown."

And thus progressed to a termination a scene, per-
haps more extraordinary than ever entered into the
head of a writer of natural things and events not
beyond the sphere of the probable. Nor did what
afterwards took place fall short of the intentions of a
man whose intense yearnings to make up for what had
been lost led him into the extravagance of a vain
fancy. He next day took a great house, and forthwith
furnished it in proportion to his wealth. He hired
servants in accordance, and made all the necessary
arrangements for the marriage. Time, which had been
so cruel to him and his sacred Mary, was put under
the obligation of retribution. John Gilmour, Mrs.
Paterson, Mrs. Galloway, and Helen Kemp were those,

THE STORY OF MARY BROWN. 99

and those alone, privileged to witness the ceremony.
We would not like to describe how they were decked
out, nor shall we try to describe the ceremony itself
But vain are the aspirations of man when he tries to
cope with the Fates ! The changed fortune was too
much for the frail and wasted bride to bear. She
swooned at the conclusion of the ceremony, and was
put into a silk-curtained bed. Even the first glimpse
of grandeur was too much for the spirit whose sigh
was " vanity, all is vanity," and, with the words on her
lips, " A life's love lost," she died.

100 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

TIBBY FOWLER.

" Tibby Fowler o' the glen,
A' the lads are wooin' at her. " — Old Song.

All our readers have heard and sung of " Tibby
Fowler o' the glen ;'' but they may not all be aware
that the glen referred to lies within about four miles
of Berwick. No one has seen and not admired the
romantic amphitheatre below Edrington Castle, through
which the Whitadder coils like a beautiful serpent
glittering in the sun, and sports in fantastic curves
beneath the pasture- clad hills, the grey ruin, the mossy
and precipitous crag, and the pyramid of woods, whose
branches, meeting from either side, bend down and
kiss the glittering river, till its waters seem lost in their
leafy bosom. Now, gentle reader, if you have looked
upon the scene we have described, we shall make plain
to you the situation of Tibby Fowler's cottage, by a
homely map, which is generally at hand. You have
only to bend your arm, and suppose your shoulder to
represent Edrington Castle, your hand Clarabad, and
near the elbow you will have the spot -where " ten cam'
rowing owre the water ;" a little nearer to Clarabad is
the " lang dyke side," and immediately at the foot of it
is the site of Tibby's cottage, which stood upon the
Edrington side of the river ; and a little to the west of
the cottage, you will find a shadowy row of palm-trees,
planted, as tradition testifieth, by the hands of Tibby's
father, old Ned Fowler, of whom many speak until
this day. The locality of the song was known to

TIBBY FOWLER. 101

many ; and if any should be inclined to inquire how
Ave became acquainted with the other particulars of
our story, we have only to reply, that that belongs to a
class of questions to which we do not return an answer.
There is no necessity for a writer of tales taking for his
motto — vitam impendere vero. Tibby's parents had the
character of being " bien bodies ;" and, together with
their own savings, and a legacy that had been left them
by a relative, they were enabled at their death to leave
their daughter in possession of five hundred pounds.
This was esteemed a fortune in those days, and would
afford a very respectable foundation for the rearing of
one yet. Tibby, however, was left an orphan, as well
as the sole mistress of five hundred pounds, and the
proprietor of a neat and well-furnished cottage, with a
piece of land adjoining, before she had completed her
nineteenth year ; and when we add that she had hair
like the raven's wings when the sun glances upon them,
cheeks where the lily and the rose seemed to have lent
their most delicate hues, and eyes like twin dew-drops
glistening beneath a summer moonbeam, with a waist
and an arm rounded like a model for a sculptor, it is
not to be wondered at that " a' the lads cam' wooin' at
her." But she had a woman's heart as well as woman's
beauty and the portion of an heiress. She found her
cottage surrounded, and her path beset, by a herd of
grovelling pounds-shillings-and-pence hunters, whom
her very soul loathed. The sneaking wretches, Avho
profaned the name of lovers, seemed to have money
written on their very eyeballs, and the sighs they pro-
fessed to heave in her presence sounded to her like
stifled groans of — your gold — your gold! She did not
hate them, but she despised their meanness ; and as
they one by one gave up persecuting her with their
addresses, they consoled themselves with retorting upon

102 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

her the words of the adage, that "her pride would
have a fall !" But it was not from pride that she re-
jected them, but because her heart was capable of love
— of love, pure, devoted, unchangeable, springing from
being beloved, and because her feelings were sensitive
as the quivering aspen, which trembles at the rustling
of an insect's wing. Amcngst her suitors there might
have been some who were disinterested ; but the mean-
ness and sordid objects of many caused her to regard
all with suspicion, and ihere was none among the
number to whose voice her bosom responded as the
needle turns to the magnet, and frequently from a
cause as inexplicable. She had resolved that the man
to whom she gave her hand should wed her for herself
— and for herself only. Her parents had died in the
same month ; and about a year after their death she
sold the cottage and the piece of ground, and took her
journey towards Edinburgh, where the report of her
being a " great fortune," as her neighbours term her,
might be unknown. But Tibby, although a sensitive
girl, was also, in many respects, a prudent one. Fre-
quently she had heard her mother, when she had to
take but a shilling from the legacy, quote the proverb,
that it was

" Like a cow in a clout,
That soon wears out."

Proverbs we know are in bad taste, but we quote it,
because by its repetition the mother produced a deeper
impression on her daughter's mind than could have
been effected by a volume of sentiment. Bearing
therefore in her memory the maxim of her frugal
parent, Tibby deposited her money in the only bank,
we believe, that was at that period in the Scottish
capital, and hired herself as a child's maid in the family
of a gentleman who occupied a house in the neighbour-

TIBBY FOWLER. 103

hood of Restalrig. Here the story of her fortune was
unknown, and Tibby was distinguished only for a hind
heart and a lovely countenance. It was during the
summer months, and Leith Links became her daily
resort ; and there she was wont to walk with a child in
her arms and another leading by the hand, for there
she could wander by the side of the sounding sea ; and
her heart still glowed for her father's cottage and its
fairy glen, where she had often heard the voice of its
deep waters, and she felt the sensation which we be-
lieve may have been experienced by many who have
been born within hearing of old Ocean's roar, that
wherever they may be, they hear the murmur of its
billows as the voice of a youthful friend, and she almost
fancied, as she approached the sea, that she drew nearer
the home which sheltered her infancy. She had been
but a few weeks in the family we have alluded to,
when, returning from her accustomed walk, her eyes
met those of a young man habited as a seaman. He
appeared to be about five-and-twenty, and his features
were rather manly than handsome. There was a dash
of boldness and confidence in his countenance ; but as
the eyes of the maiden met his, he turned aside as if
abashed and passed on. Tibby blushed at her foolish-
ness, but she could not help it, she felt interested in
the stranger. There was an expression, a language,
an inquiry in his gaze, she had never witnessed before.
She would have turned round to cast a look after him,
but she blushed deeper at the thought, and modesty
forbade it. She walked on for a few minutes, upbraid-
ing herself for entertaining the silly wish, when the
child who walked by her side fell a few yards behind.
She turned round to call him by his name — Tibby was
certain that she had no motive but to call the child, and
though she did steal a sidelong glance towards the spot

104 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

where she had passed the stranger, it was a mere acci-
dent, it could not be avoided — at least so the maiden
wished to persuade her conscience against her convic-
tion ; but that glance revealed to her the young sailor,
not pursuing the path on which she had met him, but
following her within the distance of a few yards, and
until she reached her master's door, she heard the
sound of his footsteps behind her. She experienced
an emotion between being pleased and offended at his
conduct, though we suspect the former eventually pre-
dominated, for the next day she was upon the Links as
usual, and there also was the young seaman, and again
he followed her to within sight of her master's house.
How long this sort of dumb love-making, or the plea-
sures of diffidence continued, we cannot tell. Certain
it is that at length he spoke, wooed, and conquered ; and
about a twelvemonth after their first meeting, Tibby
Fowler became the Avife of William Gordon, the mate
of a foreign trader. On the second week after their
marriage William was to sail upon a long, long voyage,
and might not be expected to return for more than
twelve months. This was a severe trial for poor Tibby,
and she felt as if she would not be able to stand up
against it. As yet her husband knew nothing of her
dowry, and for this hour she had reserved its dis-
covery. A few days before their marriage she had
lifted her money from the bank and deposited it in her
chest.

" No, Willie, my ain Willie," she cried, "ye maunna,
ye winna leave me already: I have neither faither,
mother, brother, nor kindred; naebody but you, Willie ;
only you in the wide world ; and I am a stranger here,
and ye winna leave your Tibby. Say that ye winna,
Willie." And she wrung his hand, gazed in his face,
and wept.

TIBBY FOWLEK. 105

" I maun gang, dearest ; I maun gang," said Willie,
and pressed her to his breast ; " but the thocht o' my
ain wifie will male the months chase ane anither like
the moon driving shadows owre the sea. There's nae
danger in the voyage, hinny, no a grain o' danger ;
sae dinna greet ; but come, kiss me, Tibby, and when I
come hame I'll mak ye leddy o' them a'."

"Oh no, no, Willie!" she replied; "I want to be
nae leddy ; I want naething but my Willie. Only say
that ye'll no gang, and here's something here, some-
thing for ye to look at," And she hurried to her chest,
and took from it a large leathern pocket-book that had
been her father's, and which contained her treasure,
now amounting to somewhat more than six hundred
pounds. In a moment she returned to her husband ;
she threw her arms around his neck ; she thrust the
pocket-book into his bosom. " There, Willie, there,"
she exclaimed ; " that is yours — my faither placed it
in my hand wi' a blessing, and wi' the same blessing I
transfer it to you — but dinna, dinna leave me." Thus
saying, she hurried out of the room. We will not
attempt to describe the astonishment, we may say the
joy, of the fond husband, on opening the pocket-book
and finding the unlooked-for dowry. However in-
tensely a man may love a woman, there is little chance
that her putting an unexpected portion of six hundred
pounds into his hands will diminish his attachment ;
nor did it diminish that of William Gordon. He re-
linquished his intention of proceeding on the foreign
voyage, and purchased a small coasting vessel, of which
he was both owner and commander. Five years of
unclouded prosperity passed over them, and Tibby had
become the mother of three fair children. William
sold his small vessel and purchased a larger one, and
in fitting it up all the gains of his five successful years

10(3 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

•were swallowed up. But trade was good. She was a
beautiful brig, and he had her called the Tibby Fowler.
He now took a fond farewell of his wife and little ones
upon a foreign voyage which was not calculated to ex-
ceed four months, and which held out high promise
of advantage. But four, eight, twelve months passed
away, and there were no tidings of the Tibby Fowler.
Britain was then at war ; there were enemies' ships
and pirates upon the sea, and there had been fierce
storms and hurricanes since her husband left ; and
Tibby thought of all these things and wept ; and her
lisping children asked her when their father would
return, for he had promised presents to all, and she
answered, to-morrow, and to-morrow, and turned from
them and wept again. She began to be in want, and
at first she received assistance from some of the friends
of their prosperity ; but all hope of her husband's
return was now abandoned ; the ship was not insured,
and the mother and her family were reduced to beg-
gary. In order to support them, she sold one article
of furniture after another, until what remained was
seized by the landlord in security for his rent. It was
then that Tibby and her children, with scarce a blanket
to cover them, were cast friendless upon the streets, to
die or to beg. To the last resource she could not yet
stoop, and from the remnants of former friendship she
was furnished with a basket and a few trifling wares,
with which, with her children by her side, she set out,
with a broken and a sorrowful heart, wanderinor from
village to village. She had travelled in this manner
for some months, when she drew near her native glen,
and the cottage that had been her father's, that had
been her own, stood before her. She had travelled all
the day and sold nothing. Her children were pulling
by her tattered gown, weeping and crying, "Bread,

TIBBY FOWLER. 107

mother, give us bread!" and her own heart was sick
with hunger.

" Oh, wheesht, my darlings, wheesht!" she exclaimed,
and she fell upon her knees and threw her arms round
the necks of all the three, "you will get bread soon ;
the Almighty will not permit my bairns to perish ; no,
no ; ye shall have bread."

In despair she hurried to the cottage of her birth.
The door was opened by one who had been a rejected
suitor. He gazed upon her intently for a few seconds ;
and she was still young, being scarce more than six-
and-twenty, and in the midst of her wretchedness, yet
lovely.

" Gude gracious, Tibby Fowler !" he exclaimed, " is
that you ? Poor creature ! are ye seeking charity ?
"VVeel, I think ye'll mind what I said to you now, that
your pride would have a fa' !"

While the heartless owner of the cottage yet spoke,
a voice behind her was heard exclaiming, " It is her !
it is her ! my ain Tibby and her bairns ! "

At the well-known voice, Tibby uttered a wild scream
of joy, and fell senseless on the earth ; but the next
moment her husband, William Gordon, raised her to his
breast. Three weeks before he had returned to Britain,
and traced her from village to village, till he found her
in the midst of their children, on the threshold of
the place of her nativity. His story we need not
here tell. He had fallen into the hands of the enemy ;
he had been retained for months on board of their
vessel ; and when a storm had arisen, and hope was
gone, he had saved her from being lost and her crew
from perishing. In reward for his services, his own
vessel had been restored to him, and he was returned
to his country, after an absence of eighteen months,
richer than when he left, and laden with honours. The

108 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

rest is soon told. After Tibby and her husband had
■wept upon each other's neck, and he had kissed his
children, and again their mother, with his youngest
child on one arm, and his wife resting on the other, he
hastened from the spot that had been the scene of such
bitterness and transport. In a few years more, William
Gordon having obtained a competency, t'hey re -pur-
chased the cottage in the glen, where Tibby Fowler
lived to see her children's children, and died at a good
old age in the house in which she had been born — the
remains of which, we have only to add, for the edifica-
tion of the curious, may be seen until this day.

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 109

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE.

It is not very easy, -when we consider the great desire
manifested by authors and editors to serve up piquant
dishes of fiction on the broad table of literature, to ac-
count for the fact that the undoubtedly true story of
the Cradle of Logie and the Indian Princess, as 'she is
often called, should never have appeared in print. It
has apparently escaped the sharpest eyes of our chroni-
clers. Sir Walter Scott did not appear to have much
fancy for Angus ; but it would seem that the facts of
this strange occurrence in a civilised country, and not
very far back, had never reached him. Even the
histories of Forfarshire are silent ; and the pictures of
Scotland for tourists, which generally seize on any
romantic trait connected with a locality or an old ruin,
have also overlooked them. Yet the principal person-
age in the drama was one whose name was for years in
the mouths of the people, not only for peculiarities of
character, but retribution of fate ; and this local fame
has died away only within a comparatively recent
period. It was in my very early years that I saw
the Cradle, and heard, imperfectly, its tale from my
mother ; but her account was comparatively meagre.
I sought long for details ; nor was I by any means
successful till I fell in with a man named Aminadab
Fairweather, a resident at the Scouring Burn, in
Dundee, who was in the habit of frequenting Logie
House, and who, though very old, remembered many
of the circumstances.

110 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The truth is, there were rich flesh-pots in Logie
House — richer than those which supplied the muscles of
the Theban mummies, so enduring through long ages,
no doubt, from being so well fed ; for Mr. Fletcher of
Lindertes,* who Avas proprietor of the mansion, was the
greatest epicurean and glossogaster that ever lived since
Leontine times. Then a woman called Jenny M'Pherson,
who had in early life, like " a good Scotch louse," who
" aye travels south," found her way from Lochaber to
London, where she had got into George's kitchen, and
learned something better than to make sour kraut,
was the individual who administered to her master's
epicureanism, if not gulosity. Nay, it was said she
had a hand in the tragedy of the Cradle ; but, however
that may be, it is certain she was deep in the confidences
of Fletcher. But then Mrs. M'Pherson, as she chose
to call herself — though the never a M'Pherson was con-
nected with her except by the ties of blood, which,
like those of all Celts, had their loose terminations dang-
ling into infinity at the beginning of the world's history
— was given to administering the contents of her savoury
flesh-pots to others than the family of Logie ; yea, like
a true Highlander, she delighted in having henchmen —
or haunchmen truly, in this instance — who gave her
love in return for her edible luxuries. It happened
that our said Aminadab was one of those favoured in-
dividuals ; and it is lucky for this generation that he
was, for if he had not been, there would assuredly have
been no records of the Cradle and the black lady.

It was in a little parlour off the big kitchen that
Janet received her henchmen. And was there ever
man so happy as our good Aminadab ? — and that for
several human reasons, whereof the first was certainly

* Mr. Fletcher had also the property of Balinsloe as well as
Logie. They've all passed into other hands.

THE CEADLE OF LOGIE. Ill

the Logie flesh-pots ; the second, the stories about the
romantic place wherewith she contrived to garnish and
spice these savoury mouthfuls ; and last, Janet herself,
who was always under the feminine delusion that she
was the corporate representative of the first of these
reasons, if, indeed, the others were not mere adjecta,
not to be taken into account ; whereas there were
doubts if she was for herself ever counted at all, except
as the mere " old-pot" which contained the realities.
And their happiness would certainly have been com-
plete if it had not been — at least in the case of Aminadab
— that it could be enjoyed only by passing through that
grim medium, a churchyard. But then, is not all
celestial bliss burdened by this condition ; nay, is not
even our earthly bliss, which is a foretaste of heaven,
only a flower raised upon the rottenness of other flowers
— a type of the soul as it issues from corruption ?
Yes, Aminadab could not get to the holy of holies
except by passing through Logie kirkyard, a small and
most romantic Golgotha, on the left of the road leading
to Lochee, whose inhabitants it contained, and which
was so limited and crowded, that one might prefigure
it as one of those holes or dungeons in Michael Angelo's
pictures, belching forth spirits in the shape of inverted
tadpoles, the tail uppermost, and yet representing as-
cending sparks. The wickets that surrounded Logie
House — lying as it does upon the south side of Balgay
Hill, and flanked on the east by a deep gully, where-
through runs a small stream, which, so far as I know,
has no name — were locked at night. The terrors of
this place, at the late hours when these said henchmen
behoved to seek their savoury rewards, were the only
drawback to Aminadab's supreme bliss.

And if the time of these symposial meetings had
been somewhat later in the century, how much more

112 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

formidable would have been a passage through this
contracted valley of tumuli and bones ! No church -
yard, except those of Judea, was ever invested with
such terrors — not the mystical fears of a divine fate
seen in the descending cloud, with Justice gleaming
Avith fiery eyes on Sin, and holding those scales, the
decision of which would destine to eternal bliss or
eternal woe, and that Justice personified in Him
" whose glory is a burning like the burning of a fire,"
— no, but the revolting fears prodiiced by the pro-
fanity of that poor worm of very common mud, which
has been since the beginning of time acting the God.
Ay, the aurelia-born image of grace sees a difference
when it looks from the sun to the epigenetic thing
which He raises out of corruption. There was, in that
small place of skulls, a rehearsal of the great day. "We
hear little of these freaks now-a-days ; but it was
different then, when men made themselves demons by
drink. One night William Maule of Panmure, then
in his days of graceless frolic ; Fletcher Read, the
nephew of the laird, and subsequently the laird him-
self, of Logie ; Rob Thornton, the merchant, Dudhope,
and other kindred spirits, who used to sing in the inn of
Sandy Morren, the hotel-keeper, " Death begone, here's
none but sonls," sallied drunk from the inn. The story
goes that the night was dark, and there stood at the
door a hearse, which had that day conveyed to the
" howf," now about to be shut up because of its offence
against the nostrils of men who are not destined to need
a grave, the wife of an inconsolable husband and the
mother of children ; and thereupon came from Maule's
rnouth — for wickedness will seek its playful function
in a pun — the proposition that the bacchanals should
have a rehearsal in the kirkyard of Logie. Well,
it signified, of course, nothing that the Black Princess

THE CRADLE OF LOG IE. 113

had been buried there, so far away from the land of
" the balmy East,"

"Where the roses blow and the oranges grow,
And all is divine but man below/'

Fletcher Read might have recollected this, but what,
though? Was not the pun a good one — worthy of
Hood ? They all mounted the hearse, Panmure being
driver; nor could Sandy Morren give to these white-
robed spirits, who were so soon to rise in glory from
the envious earth, more than a sour-milk horn and
half a dozen of snow-white table-cloths for the theatri-
cal property of the great players. So it has been since
the time when the shepherd who killed the son of
iEbolus, for that he gave them wine which they thought
was poison, because they found their heads out of order
— wine still generates on folly the afflatus of madness.
The story goes on. The night was as dark as those
places they were to illumine with their white robes,
alas ! not of innocence. But the darkness was not of
the moon's absence in another hemisphere ; only that
darkness which is cloud-born, and must cede in twink-
ling yet glorious intervening moments to the moon,
when she will salute the graves and the marriage-
guests ; and the hearse, as it slowly wended its way up
the road to Lochee, every now and then pouring forth
from its dark inside peals of laughter. The travellers
on the road look with wide eyes at the grim appari-
tion, and flee. They arrive at the rough five-bar stile ;
it is thrown back, and the hearse is driven into the
place of the dead. The story goes on. There is silence
everywhere, and appropriately there, where the four
brick corners of the smoke-coloured Cradle rise from
the hollow of Balgay Hill. They waited till the moon
shone out again in her calm, breathless repose ; and
VOL. XXIII. H

114 TALES OF THE BORDEES.

then resounded from the clanging black boards of the
hearse a terrible din resembling thunder, and already
each man, with his table-cover rolled round him, was
snuor behind the solemn head-stones, storied with
domestic loves severed by the dark angel.

Now was the time for the trumpet-call, which be-
hoved to be sounded by the cycloborean lungs of the
broad-chested Panmure. The story has no reason to
flag where the stake of the grhnelinage is the upraising
of white-robed spirits. The sour-milk horn is sounded
as it never was sounded before on the earth which had
passed away ; every spirit comes forth from below the
head-stones ; and there rose a wail of misery which
nothing but wine could have produced.

" Mercy on our poor souls !"

" Justice," cried Maule. " Stand out there, Bob
Thornton, and answer for the sins done in the body."
The story goes on, and it intercalates " fie, fie, on
man." Thornton stands forth shrieking for the said
mercy.

" Was not you, sir, last night, of the time of the
past world, in the inn kept by Sandy Morren, in the
town called Bonnie Dundee — bonnie in all save its
sin, and its magistracy gone a-begging, and its hemp-
spinners,* and the effect of Sandy Riddoch's reign —
drinking and swearing ? "

" I was."

" Then down with you to the pit which has no
bottom whatsomever."

And Thornton disappears in the hollow not far from
where the brick Cradle stands.

" Stand forth, Fletcher Read."

" Weren't you, sir, art and part in confining in
yonder dungeon the poor unfortunate black lady,
* There is some prevision here which I cannot explain.

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 115

whereby she was murdered by that villain of an uncle
of yours, Fletcher of Lindertes?"

" I was."

" Down with you to the pit and the lake of brim-
stone."

And down he went into the same valley.

« Stand forth, Dudhope."

" Were not you, sir, seen, on the 21st of December
of the late dynasty of time, in the company of one of
these denizens of Rougedom in the Overgate, that dis-
grace of the last world, for which it has very properly
been burnt up like a scroll of Sandy Riddoch's pecula-
tions?"

" I was."

" Then down to the pit."

And Dudhope — even he the representative of Graham
of opprobrious memory — disappeared.

" You're all (cried Maule) like the Lady of Luss's
kain eggs, every one of which fell through the ring
into the tub, and didn't count."

And so on with the rest, till there were no more to
go down. Yet the horn sounded again, for Maule was
not so drunk that he did not remember there were any
more to come ; but then, had he not been singing in
Sandy Morren's, " Death begone, here's none but
souls?" The story goes on. The horn having sounded,
there* stood forth a figure that did not belong to this
crowd of sinners. It was a woman dressed in dark
clothes, with a black bonnet, and an umbrella in her
hand. How the great God can show his power over
the little god, man ! The woman was no other than a
Mrs. Geddes of Lochee, who, having got a little too
much at the Scouring Burn, had, on her way home,
slipped into the resting-place of her husband, who
had been buried only a week before, and having got

116 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

drowsy, had fallen asleep on the flat stone which
covered him. In a half dreamy state she had seen all
this terrible mummery — no mummery to her ; for she
thought it real : and as every one stood forward by
name, she often said to herself, " When will it be
Johnnie's turn, poor man ? for he was an awfu' sinner ;
I fear the pit's owre guid for him." But Johnnie was
not called. And then she expected her own summons
— fell agony of a moment of the expectation of scorch-
ing flames to envelope her body, the flesh of which,
as she pinched herself, had feeling and sensibility.
Then if these great men, whose names she had often
heard of, and who, as having white robes, and riches,
and honours, might have expected to get to heaven,
and yet didn't, what was to become of her, who had
only dark garments, and who had been drinking that
night at the Scouring Burn? There was no great
wonder that Mrs. Geddes was distressed, yea miserable;
and when she heard the horn sounded and no one went
forward — Johnnie was of course afraid, and was con-
cealing himself — she stood up with her umbrella in
her hand. And Maule, now getting terrified through
the haze of his drunkenness, cried out, " Who are
you?"

" Mrs. Geddes, Johnnie Gedcles's wife, o' the village
o' Lochee, just twa miles frae that sink o' sin, Bonnie
Dundee. I hae been a great sinner. I kept company
wi' Sandy Simpson when Johnnie was living, and came
here to greet owre his grave."

"A woman!" cried Maule; "then to heaven as fast
as your wings will carry you."

And this man, who braved God, shook with terror
before a weak woman ; and so did all these brave bac-
chanals, who, on hearing the horn when no more re-
mained to be condemned, thought their false God had

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 117

called them, and had returned to witness the object of
their new-born fear. Hurrying into the hearse, the
party were in a few minutes posting to Dundee in
solemn silence, where they arrived about two o'clock,
not to resume their orgies, but to separate each for his
home, with the elements in him of a sense of retribu-
tion, not forgotten for many a day. At the long run
the story finishes, and the chronicler, lifting up his
hands to heaven, cries, " Is there no end, Lord, is
there no end to the profanity of man ? Lord, why
stayeth the hand of vengeance ?"

If guidman Aminadab had known these things —
which he couldn't do, because, like Sir James Col-
quhoun's last day (of the session), which he wanted the
judges to abolish, this last day (of the world) happened
after the said Aminadab was in the habit of seeking
Mrs. M'Pherson's parlour — he would have had greater
deductions from his pleasure ; for Aminadab read his
Bible, and belonged to the first Secession. And so it
was better he didn't, especially on that night when
Mrs. M'Pherson had been so extraordinarily conde-
scending to her henchman as to set before him a fine
piece of pork, in recognition of his adherence to the
resolution of leaving the flesh-pots of Egypt — the old
Church. It was a dark night in January. There was
a cheerful fire in the neat parlour, and Janet was
communicative, if not chatty, in good English, got in
George's kitchen at Kew.

" I would like all this better," said Aminadab, " if I
had not that churchyard to come through ; and then
there's that fearful-looking Cradle in the hollow, with
four lums like the stumpt posts of a child's rocking-bed.
What is it, Janet ? — it's not a cow-house, nor a hen-
house, but a pure dungeon, fearful to free men, who
might shudder to be confined in it."

118 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

"What more?" said Janet. "Do you know any-
thing more, Aminadab ? "

" Yes ; but I am eating Logie's pork, and don't like
to say much."

"Never mind the pork, man; speak out. Do the
folks down in the town say anything, or shake their
heads, or point their fingers ?"

" Well, they say there's a human being confined in
it," replied Aminadab. " And so they may, for sounds
have been heard coming from the dark hole — ay, and
I have heard them myself — deep moans and weeping.
I would like to know if there's a secret."

"Hush, hush, Aminadab. There is a secret, and
you're the only man I would speak of it to."

And Mrs. M'Pherson rose solemnly and locked the
door upon herself and her henchman.

" You know, Aminadab, that my master came from
Bombay some years ago, and brought home with him
a black wife. Dear, good soul — so kind, so timid, so
cheerful too ; but, Heaven help me, what could I do ?
— for you know Mr. Fletcher is a terrible man. He
does not fear the face of clay ; and the scowl upon his
face when he is in his moods is terrible. I am bound
to obey."

"But what of her?" said Aminadab. "It's no
surely she who is in the horrid hole ? "

" Never you mind that, but eat your bacon, you fool
for stopping me. When I'm stopped, I seldom begin
again for a day and night at least."

" Something like your master, Janet."

" No, Aminadab ; I have a Jieart, lad."

" That I know, Janet," said Aminadab, with a lump
of pork in his mouth ; " and — and — it — is — fat — lass."

"And the easier swallowed," said she.

" I meant your heart, Mrs. M'Pherson."

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 119

" And I must swallow that too, as it seems to come
up my throat and choke me, even as the pork seems to
do you. Take time, Aminadab. There's no hurry,
man. Ah well, then, we have it all among the ser-
vants how Mr. Fletcher got my lady. He was a great
man in Bombay — governor, I think, or something near
that — and my lady was the only daughter of the Na-
wab or Nabob of some kingdom near Bombay — I for-
get the strange Indian name. She was the very petted
child of her father; and when Mr. Fletcher saw her,
she was running about the palace like a wild, playful
creature — I may say, our bonny little roes of the High-
land hills, or maybe another creature she used to speak
about, I think they call it gazelle, with such wonderful
eyes for shining, that you cannot look into them no
more you could at the sun. For, oh, Aminadab ! they
have strange things in these places, which are much
nearer the sun than we are here in this old country.
But the mighty Nabob was unwilling to give her to
the white-faced lover, even though he was the governor
of Bombay, forbye having Balinsloe and Lindertes in
Scotland too. Maybe he thought a Scotsman could
not like a black Indian princess, though she was with
her grand shawls about her, and her jewelled turban,
and diamonds and pearls, and all that ; and maybe,
Aminadab, he thought" — and here Janet lowered her
husky voice — " that it was just for these fine things he
wanted her, rich though he was himself. Yet, strange
enough too, the Nabob had promised the man who
should marry his daughter the weight of herself in fine
Indian gold, weighed in a balance, as her tocher. Heard
ye ever the like of a tocher, man?"

" That would depend upon her size and weight, Janet,
lass. Now, had you a tocher like that, it would be a
gey business, I think, — fourteen potato-stones at the

120 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

very least, I would say, eh?" — and lie must get quit
of the mouthful before he could finish — " Eh, Janet?"

" And if you go on at that rate with my pork, you
will not, by-and-by, be much behind me. But, guid
faith, Aminadab, I'm not ashamed, lad, of my size. A
poor, smoke-dried, shrivelled cook shames her guid
savoury dishes, intended to fatten mankind and make
them jolly. But you are right about the offer of the
Nabob. The creature was small, and light, and lithe,
and could not weigh much. But then, think of the
jewels ! These did not depend upon her weight, but
upon their own light. Oh, what diamonds, and rubies,
and pearls as big as marbles ! I have looked at them
till my eyes reeled with the light of them ; and no
wonder, when I have heard them valued at a hundred
thousand guineas — and to think of all that being held
in a little box ! There is one necklace worth fifteen
thousand itself."

" And yet a small neck, too, maybe ? — ' And thou
shalt make a necklace to fit her neck,' said the Lord.
It would not be half the girth of yours, Mrs. M'Pher-
son ? "

" Ay, Aminadab ; not a half, nor anything like it.
But don't stop me again, lad, or I'll stop the pork. (A
pause.) Ah, well, I fear it was the shining jewels, and
not the black face, did the business on my master's side.
And, of course, he would be all smiles at the Nabob's
court ; for, Aminadab, my lad, there never was on
the face of God's earth a man who could so soon
change the horrid dark scowl into the very light of
sunshine as Mr. Fletcher. I have seen him, when in
company with Kincaldrum, and Dudhope, and Glen-
eagles, and the rest, laughing till his face was as red as
the sun, then, all of a sudden, when some of his moods
came over him, turn just like a fiend new come out of

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 121

— oh, I'll just say it out, Aminadab, though ye be of
the Seceders — just hell, lad."

" But, good mother Janet — "

" Mother your own mother, man, till you be a father,
Aminadab. Have I not told you to let me go on ?
There's no honour in a mother : that sow you are eat-
in o; was the mother six times of thirteen at each litter :
and I think that's about seventy-eight. Mother, for-
sooth ! Ay, and yet you'll see a beggar wretch, clad
in tanterwallops — rags is owre guid a word — coming
to Logie door, and looking as if she had the right to
demand meal from me, merely because she has two at
her feet and one in her arms. Such honourable gaber-
lunzies get no meal from me. My master was keen for
the match ; but the Nabob was shy of the white face.
And here's a curious thing — I got it from my lady her-
self. She said the Nabob, her papa, as she called him
— for, just like us here, they have kindly words and
real human feelings — made a bargain with my master,
that if he took her away out of India to where the big
woman they call the Company lives, he would be kind
to her, and ' treat her as he would do a child which is
rocked in a cradle.'' "

" Better than Naomi's wish," said Aminadab ; " ' And
the Lord grant ye find rest in the house of thy hus-
band.'"

"That bargain they made him sign with blood
drawn just right over his heart; and the Nabob signed,
too, for the weight of gold and the jewels. Then came
the marriage. Such a day had not been witnessed in
Bombay for years, if ever, when a great son of the big
woman was to be married to the daughter of a Nawab.
All the great men of Bombay, and the rich Parsees,
she called them, were at the king's court, and the
little princes round about for hundreds of miles, and

122 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

all the ministers of Indian state, — for you must know
that the marriage was in the English fashion, as the
Nawab thought he could bind the bridegroom best in
that way. Then the grand feast, and such dancing,
and deray, and firing of cannons, and waving of flags,
was never seen ! "

'"And all Israel shouted with a great shout, so that
the earth rang again.'"

"Just so, guid auld Burgher lad," rejoined Mrs.
M'Pherson.

" They had only been a few months married, when
Mr. Fletcher's health having failed him, — and surely
his liver is rotten to this day, if not his heart too, — he
came home with his wife, and bought this bonnie place.
She brought with her a squalling half-and-half thing, —
there he's at the door this moment." By-and-by, " My
little prince (she cried), go to Aditi — Ady, we call her —
that's the black ayah my lady brought home with her."

"That will be another wife, I fancy," said Amina-
clab.- "They have all two or three wives in the East,
haven't they? Guid faith, ane's mair than eneugh
here, if the Nawab's daughter's in her cradle."

"No, no, no, ye fool."

"'And I shall cut off the multitude of No,' Ezekicl
thirtieth, fifteen."

"An ayah is a servant; and Ady's a good black
soul as ever foolishly washed her face when there's
no occasion for the trouble. And yet these black
creatures are for ever washing themselves. They
wash before breakfast and after breakfast, before
dinner and after dinner, before supper and after
supper, but the never a bit whiter they are that ever
I could see."

"Yea, they might save themselves a great deal of
trouble," said Aminadab.

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 12

Q

"But they won't," rejoined Janet. "We have been
tortured with their washings. Sometimes, when angry,
I say to Ady, Can't you go down to the Scouring
Bum ?"

"'And wash thyself in the brook Cherith, which is
before Jordan.'"

" But she says it's Brahma that bids her — that's their
biggest god ; and this Brahma is a trouble to us too.
It seems he is everywhere ; and Ady seeks him on
Balgay Hill and in the churchyard o' nights, when the
moon's out ; thereafter coming in with those eyes of
hers like flaming coals, darting them on us, who don't
believe in Brahma, as if Ave were the real heathens,
and not she and her mistress."

" ' And thou shalt not erect a temple to Dagon, but
cut him down to the stumps,'" said Aminadab.

" Hush, hush, man. Our servants are all in terror.
They say that Ady is right, for that they have seen
him in about the skirts of Balgay woods, and down in
the hollow of the ravine, moving about like a spirit of
darkness, with something white round his head, and a
wide cloak wrapped about him."

Aminadab had just taken up a large tankard of ale,
wherewith he intended to make a clean sweep of his
hearty supper down his throat ; but he paused, laid
down the tankard, turned pale, shook, and looked
wistfully into the face of his chieftainess. Nor did he
speak a Avord, because some idea had probably mag-
netized his tongue at the Avrong end, and the other
Avould not move.

"Ady says, and so do the seiwants, that he has no
shadoAV ; and Ave should think he shouldn't, because
our ghosts hereaAvay have none that ever I heard of.
But that's a lie of their foolish religion ; for I could
SAvear I one night saA\* his shadoAV flit like that of a

124 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

sun-dial, when the sun's in a hurry to get the curtains
round his head, away past the east end of the house,
and disappear in a moment. But I'll tell you what,
Aminadab, he may, like our spirits, be a shadow him-
self. I could hardly speak for fear, though five
minutes before I had as good a tankard of that Logie-
brewed as you have before you ; but I got my tongue
through the ale at the other end o't, and cried out with
Zechariah, wherein I was something like you, Amina-
dab, 'Ho, ho, come forth, and flee from the land of
the north.'"

" That would stump his Bagonship," said Aminadab,
with an effort to be cheerful in spite of the foresaid
idea, whatever it was. "Ay," he continued, after
drinking off the tankard, and getting courage and wit
at same time, "a line from the Bible is just like a
rifle-shot in the hinder- end of these false gods. They
can't stand it nohow."

"And you've stumpt me," replied the cook, "with
the chopping-knife of your folly, so that I don't know
where to find my legs again. It was a year after he
came to Logie before another half-and-half was born
— a boy too ; and then there came a change over Mr.
Fletcher's mind. There's something strange about
those English that live long in India. I've noticed it
when I was in London, in George's house ; but it's all
from the liver," continued the cook. " First grilled
upon the ribs, then cooled with champagne, then
healed up with curry, chiles, and ginger. No wonder
the devil gets into the kitchen, where a dish like that
is waiting him. Then they're so proud and selfish,
and fond of themselves and their worthless lives."

" ' Skin for skin, yea, all that they have, will they
give for their lives.' So the devil said of him of Uz."

" But you see it's all in the liver," continued the

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 125

cook. "Aditi came to me one day, and said, ' De
'Gyptians in India tink body divided into sixteen parts,
with God to each part! he! he! Janette!' and the
black creature laughed. Then I say, the liver of an
Englishman, after he comes from India, is the devil's
part; and so it was with Mr. Fletcher. He began
first to interfere with Kalee's religion. ' Oh, terrible,
Janette 1' cried Ady, on another day; 'master cut off
head of Kartekeya's peacock, and smashed de tail of
Garoora.' On another day, 'Right eye of elephant
head of Ganeso knocked into de skull' Another day,
this time in tears, weeping awfully, ' Oh, Janette ! tail
of holy cow clean snapt over de rump ! ' '

"All right," said Aminadab of the first Secession.
'"And I will cause their images to cease out of
Noph.'"

" Ay, but I am ' wide,'" continued the cook.
" Three feet and a half across the bosom," said
Aminadab, who was still in his reverie, with the secret
idea still exercising a power over him, even after the
tankard of ale.

"Wide in my mind and charities, ye fool, man,"
continued she, not disinclined this time to laugh ; for
she was proud of being jolly in the person. " I felt
for poor Kalee. She wept incessantly at the loss of
the cow's tail, and asked me if I had seen it, nay,
implored me like a worshipper to try to recover it for
her. I said, God forgive me, that I had seen it in the
dung-pit, and that George had carted it away. 'And
didn't know de value ! ' cried Ady. ' Worth de neck-
lace of diamonds;' and both she and Kalee broke out
into such a yell as made the house ring. Yet with all
this, Kalee still loved the gloomy man. She would
throw her jewelled arms about his neck, and hang
upon him, with her feet off the ground, so little, light,

126 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

and lithe. She was so like a sapling, you could have
bent her any way. And when the love was in her
heart, and it was never absent, she was really bonny.
Our eyes hereaway are mere cinders to these glowing
churley bits of flaming sulphur ; and then that strange
look of the shining face, just as if she yearned to enter
into his very soul, — ay, as the souls of these black
creatures go up and form a part of Brahma's spirit,
that's all over the earth."

"All art," cried Aminadab, getting impatient of
Janet's eloquence — eloquence, I say ; for Janet was a
superior woman, and, though a cook, a natural genius.
"All art. 'And he made her to use enchantments,
and deal with familiar spirits and wizards.'"

"No, no, man, it was all real nature. But it wasna
real nature made him throw the poor black soul away,
whose gold and jewels he had bartered his white, I
should say yellow, rotten-livered body for. Ay, if
she had been a man, I would have liked her better
than him ; for, as I hate the skin of an old hen when
the fat becomes rancid and golden, so do I hate a
yellow-faced man, with the devil sitting gnawing at his
liver."

" The reason the devil's so bitter," said Aminadab.

" Ay, if you were to try a beef-steak off his rump
or spare-rib, ye'll find it more like the absynth I use
in the kitchen than the flesh of a capon or three-year-
old stot."

" Yea, I would be like unto him who was made to
' suck honey out of the living rock.'"

" The cruel man threw her away from him, just as
if her tocher had been the weight of herself in copper,
instead of gold. And oh ! it was so easily done ; for
the creature was not only, as I have said, light, but
she had such a touchiness when her glancing eye saw

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 127

that her love was not returned by him she loved be-
yond all the earth, that you would have thought she
shrunk all up into a tiny child, couring in the corner
of the big drawing-room, so like a wounded bird."

"Yaw-aw-aw," yawned the Seceder, half asleep.
" ' And he gave up the ghost in the room, while he
sought his meat to relieve his soul.' "

" Asleep and dreaming," cried Mrs. M'Pherson, who
had got into the very spirit of description. "Away to the
Scouring Burn, and never show your face here again."

But Aminadab soon pacified the wide-souled and
wide-bodied cook, who, being of his own persuasion,
really loved the man. Yes, she was a Seceder from
the old faith ; and such a Seceder ! No wonder there
was a blank among the congregation of mere bodies.

It was now well on to twelve, and Aminadab had
that Cradle to pass, and the kirkyard to get through ;
all, too, with that idea in his head to which we have
alluded, and which, we may as well tell, was no other
than a vivid recollection of bavin™ seen this Brahma on

O

a prior night. He had discharged the notion at the
time as an illusion, though in general he had little power
over his supernatural fears, which were to him not in-
deed supernatural, but very natural ; so much so, as Ave
have said, that a mere inanimate and dead, very dead
burying-place, had been more than once the means of
cutting him out of a savoury piece of pork, and a good
Logie-brewed tankard. It was the allusion made by
Janet that recalled the suspicion that he had seen
"something." Ah, "something!" what a pregnant
vocable — so mysterious, so provocative of curiosity —
an "it!" — of all the words in our language, the most
suggestive of a difference from the real being of flesh
and blood, carrying a name got at the baptismal font,
whereby it shall be known and pass current like a

128 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

counter. And is it not at best only a counter, yea, a
counterfeit ? We are only to each other as signs of
things which are not seen ; and yet we laugh when we
hear the " it," as if it might not be the very thing of
which we are one of the signs ! Is it not thus that we
are all humbugged in this world of ours ? For we take
the sign for the thing ; yea, talk to the sign, and love
it, or hate it, or worship it — all the while being as
ignorant as mules, " ne pictum quidem vidit;" the very
sign may be as far from the reality, as in philosophy we
see it every day. And thus, all wandering and grop-
ing in the dark, the blind leading the blind, we screech
like owls at a spark of light from the real fountain be-
yond Aldebaran.

And the owls were more busy than pleasant that
night in the deep woods of Balgay Hill. It was a sign
that the moon was not kindly to their heavy eyes. The
scene, as Aminadab issued from the postern, might have
been felt as beautiful, from the very awe which it in-
spired. But Aminadab was no lover of Nature, especially
if he saw in her recesses any hiding-places for such
beings as Brahma, more mysterious to him from know-
ing nothing at all about him, except that he was some
Ashtoreth, or Chemosh, or Milcom, in a new form, let
loose from hell, to disturb the pure souls of Seceders
destined for heaven. The full moon fell on the hollow
in the hills, surmounted by the dark woods of Balgay
right aface of him, the house of Logie behind, and the
declinations on either side, in one of which lay the
little Golgotha. There, in the midst of the hollow,
stood, grim and desolate, the dark brick-built Cradle,
casting its shadow to the south ; the four-corner pro-
minences shooting out like horns, and so unlike the
habitation of a human being, yea, unlike any composi-
tion of brick and lime ever reared by the hand of a

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 129

genius for house-making. The shadow lay on the grass
like those ghastly sun-pictures so called, jet more like
moon-born things ; and then the solemn silence, only
relieved to be deepened by the occasional to-hoo ! was
oppressive to him, as if a medium for some footsteps
to startle him into superstition. Yet he was drawn
towards the horrid dungeon in spite of his very self.
Janet's story would come at last, he thought, to a ter-
mination which would justify his own suspicions. And
even there before him was evidence in the same direc-
tion ; for having thrown himself, as if by an effort, into
the shade of the dungeon, he could see beyond its
verge, and by, as it were, looking round the corner, the
body of the dark-faced Aditi. She had, no doubt,
come stealthily from the house, and was postured in an
attitude far deeper in humiliation and adjuration than
we practise in our land. Her face was covered by her
hands ; for, in truth, she could see nothing through these
mere light-permitting slips of a brick's width, where-
Avith this horrible hole was supplied, as if by a relaxa-
tion of severity in its last stage of perfect inhumanity.
No, nothing could be seen, but something might be
heard ; yea, the most piteous moans that ever burst
from an oppressed heart, and yet so soft, so uncomplain-
ing, as if the sufferer found no fault with aught in the
world but herself. Then Aditi's sounds were something
like responses, rising as the internal sounds rose, and as
they died away — a jabbering Avail of an Eastern tongue.

Aminadab, blunt though he Avas, and fonder of pork
than poetry, and of scriptural quotations — which he
had always at his tongue's end for conclaves of Aveavers
— than impassioned sentiments, rising at the inspiring
touch of this strange Avorld's endless and ever-occurring
occasions, was impressed. He looked over the dark
abode, up at the moon, then at the prostrate Ady, and

VOL. XXIII. r

130 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

thought of the distance between that prisoner and the
gay palace where she was brought up, with its paradise
of flowers, and aromas, and singing birds of gold and
azure — far away, far away. And then that blood-
written oath — oh, so literally fulfilled and obeyed !
But the thought was evanescent from very fear. Nor
was his nervousness unjustified ; for, even as he turned
his head, he saw a figure wrapped up in a dark cloak,
and surmounted by a white coil of pure linen, as he
thought, emerging from the clump of thick trees that
stood on the north end of the burying-ground. The
figure, having run as it were in fear so far forward, no
sooner saw the projecting head of Aminadab, than it
turned and retreated. At the same instant Ady rose,
as if disturbed, and ran to the house. Yet the moaning
did not cease. It seemed interminable ; or, if to be
terminated by the absence of Ady, the sufferer did not
know she was gone. And oh, these wails ! — Aminadab
fled and took them along with him, nor did they ever
leave him.

Even when he went to bed they were fresh upon
his ear, claiming precedence to the vision of his eye ;
though that, too, asserted its authority as something
miraculous — whether the Eastern mystery itself, or
some tutelary genius brought from heaven by the
shriek of man's cruelty. Nor could he rest for the
thought that, humble as he was, he was surely taken
there that he might go to the powers of earth to ask
them to aid the powers of heaven. Why, that Cradle
had been built within the limits of civilisation. Even
the mason was known : the bricks were not Egyptian
bricks, nor the mortar foreign, nor the wood a tree
from the heart of Africa ; and yet, why was it there —
nay, why was the use of it not inquired into ? If
Jeshurun had waxed fat and kicked against the Lord

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 131

of heaven, was there no lord of earth that could tame
this yellow-livered worshipper of Baal, who yet was
received among the chiefs of Israel to drink the pure
juice of the grape, and make a god of his belly, and to
sing obscene songs? Even in that house there was
riot and debauchery upon the spoils of that woman,
encaged like a beast, and at the world's end from her
natural protectors.

Yea, our good soul Aminadab became bold. He
was privileged, if not called. But then that Brahma
— that incarnation of a power confessed by millions on
millions of people possessed of souls, and therefore
something in God's reckonings ! It was no illusion.
Twice he had seen the mysterious being. How did
he come hither to the Ultima Thule, as it were, of the
known world? Why did he come just at a juncture
when the daughter of a king of his own favoured people
was immured in a dungeon, and calling for his help ?
Because he must have known that a spark of the spirit
that belonged to him, and would go back to him, was
threatened to be extinguished by power in a land
owing no obedience to him. But didn't that same
moon shine on the children of Brahma as well as on
the children of Christ? and were there no powers in
heaven but what we confessed ? How philosophical
all this in a Scouring Burn weaver in hysterics ! Yet
there are greater men than Aminadab who could not
explain such things. Ah, well ; to the honour of poor
Aminadab, it was for once not pork he sought at Logic
House. Next night at ten he was in the parlour ; but
how did he get there, and Brahma in these very woods ?
Aminadab very probably could not have told himself;
yet there he was.

" Come again so soon, Aminadab? "

"Ay," replied he. "'Though a man may fall, he

132 TALES OP THE BORDEES.

may be raised tip again.' I stumbled in front of my
friend, but she will not kick me ; yea, she "will lift me
up."

" Be silent," she said. " You were seen last night
near the Cradle, where no one dare approach. None
of the servants go there save me ; and even Ady, if she
goes, it is by stealth. Ah, you know something now ;
but there's one thing you don't know, and that is, that
rich men can pay watchers to discover those who
search into their iniquities."

" Whatever I know," said Aminadab, " I am ignorant
of this : why that dungeon, containing a human being,
can keep its place at the distance of a mile from a town
with 30,000 inhabitants."

" But they don't know it, lad. Be you quiet, and
pick that leg of a chicken ; that is better than the
knowledge that kills. There is not one of the magis-
trates would dare to touch a hair on Mr. Fletcher's
head, no, for all that lies in the power of Brahma."

" But why do you keep the secret ? ' The steps of
a good woman are ordered by the Lord ;' but does He
order you to step to the Cradle ? "

" I do it for good," said she, "because I can soften
griefs that are unbearable ; and cooks have something
in their power. But if I were to say a word to
Fletcher, I would be turned away, and another might
treat the prisoner worse."

" But why would not the powers interfere?"

" Because bailies love a dinner and fine wines ; and
it is easier to wink than think, and easier to think
than get themselves out of trouble by acting on their
thoughts. Will that satisfy you ? It is a strange
business ; but the world's a strange place, and strange
men and women live therein. Meat and drink and
honour are better than wisdom. Look to your plate,

THE CEADLE OF LOGIE. 133

Aminadab. Oh ! I wish I knew less ; but I saw what
was coming when I saw George Cameron begin to build
what he said was to be like a cradle. Did I not re-
collect what Kalee told me about the blood-bond ?
Did we not all witness the growing gloom gathering
clay by day over his face ? Then separate beds. Then
no more companionship, out or in. The gloom for
ever, and the tears of Kalee for ever and ever, and the
terror and anguish of poor soul Aditi ! Ah ! yes ; but
he never struck her, never upbraided her ; and at
length she shrunk from him as if from a serpent. And
this he could not bear : it made his dun-yellow black,
Aminadab ! Then, when the Cradle was finished, and
a truckle and a table and a chair were put in, he called
me to him, and said, with a horrid smile on his face,
' M'Pherson, you are a Highlander, and staunch to
your master. I am true to my word. Yes, I signed a
bond, when I married Kalee, that I would treat her as
a father would a child whom he rocked in a cradle. I
have obeyed. Kalee goes into the Cradle to-night.
You are to give her child's food ; but you cannot rock
the Cradle. Let the winds which drive in past Balgay
woods do that if they can. My honour is pure. SAvear
to obey me.'

" I could not say no, and look on that face. Kalee
has been in that dungeon, fed by me, and has never
seen her children for a whole year."

" The vengeance of the Lord hangeth over the
wicked by a burnt thread," said Aminadab.

" Yes, who was to know that her own protector, even
the great spirit of her land, was to come here to help
her ? He was seen last night again ! He wanders
about and about — flits hither and thither. He needs
no rest — no food. He is independent of rain, and
wind, and thunder, and storms."

134 TALES OF THE BORDERS,

" But he does not help her," said Aminadab.

" His time is coming. Kalee is dying."

"Dying!"

"Ay, dying. Then Brahma will claim that which
is a part of himself, and then will be the time of his
return to his chosen people."

" Horrible ! " ejaculated Aminadab. The chicken
stood untasted. "Does Mr. Fletcher know this?"

" Why, to be sure, haven't I told him ? But may
not a child die in its own cradle, and the father con-
tinue feasting with the lords and the lairds, drinking
and swearing, and debauching, when he knows that
his honour is discharged, — ay, and the blood-bond
paid?"

" And the body, when she dies — "

" Will be in Logie burying-ground ; ay, and strange
people from the East, a long way beyond where our
sun rises, with black faces and bleeding hearts, will
come and bend over the little grave, and weep for
the daughter of their prince. Ah! Aminadab, grief
makes a learned woman of me, a poor servant ; but
I cannot save Kalee, none can save her now. Con-
sumption has set in; and bad air, and a rejected love,
and a mother's yearning will do the work. I was with
her now with my cruse — all alone with her ; for no
one dare approach. She knows she's dying. She
asked for the children —

" ' Will you not let me see my boys ? '

" I shook my head.

" ' And will Fletcher not see me before I die, to re-
ceive my last kiss ? '

"I shook my head.

" ' And Aditi, who will return to my father's palace,
is she to be kept from me to the end ? '

" I shook my head."

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 135

11 And will no one watch ? " said Aminadab.

" Yes, I will watch all night ; but it will be un-
known to Fletcher. No one can speak to him now.
He goes hither and thither. lie has no rest yet ; the
gloom is deeper than ever."

"Horrible mystery!" again ejaculated Aminadab.
" But ' the wicked shall perish ; they shall consume
into smoke, they shall consume aAvay.' "

Occasions make heroes of very ordinary men ; and
Aminadab felt that he could be one of these worthies
that night. He soon left after these Avords of Janet ;
but he was now more upon his guard against watchers.
Perhaps Janet had mentioned them to induce him to
avoid too minute an examination where there was
danger of another kind ; and this rather encouraged
him. The only fault of his heroism was the strange
feelings which arose in his mind when he thought of
the Indian spirit. Somehow this vision could not be
got rid of, or analyzed by the small philosophy he had.
As for Fletcher, he viewed him merely as a human
monster, — no uncommon phenomenon at a time when,
although there might not beany greater evil than now,
men were more reckless of consequences, more dead to
shame, less under the control of public opinion, pro-
bably not less under the fear of God. He cleared the
wicket. It was again a bright moonlight night. He
passed again. the Cradle, and was bold enough to listen
again. Alas ! the wail was weaker, the bright lamp of
these eyes was fast losing its oil. So he thought ; for
he could hear only now and then a very inaudible sob,
and occasionally a very Aveak Avail, sin-ill and yet Ioav.
He could not stay, for Janet Avould be coming stealthily
with her cruse, — yes, her cruse ; for, so far as he could
see by the narrow slips, all was darkness around
the dying stranger, in a proud land of liberty and

136 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

humanity — the proudest seen on the face of the earth,
or perhaps ever will be seen ; yet by-and-by to have
more reason to be proud — by-and-by, when Kalee
would be asleep in the bosom of Brahma, her body
only the monument of the shams of that proud land
of liberty and humanity, and the true religion of God's
covenant from the beginning.

Retreating quickly, he proceeded over the green
hollow, and got into the skirt of Balgay wood. There
he stood patiently, stiil fearful, but with the new-born
zeal of curiosity and sympathy. By-and-by he saw
Janet come out with her cruse, and walk as lightly as
her huge body would permit. She looked round and
round, as if in great fear of Fletcher, probably of the
Indian spirit ; for it was clear she had a conviction of
the truth of the real presence of Brahma. All is still;
no Fletcher seen, nor watch. But in about half an
hour the dark Aditi came trotting out, clothed in
pure white, looking also fearfully about her ; but it was
more clear that she expected some one. Stranger still,
she made for the very spot where Aminadab was watch-
ing. He studied her direction to the breadth of a line,
and stepped aside. There was plenty of foliage and
and some thick bushes. He threw himself doAvn on the
ground, and heard the sighing of Ady as if almost close
to him. By-and-by she was joined by the mystery —
yes, that being who had so long been the terror of Logie
House to all but the master, who knew nothing of him.
He was there ; but Aminadab could not see more of him
than his head, which was, as usual, enveloped in the
same white cloth. He heard their conversation, of
which not a word could he understand. But oh, that
natural language of the heart, which is the same in all
lands, and will be the same in heaven — those quick
utterances, deep sighs, shakings of the frame as if the

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 137

hemes were convulsed ! It seemed to be the List meet-
ing ; it was so eloquent of heart loves, so mysterious m
religious aspirations. But here occurred a strange in-
cident. Even at the distance where they were, a loud,
shrill scream was heard, as if the last of expiring human
nature. How it shook these two, till the very leaves
rustled, and the night-hawks and owls screamed their
terrible discord ! All was still again. The male ran,
as if moved by the frenzy of a dervish, forward towards
the Cradle ; then, as he saw the door half open, re-
treated. Aminadab could make nothing of the figure,
beyond the conviction that it was the same he had seen
by fitful glimpses before. It was altogether indescrib-
able, unlike anything he had ever seen or read of. On
his return, Ady met him and caught him in her arms,
as if to lead him back to the wood. Yet he was fitful,
anxious, and flighty, as if he knew not where to go, or
what to do. Again the rapid whisperings, so sharp and
intense as sometimes to appear like hissing of strange
foreign creatures. It seemed as if his soul was on fire,
and urged him he knew not whither. At that instant
the door of the Cradle opened altogether, and Janet
came out with the light. Ady darted forward like a
moonbeam in the midst of another moonbeam, and seen
by its superior whiteness. An instant served for some
communication between her and Janet. Then a shrill
scream from Ady, a running hither and thither on the
part of the male figure, and at length, darting into the
wood, he disappeared. Aminadab now saw Janet go
into the house. Was all over ? Aminadab could not
tell. Ady still hung roitnd the Cradle. She even circled
it like a hovering ghost. At length she neared the door.
The key had been left, and she entered.

Now was Aminadab's time. He rushed forward,
opened the door, and entered the dungeon. A terrible

138 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

sight met his eyes — sight ! yes ; even in the compara-
tive darkness, there was enough in the small glimmer
of moonlight entering by one of the holes to carry
objects to eyes that would have pierced the deepest
gloom. There is said to be no darkness in the world
sufficient to conceal objects entirely ; but here there
was, in addition to the attenuated beam, the white dress
of Ady, and the bed where Kalee lay. Janet had de-
scribed it, and the table and the chair : what more than
the bare walls was there to describe ? Nothing. On
that bed, covered by a thin white cloth, lay this Indian
princess dead, with Ady hanging over her, and pulling
at her, and offering to her blank eyes, once like dia-
monds, a small figure of an Indian god. Then the
groans and suppressed shrieks of the faithful soul, as
she still pulled and shook the corpse, as if she could
get from it one last look directed to the wooden figure.
Too late ! Kalee had died, not only away from her
people, but away from the gods of her people. All of
a sudden the ayah ceased her endeavours, and directed
her eagle eye, suffused with tears, up to the roof. Quick
words followed the look. Aminadab could not under-
stand them, but the motions and aspirations convinced
him that she cried, " There, there, Brahma ; there she
goes, to be of thy eternal and infinite soul, from which
she came, and to which she flies."

Then, suddenly, she rushed out of the dungeon.
Aminadab looked after her. She did not go to Logie
House, but in the direction of the wood, whither the
indescribable figure had gone. Aminadab heard no
more, scarcely saw more, if it was not the corpse lying
before him. He was afraid of Janet, more of Fletcher,
who might now at length come to pass his eyes over the
body in the Cradle, where he was to cherish her as a
father cherisheth his child; yet he would look, and

THE CRADLE OF LOUIE. 139

look again. How shrivelled that face of darkness, yet
how calm and loving-like ; as if, even in the midst of
the agony of the last hour, it smiled love to her de-
stroyer !

By-and-by a light again approached. It was Janet
with a white sheet.

" You here ! Good heavens ! Away, away ! Flet-
cher is to look at her ; yes, he is to look at her in the
cradle he promised her. Away ! no more."

" I saw Brahma," said Aminadab ; " yes, true Brah-
ma, Brahma !"

" Fool, fool ! Man, I only told you it was Brahma
to keep you from the Cradle for your own safety."

"Then who was the strange being?"

" I dare not tell you that ; but I fear Ady's away
with him, without hat, or cloak, or box, or supper."

"To where?"

" Nor that, lad. But I fear you will hear more of
this Scotch tragedy some day. Get you gone ; there
is Fletcher."

Aminadab obeyed.

And Fletcher did see her. Some time after the de-
parture of Aminadab he crossed the green. It seemed
that night he had refrained from company, not through
penitence, or any motive that man could divine in the
nature of the man. Strangely-formed beings do things
which do not seem to belong to their natures or to
human nature, and it is this that makes them strange.
Before he entered this, not, alas ! Domdaniel, he called
Janet to the door. He wanted to be alone. She gave
him the cruse ; and with the old gloom upon his face,
perhaps he wanted to test his courage. It could not
be that he wanted to look once more on the face of the
mother of his children ; nor that he felt now that there
had been one in the world who really did love him, as

140 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

few women have ever loved. Then man measures
woman's love by his own ; but when was man's heart
stirred by nature's strongest passion like that of de-
voted woman ? while now the world did not contain
one heart that was moved to him by anything stronger
than dithyrambic delirium. "Who knows? But there
was Fletcher looking on the corpse of his wife, and
waving over her face the light of the small cruse he
held in his hand ! Was he moved, as he saw the
still, death-bound features, that once could not contain
the expression which the leaping heart, with that burn-
ing fire in it of that land of the sun, tried in vain to
force into it ; the eye, too, that flashed and leapt as
never is seen in our country of humid fogs, stifling the
inborn heat and blearing the vision ; and those arms
that entwined him so as the vine holds the olive in its
grasp, as if it would give the juice which fires and
inebriates, for the oil that calms, and fattens, and sus-
tains? All over that lithe body which enabled her,
when he saw her first in the land of her fathers, to
bound and flee as if she had wings, and these beautiful
as the monaul's, ay, and enabled her, too, to play
round him in that Eastern gaiety which had charmed
him, if he ever loved her, and even for a time made
his home like Fairydom ! "Who shall say there was no
movement in his stern features, no moisture in his eye,
no trembling of the lip, no tremor of the body, as he
might have read the last effort of nature in the ex-
pression of calm forgiveness or continued affection ?
Who could read him?

At midnight, two daj-s after, Kalee slept in Logie
kirkyard. There is no stone to point out the grave
of the Indian princess, who lies — as becomes, too, in
our boasted land of liberty, entitled to her boast in an
equality at length, which even pride cannot deny —

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 141

anionec the humble artisans and cottars of Lochee. Did
Fletcher Head, on that after clay, when Panmure blew
the white iron trump, not expect to see Kalee rise up
and seek judgment on the house of Logie ? The blood
was hereditary, and the heart that is fed by the blood,
and which impels it.

If it had not been that Aminadab married the portly
Janet, we might have heard no more of the fortunes of
this man. But how true Aminadab's quotation, that
God's vengeance never sleeps ! Where, in all the
scathed corpses of heaven's lightning, was there ever
one that told its tale like that of Fletcher of Balinsloe,
Lindertes, and Logie ? He was recalled to India again.

" Ay, Aminadab, he was forced to go by the Govern-
ment ; but maybe the Government was only like a
thing that is moved by the storm, and cuts in twain,
where its own silly power could do nothing. Before he
went, he married a beautiful little woman,* perhaps the
most spirited in the shire, white as Kalee was black,
and come, too, of gentle blood. Why did she marry
this man ? Had she not heard of the fate of Kalee ?
Had she not seen the Cradle (still standing in the
hollow of the hill) ? No doubt ; but woman will go
through worse storms than man's passion to get to the
goal of wealth and honour. Then there is a frenzy in
woman, Aminadab. She is like the boys, who seek
danger for its own sake, and will skim on skates the
rim of the black pool that descends from the film of ice
down to the bubbling well of death below. Women
have an ambition to tame wild men ; ay, even wild men
have a charm for them, which the tame sons of pru-
dence and industry cannot inspire. So it was : they
were married, and he took her to India."

* Afterwards, as I have heard, the wife of Milne of Milneford.
She lived till nearly a hundred.

142 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" ' So the Lord did lead him ; and there was no
strange god with them.' "

" Ay, but there was a God before him, lad."

" What mean you, Janet ? "

" Do you not recollect of Brahma ? "

" Do not mention that strange figure, Janet. My
blood runs cold."

Janet laughed.

" Euns cold, lad, at what ? Brahma was just one of
the Nawab's great men, whom he sent over here to
watch the fate of his daughter. Why, man, he lodged
next door to you, with Mrs. Lyon at the Scouring
Burn."

" The black man the boys used to run after ? "

" The very same. He returned with Ady, and was
at the court of the Nawab and told all, ay, and more
than we knew — that Fletcher would be obliged to visit
Bombay again ere long after. He had got this from
some of the authorities in England. For many a day
did the prince weep for his Kalee ; for many a clay did
he watch for the murderer's arrival, ay, as a tiger of his
jungles watches in the night with fiery eyes for a beast
even more cruel than himself. He had even all the
coast of Coromandel, I think they call it, to give in-
telligence of the vessel. The very name of the vessel
was known ; the very paint of its sides, and the flag it
bore — so well had he kept up his knowledge of what
was going on in England."

" Wonderful ! " cried Aminadab. " ' And the fowler
that did slay, falleth into his own net.' "

" And a terrible net, with meshes of sharp steel to
hold and cut.''

" Ah ! " cried Aminadab, as he rubbed his hands,
and chuckled like a big boy who sees the porridge
boiling.

THE CRADLE OF LOGIE. 143

" You may well be anxious, lad ; but you'll have
more than you want."

" No, unless ho is put into a fiery pit and burnt to
a cinder, or into a den of tigers, or a nest of hooded
snakes, or — "

" Peace, lad ; better than all. But surely we are
forgetting that we are Christians, that we have seen
the new light of grace, Aminadab."

" Ay, true. Mercy pertaineth to the Lord. We
belong to the furnace which trieth gold ; not to the
refining-pot of the Old Church, which is for silver."

" Ah, well ! God's judgment was soon executed.
The ship was recognised and hailed long before she
arrived at Bombay. A crowd of black devils boarded
her, seized Fletcher, and dragged him on shore. Not
an instant was lost. Trial was a laughter. They
danced round in joy, making the very Brahma hear
their orgies. Four horses, ropes, victim between two
and two, whip, yell, and Fletcher is in four quarters.

" Nor did they end here. They had forgotten the
white wife. She too — justice demanded it. They did
not ask why ; but the sailors had suspected what was
going on ; and when they saw the devils coming back,
they put Mrs. Fletcher into a big basket, and hoisted
her to the top-mast. The poor woman could see from
that height the mangled remains of her husband ; but
she was an extraordinary woman. She kept her place
composedly as she heard the yells of the demons. They
could not find her, and went away like wild animals
deprived of their bloody prey. The ship went on.
Mrs. Fletcher returned safe to Scotland, where she Avas
known as the heroine who had gone through so much
for the love of a villain."

The story of Fletcher has died away in Angus ; but
at one time it was in every mouth, and many a head

144 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

was shaken as the Sunday loiterers from Dundee and
Lochee passed by the Cradle in their walks on Balgay
Hill. I have heard that it was demolished as a disgrace
to Scotland somewhere about 1810 or 1812. The
hollow where the ruins stood is quite visible yet, and
the old circumambulating ghost, which, by-the-bye, has
unfortunately a white face, is not yet laid.

DEATH OF CHEVALIER DE LA BEAUTE. 145

THE DEATH OF THE CHEVALIER
DE LA BEAUTE.

It was near midnight, on the 12th of October 1516,
when a horseman, spurring his jaded steed, rode furi-
ously down the path leading to the strong tower of
Wedderburn. He alighted at the gate, and knocked
loudly for admission.

"What would ye?" inquired the warder from the
turret.

" Conduct me to your chief," was the laconic reply
of the breathless messenger.

" Is your message so urgent that ye must deliver it
to-night ? " continued the warder, who feared to kindle
the fiery temper of his master, by disturbing him with
a trifling errand.

"Urgent, babbler!" replied the other, impatiently ;
" to-day the best blood of the Homes has been lapped
by dogs upon the street ; and I have seen it."

The warder aroused the domestics in the tower, and
the stranger entered. He was conducted into a long,
gloomy apartment, dimly lighted by a solitary lamp.
Around him hung rude portraits of the chiefs of
Wedderburn, and on the walls were suspended their
arms and the spoils of their victories. The solitary
apartment seemed like the tomb of war. Every
weapon around him had been rusted with the blood
of Scotland's enemies. It was a fitting theatre for
the recital of a tale of death. He had gazed around
for a few minutes, when heavy footsteps were heard
treading along the dreary passages, and the next

VOL. XXIII. K

146 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

moment Sir David Home entered, armed as for the
field.

"Your errand, stranger?" said the young chief of
Wedderburn, fixing a searching glance upon him as he
spoke.

The stranger bowed, and replied, " The Regent"

" Ay ! " interrupted Home, " the enemy of our
house, the creature of our hands, whom we lifted from
exile to sovereignty, and who now with his minions
tracks our path like a bloodhound ! What of this
gracious Eegent? Are ye, too, one of his myrmidons,
and seek ye to strike the lion in his den?"

" Nay," answered the other ; " but from childhood
the faithful retainer of your murdered kinsman."

" My murdered kinsman!" exclaimed "Wedderburn,
grasping the arm of the other. " What ! more blood !
more! What mean ye, stranger?"

" That, to gratify the revenge of the Regent Albany,"
replied the other, " my lord Home and your kinsman
William have been betrayed and murdered. Calumny
has blasted their honour. Twelve hours ago I beheld
their heads tossed like footballs by the foot of the com-
mon executioner, and afterwards fixed over the porch
of the Nether Bow, for the execration and indignities
of the slaves of Albany. All day the blood of the
Homes has dropped upon the pavement, where the
mechanic and the clown pass over and tread on it."

"Hold!" cried Home, and the dreary hall echoed
with his voice. "No more!" he continued; and he
paced hurriedly for a few minutes across the apart-
ment, casting a rapid glance upon the portraits of his
ancestors. " By heavens ! they chide me," he ex-
claimed, " that my sword sleeps in the scabbard, while
the enemies of the house of Home triumph." He
drew his sword, and approaching the picture of his

DEATH OF CHEVALIER DE LA BEAUTE. 147

father, he pressed the weapon to his lips, and con-
tinued, "By the sold of my ancestors, I swear upon
this blade, that the proud Albany and his creatures
shall feel that one Home still lives!" He dashed the
weapon back into its sheath, and approaching the
stranger, drew him towards the lamp, and said, " Ye are
Trotter, who was my cousin's henchman, are ye not?"

" The same," replied the messenger.

"And ye come to rouse me to revenge?" added Sir
David. " Ye shall have it, man — revenge that shall
make the Eegent weep — revenge that the four corners
of the earth shall hear of, and history record. Ye
come to remind me that my father and my brother fell
on the field of Flodden, in defence of a foolish king,
and that I, too, bled there — that there also lie the
bones of my kinsman, Cuthbert of Fastcastle, of my
brother Cockburn and his son, and the father and
brother of my Alison. Ye come to remind me of this ;
and that, as a reward for the shedding of our blood,
the head of the chief of our house has been fixed irpon
the gate of Edinburgh as food for the carrion crow
and the night owl ! Go, get thee refreshment, Trotter ;
then go to rest, and dream of other heads exalted, as
your late master's is, and I will be the interpreter of
your visions."

Trotter bowed and withdrew, and Lady Alison
entered the apartment.

"Ye are agitated, husband," said the gentle lady,
laying her hand upon his ; " hath the man brought
evil tidings?"

" Can good tidings come to a Home," answered Sir
David, "while the tyrant Albany rides rough-shod
over the nobility of Scotland, and, like a viper, stings
the bosom that nursed him ? Away to thy chamber,
Alison ; leave me, it is no tale for woman's ears."

148 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" Nay, if you love me, tell me," she replied, laying
her hand upon his brow, " for since your return from
the field of Flodden, I have not seen you look thus."

" This is no time to talk of love, Aley," added he.
"But come, leave me, silly one, it concerns not thee;
no evil hath overtaken the house of Blackadder, but
the Homes have become a mark for the arrows of
desolation, and their necks a footstool for tyrants.
Away, Alison ; to-night I can think of but one word,
and that is — vengeance!"

Lady Alison wept, and withdrew in silence ; and
Wedderburn paced the floor of the gloomy hall, medi-
tating in what manner he should most effectually
resent the death of his kinsman.

It was only a few weeks after the execution of the
Earl of Home and his brother, that the Regent Albany
offered an additional insult to his family by appointing
Sir Anthony D'Arcy warden of the east marches, an
office which the Homes had held for ages. D'Arcy
was a Frenchman, and the favourite of the Regent ;
and, on account of the comeliness of his person,
obtained the appellation of the Sieur de la Beaute.
The indignation of "Wedderburn had not slumbered,
and the conferring the honours and the power that
had hitherto been held by his family upon a foreigner,
incensed him to almost madness. For a time, however,
no opportunity offered of causing his resentment to be
felt ; for D'Arcy was as much admired for the discre-
tion and justice of his government as for the beauty of
his person. To his care the Regent had committed
young Cockburn, the heir of Langton, who was the
nephew of Wedderburn. This the Homes felt as a
new indignity, and, together with the Cockburns, they
forcibly ejected from Langton Castle the tutors whom
D'Arcy had placed over their kinsman. The tidings

DEATH OF CHEVALIER DE LA BEAUTE. 149

of this event were brought to the Chevalier while he
■was holding a court at Kelso ; and immediately sum-
moning together his French retainers and a body of
yeomen, he proceeded with a gay and a gallant com-
pany by way of Fogo to Langton. His troop drew up
in front of the castle, and their gay plumes and bur-
nished trappings glittered in the sun. The proud
steed of the Frenchman was covered with a panoply
of gold and silver, and he himself was decorated as for
a bridal. He rode haughtily to the gate, and demanded
the inmates of the castle to surrender.

"Surrender! boasting Gaul!" replied William Cock-
burn, the uncle of the young laird ; " that is a word
the men of Merse have yet to learn. But yonder
comes my brother Wedderburn ; speak it to him."

D'Arcy turned round, and beheld Sir David Home
and a party of horsemen bearing down upon them at
full speed. The Chevalier drew back, and waiting their
approach, placed himself at the head of his company.

"By the mass! Sir Warden," said Sir David, riding
up to D'Arcy, "and ye have brought a goodly com-
pany to visit my nephew. Come ye in peace, or what
may be your errand ?"

" I wish peace," replied the Chevalier, " and come
to enforce the establishment of my rights ; why do you
interfere between me and my ward?"

"Does a Frenchman talk of his rights upon the
lands of Home?" returned Sir David; " or by whose
authority is my nephew your ward?"

"By the authority of the Regent, rebel Scot!" re-
torted D'Arcy.

"By the authority of the Regent!" interrupted
Wedderburn ; " dare ye, foreign minion, speak of the
authority of the murderer of the Earl of Home, while
within the reach of the sword of his kinsman?"

150 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" Ay ! and in his teeth dare tell him," replied the
Chevalier, " that the Home now before me is not less a
traitor than he who proved false to his sovereign on
the field of Flodden, who conspired against the
Regent, and whose head now adorns the port of
Edinburgh."

"Wretch!" exclaimed the henchman Trotter, dash-
ing forward, and raising his sword, " said ye that my
master proved false at Flodden?"

"Hold!" exclaimed Wedderburn, grasping his arm.
" Gramercy, ye uncivilised dog ! for the sake of your
master's head would ye lift your hand against that
face which ladies die to look upon ? Pardon me, most
beautiful Chevalier ! the salutation of my servant may
be too rough for your French palate, but you and your
master treated my kinsman somewhat more roughly.
What say ye, Sir Warden ? do ye depart in peace, or
wish ye that we should try the temper of our Border
steel upon your French bucklers?"

" Depart ye in peace, vain boaster," replied D'Arcy,
"lest a worse thing befall you."

"Then on, my merry men!" cried Wedderburn,
"and to-day the head of the Regent's favourite, the
Chevalier of Beauty, for the head of the Earl of
Home!"

"The house of Home and revenge!" shouted his
followers, and rushed upon the armed band of D'Arcy.
At first the numbers were nearly equal, and the con-
test was terrible. Each man fought hand to hand,
and the ground was contested inch by inch. The
gilded ornaments of the French horses were covered
with blood, and their movements were encumbered by
their weight. The sword of Wedderburn had already
smitten three of the Chevalier's followers to the ground,
and the two chiefs now contended in single combat.

DEATH OF CHEVALIER DE LA BEAUTE. 151

D'Arcy fought with the fury of despair, but Home
continued to bear upon him as a tiger that has been
robbed of its cubs. Every moment the force of the
Chevalier was thinned, and every instant the number
of his enemies increased, as the neighbouring peasantry
rallied round the standard of their chief. Finding the
most faithful of his followers stretched upon the earth,
D'Arcy sought safety in flight. Dashing his silver
spurs into the sides of his noble steed, he turned his
back upon his desperate enemy, and rushed along in
the direction of Pouterleiny, and through Dunse, "with
the hope of gaining the road to Dunbar, of which
town he was governor. Fiercely Wedderburn followed
at his heels, with his naked sword uplifted, and ready
to strike ; immediately behind him rode Trotter, the
henchman of the late earl, and another of Home's
followers named Dickson. It was a fearful sight as
they rushed through Dunse, their horses striking fire
from their heels in the light of the very sunbeams,
and the sword of the pursuer within a few feet of the
fugitive. Still the Chevalier rode furiously, urging
on the' gallant animal that bore him, which seemed
conscious that the life of its rider depended vipon its
speed. His flaxen locks waived behind him in the
wind, and the voice of his pursuers ever and anon fell
upon his ear, like a dagger of death thrust into his
bosom. The horse upon which Wedderburn rode had
been wounded in the conflict, and, as they drew near
Broomhouse, its speed slackened, and his followers,
Trotter and Dickson, took the lead in the pursuit.
The Chevalier had reached a spot on the right bank of
the Whitadder, which is now in a field of the farm of
Swallowdean, when his noble steed, becoming entangled
with its cumbrous trappings, stumbled, and hurled its
rider to the earth. The next moment the swords of

152 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Trotter and Dickson were through the body of the un-
fortunate Chevalier.

"Off with his head!" exclaimed Wedderburn, who
at the same instant reached the spot. The bloody
mandate was readily obeyed ; and Home, taking the
bleeding head in his hand, cut off the flaxen tresses,
and tied them as a trophy to his saddle-bow. The
body of the Chevalier de la Beaute' was rudely buried
on the spot where he fell. A humble stone marks
out the scene of the tragedy, and the people in the
neighbourhood yet call it " Beauty's Grave." The head
of the Chevalier was carried to Dunse, where it was
fixed upon a spear at the cross, and Wedderburn ex-
claimed, " Thus be exalted the enemies of the house of
Home!"

The bloody relic was then borne in triumph to Home
Castle, and placed upon the battlements. "There,"
said Sir David, " let the Regent climb when he returns
from France for the head of his favourite ; it is thus
that Home of Wedderburn revenges the murder of his
kindred."

THE STOKY OF THE TELICAN. 153

THE STORY OF THE PELICAN.

Though not so much a tradition as a memory still fresh
probably in the minds of some of the good old Edin-
burgh folks, we here offer, chiefly for the benefit of onr
young female readers who are fond of a story wherein
little heroines figure, as in Beranger's Sylphide, an
account of a very famous adventure of a certain little
Jeannie Deans in our city — the more like the elder
Jeannie, inasmuch as they both were concerned in a
loving effort to save the life of a sister. Whereunto, as
a very necessary introduction, it behoves us to set forth
that there was, some sixty years ago, more or less, a
certain Mr. William Maconie, who was a merchant on
the South Bridge of Edinburgh, but who, for the sake
of exercise and fresh air — a commodity this last he
need not have gone so far from the Calton Hill to seek
— resided at Juniper Green, a little village three or
four miles from St. Giles's. Nor did this distance in-
commode him much, seeing that he had the attraction
to quicken his steps homewards of a pretty young wife
and two little twin daughters, Mary and Annie, as like
each other as two rosebuds partially opened, and as like
their mother, too, as the objects of our simile are to
themselves when full blown.

Peculiar in this respect of having twins at the outset,
and sisters too — a good beginning of a contract to per-
petuate the species — Mr. Maconie was destined to be
even more so, inasmuch as there came no more of these
pleasant delicice domi, at least up to the time of our

154 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

curious story — a circumstance the more to be regretted
by the father, in consequence of a strange fancy (never
told to his wife) that possessed him of wishing to insure
the lives of his children as they came into the world,
or at least after they had got through the rather unin-
surable period of mere infant life. And in execution
of this fancy — a very fair and reasonable one, and not
uncommon at that time, whatever it may be now, when
people are not so provident — he had got an insurance
to the extent of five hundred pounds effected in the
Pelican Office — perhaps the most famous at that time
— on the lives of the said twins, Mary and Annie, who
were, no doubt, altogether rmconscious of the impor-
tance they were thus made to hold in the world.

Yet, unfortunately for the far-seeing and provident
father, this scheme threatened to fructify sooner than
he wished, if indeed it could ever have fructified to
his satisfaction ; for the grisly spectre of typhus laid
his relentless hand upon Mary when she — and of a con-
sequence Annie — was somewhere about eight years old.
And surely, being as we are very hopeful optimists in
the cause of human nature, we need not say that the
father, as he and his wife watched the suffering invalid
on through the weary days and nights of the progress
towards the crisis of that dangerous ailment, never once
thought of the Pelican, except as a bird that feeds its
young with the warm blood of its breast. But, sorrow-
ful as they were, their grief was nothing in comparison
with the distress of little Annie, who slipped about
listening and making all manner of anxious inquiries
about her sick sister, whom she was prohibited from
seeing for fear of her being touched by the said spectre ;
nor was her heart the less troubled with fears for her
life, that all things seemed so quiet and mysterious
about the house — the doctor coming and going, and

THE STORY OF THE PELICAN. 155

the father and mother whispering to each other, but
never to her, and their faces so sad-like and mournful,
in place of being, as was their wont, so cheerful and
happy.

And surely all this solicitude on the part of Annie
Maconie need not excite our wonder, when we consider
that, from the time of their birth, the twin sisters had
never been separated, but that, from the moment they
had made their entrance on this world's stage, they had
been always each where the other was, and had run
each where the other ran, wished each what the other
wished, and wept and laughed each when the other
wept or laughed. Nature indeed, before it came into
her tickle head to make two of them, had in all pro-
bability intended these little sisters — " little cherries
on one stalk" — to be but one; and they could only be
said not to be one, because of their bodies being two —
a circumstance of no great importance, for, in spite of
the duality of body, the spirit that animated them was
a unity, and as we know from an old philosopher called
Plato, the spirit is really the human creature, the flesh
and bones constituting the body being nothing more
than a mere husk intended at the end to feed worms.
And then the mother helped this sameness by dress-
ing them so like each other, as if she wanted to make
a Comedy of Errors out of the two little female
Dromios.

But in the middle of this mystery and solicitude, it
happened that Annie was to get some light ; for, at
breakfast one morning — not yet that of the expected
crisis — when her father and mother were talking ear-
nestly in an undertone to each other, all unaware that
the child, as she was moving about, was watching their
words and looks, much as an older victim of credulity
may be supposed to hang on the cabbalistic movements

156 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

and incantations of a sibyl, the attentive little listener
eagerly drank in every word of the following conversa-
tion : —

" The doctor is so doubtful," said the anxious mother,
with a tear in her eye, " that I have scarcely any hope;
and if she is taken away, the very look of Annie, left
alone ' bleating for her sister lamb,' will break my heart
altogether."

" Yes," rejoined Mr. Maconie, " it would be hard to
bear; but" — and it was the first time since Mary's ill-
ness he had ever remembered the insurance — " it was
Avise that I insured poor Mary's life in the Pelican."

"Insured her life in the Pelican!" echoed the wife
in a higher tone. " That was at least lucky ; but, oh !
I hope we will not need to have our grief solaced by
that comfort in affliction for many a day."

And this colloquy had scarcely been finished when
the doctor entered, having gone previously into the
invalid's room, with a very mournful expression upon
his face ; nor did his words make that expression any
more bearable, as he said —

" I am sorry to say I do not like Mary's appearance
so well to-day. I fear it is to be one of those cases
where we cannot discover anything like a crisis at all ;
indeed I have doubts about this old theory being ap-
plicable to this kind of fever, where the virus goes on
gradually working to the end."

"The end!" echoed Mrs. Maconie ; " then, doctor, I
fear you see what that will be."

" I would not like to say," added he ; " but I fear
you must make up your mind for the worst."

Now, all this was overheard by Annie, who, we may
here seize the opportunity of saying, was, in addition to
being a sensitive creature, one of those precocious little
philosophers thinly spread in the female world, and

THE STORY OF THE PELICAN. 157

made what they are often by delicate health, which re-
duces them to a habit of thinking much before their
time. Not that she wanted the vivacity of her age,
but that it was tempered by periods of serious musing,
when all kinds of what the Scotch call " auld farrant"
(far yont) thoughts come to be where they should not
be, the consequence being a weird- like kind of wisdom,
very like that of the aged ; so the effect on a creature
so constituted was just equal to the cause. Annie ran
out of the room with her face concealed in her hands,
and got into a small bedroom darkened by the window-
blind, and there, in an obscurity and solitude suited to
her mind and feelings, she resigned herself to the grief
of the young heart. It was now clear to her that her
dear Wary was to be taken from her ; had not the
doctor said as much ? And then she had never seen
death, of which she had read and heard and thought so
much, that she looked upon it as a thing altogether
mysterious and terrible. But had she not overheard
her father say that he had insured poor dear Mary's life
with the Pelican ? and had she not heard of the pelican
—yea, the pelican of the wilderness — as a creature of a
most mythical kind, though she knew not aught of its
nature, whether bird or beast, or man or woman, or
angel ? But whatever it might be, certain it was that
her father would never have got this wonderful creature
to insure Mary's life if it was not possessed of the power
to bring about so great a result. So she cogitated and
mused and philosophized in her small way, till she
came to the conclusion that the pelican not only had
the destiny of Mary in its hands, but was under an
obligation to save her from that death which was so
terrible to her. Nor had she done yet with the all-
important subject; for all at once it came into her head
as a faint memory, that one day, when her father was

158 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

taking her along with her mother through the city, he
pointed to a gilded sign, with a large bird represented
thereon, tearing its breast with its long beak, and
letting out the blood to its young, who were holding
their mouths open to drink it in. " There," said he,
"is the Pelican;" words she remembered even to that
hour, for they were imprinted upon her mind by the
formidable appearance of the wonderful-looking crea-
ture feeding its young with the very blood of its bosom.
But withal she had sense enough to know — being, as
we have said, a small philosopher — that a mere bird,
however endowed with the power of sustaining the
lives of its offspring, could not save that of her sister,
and therefore it behoved to be only the symbol of some
power within the office over the door of which the said
sign was suspended. Nor in all this was Annie Maconie
more extravagant than are nineteen-twentieths of the
thousand millions in the world who still cling to occult
causes.

And with those there came other equally strange
thoughts ; but beyond all she could not for the very
life of her comprehend that most inexcusable apathy
of her father, who, though he had heard with his own
ears, from good authority, that her beloved Mary was
lying in the next bedroom dying, never seemed to
think of hurrying away to town — even to that very
Pelican who had so generously undertaken to insure
Mary's life. It was an apathy unbecoming a father ;
and the blood of her little heart warmed with indigna-
tion at the very time that the said heart was down in
sorrow as far as its loose strings would enable it to go.
But was there no remedy? To be sure there was, and
Annie knew, moreover, what it was ; but then it was
to be got only by a sacrifice, and that sacrifice she also
knew, though it must of necessity be kept in the mean-

THE STORY OF THE PELICAN. 159

time as secret as the wonderful doings in the death-
chamber of the palace of a certain Bluebeard.

Great thoughts these for so little a woman as Annie
Maconie ; and no doubt the greatness and the weight
of them were the cause why, for all that day — every
hour of which her father was allowing to pass — she
was more melancholy and thoughtful than she had
ever been since Mary began to be ill. But, somehow,
there was a peculiar change which even her mother
could observe in her ; for while she had been in the
habit of weeping for her sister, yea, and sobbing very
piteously, she was all this day apparently in a reverie.
Nor even up to the time of her going to bed was she
less thoughtful and abstracted, even as if she had been
engaged in solving some problem great to her, how-
ever small it might seem to grown-up infants. As for
sleeping under the weight of so much responsibility, it
might seem to be out of the question; and so, verily, it
was ; for her little body, acted on by the big thoughts,
was moved from one side to another all night, so that
she never slept a wink, still thinking and thinking, in
her unutterable grief, of poor Mary, her father's crimi-
nal passiveness, and that most occult remedy which so
completely engrossed her mind.

But certainly it was the light of morning for which
sister Annie sighed ; and when it came glinting in at
the small window, she was up and beginning to dress,
all the while listening lest the servant or any other one
in the house should know she was up at that hour.
Having completed her toilet, she slipped down stair?,
and having got to the lobby, she was provident enough
to lay hold of an umbrella, for she suspected the ele-
ments as being in league against her. Thus equipped,
she crept out by the back door, and having got thus
free, she hurried along, never looking behind her till

160 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

she came to the main road to Edinburgh, when she
mounted the umbrella — one used by her father, and
so large that it was more like a main-sheet than a
covering suitable to so small a personage ; so it be-
hoved, that if she met any other " travellers on pur-
pose bent," the moving body must have appeared to
be some small tent on its way to a fair, carried by the
proprietor thereof, of whom no more could be seen but
the two short toddling legs, and the hem of the black
riding-hood. But what cared Annie '? She toiled
along ; the miles were long in comparison of the short
legs, but then there was a large purpose in that little
body, in the view of which miles were of small account,
however long a time it might take those steps to go
over them. Nor was it any drawback to all this
energy, concentrated in so small a bulk, that she had
had no breakfast. Was the dying sister Mary able to
take any breakfast ? and why should Annie eat when
Mary, who did all she did — and she always did every-
thing that sister Mary did — could not ? The argument
was enough for our little logician.

By the time she reached, by those short steps of
hers, the great city, it was half-past eleven, and she
had before her still a great deal to accomplish. She
made out, after considerable wanderings, the street
signalized above all streets by that wonderful bird ; but
after she got into it, the greater difficulty remained of
finding the figure itself, whereto there was this untoAvard
obstacle, that it was still drizzling in the thick Scotch
way of concrete drops of mist, and the umbrella which
she held over her head was so large that no turning it
aside would enable her to see under the rim at such
an angle as would permit her scanning so elevated a
position, and so there was nothing for it but to draw it
down. Brit even this was a task — heavy as the main-

THE STORY OF THE PELICAN. 161

sheet was with rain, and rattling in a considerable
wind — almost beyond her strength ; and if it hadn't
been that a kindly personage who saw the little maid's
difficulty gave her assistance, she might not have been
able to accomplish it. And now, with the heavy article
in her hand, she peered about for another half-hour,
till at length her gladdened eye fell upon the mystic
symbol.

And no sooner had she made sure of the object than
she found her way into the office, asking the porter as
well as a clerk where the pelican was to be found, —
questions that produced a smile ; but smile here or
smile there, Annie was not to be beat ; nor did she stop
in her progress until at last she was shown into a room
where she saw, perched on a high stool, with three (of
course) long legs, a strange-looking personage with a
curled wig and a pair of green spectacles, who no doubt
must be the pelican himself. As she appeared in the
room with the umbrella, not much shorter or less in
circumference than herself, the gentleman looked curi-
ously at her, wondering no doubt what the errand of so
strange a little customer could be.

" Well, my little lady," said he, " what may be your
pleasure ? "

" I want the pelican," said Annie.

The gentleman was still more astonished, even to the
extent that he laid down his pen and looked at her again.

" The pelican, dear ? "

" Ay, just the pelican," answered she deliberately,
and even a little indignantly. " Are jon the pelican ? "

" Why, yes, dear ; all that is for it below the figure,"
said he, smiling, and wondering what the next question
would be.

" I am so glad I have found you," said she ; " because
sister Mary is dying."

VOL. XXIII. L

162 TALES OP THE BORDERS.

" And -who is sister Mary ? " .

" My sister, Mary Maconie, at Juniper Green."

Whereupon the gentleman began to remember that
the name of AVilliam Maconie was in his books as
holder of a policy.

" And what more ? "

" My father says the pelican insured Mary's life ;
and I want you to come direct and do it, because I
couldn't live if Mary were to die ; and there's no time
to be lost."

" Oh ! I see, dear. And who sent you ? "

" Nobody," answered Annie. "My father wouldn't
come to you ; and I have come from Juniper Green
myself without telling my father or mother."

" Oh yes, dear ! I understand you."

" But you must do it quick," continued she, " be-
cause the doctor says she's in great danger ; so you
must come with me and save her immediately."

" I am sorry, my dear little lady," rejoined he, "that
I cannot go with you ; but I will set about it imme-
diately, and I have no doubt, being able to go faster
than you, that I will get there before you, so that all
will be right before you arrive."

" See that you do it, then," said she ; " because I
can't live if Mary dies. Are you quite sure you will
do it ? "

" Perfectly sure, my little clear," added he. " Go
away home, and all will be right ; the pelican will do
his duty."

And Annie being thus satisfied, went away, dragging
the main- sheet after her, and having upon her face a
look of contentment, if not absolute happiness, in place
of the sorrow which had occupied it during all the time
of her toilsome journey. The same road is to be re-
traced ; and if she had an object before which nerved

THE STORY OF THE PELICAN. 163

her little limbs, she had now the delightful conscious-
ness of that object having been effected — a feeling of
inspiration which enabled her, hungry as she was, to
overcome all the toil of the return. Another two
hours, with that heavy umbrella over head as well as
body, brought her at length home, where she found
that people had been sent out in various directions to
find the missing Annie. The mother was in tears, and
the father in great anxiety ; and no sooner had she
entered and laid down her burden, than she was clasped
to the bosom, first of one parent, and then of the other.

" But where is the pelican ? " said the anxious little
maid.

" The pelican, my darling ! " cried the mother ;
" what do you mean ? :'

" Oh ! I have been to him at his own office at Edin-
burgh to get him to come and save Mary's life, and he
said he would be here before me."

" And what in the world put it in your head to go
there ? " again asked the mother.

" Because I heard my father say yesterday that the
pelican had insured dear sister Mary's life, and I went
to tell him to come and do it immediately ; because if
Mary were to die, I couldn't live, you know. That's
the reason, dear mother."

" Yes, yes," said the father, scarcely able to repress
a smile which rose in spite of his grief. " I see it all.
You did a very right thing, my love. The pelican has
been here, and Mary is better."

" Oh ! I am so glad," rejoined Annie ; " for I wasn't
sure whether he had come or not ; because, though I
looked for him on the road, I couldn't see him."

At the same moment the doctor came in, with a
blithe face.

" Mary is safe now," said he. " There has been a

164 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

crisis, after all. The sweat has broken out upon her
dry skin, and she will be well in a very short time."

" And there's no thanks to yon," said Annie, " be-
cause it was I who went for the pelican."

Whereupon the doctor looked to the father, who,
taking him aside, narrated to him the story, at which
the doctor was so pleased that he laughed right out.

" You're the noblest little heroine I ever heard of,"

said he.

" But have you had anything to eat, dear, in this
long journey ?" said the mother.

" No, I didn't want," was the answer ; " all I wanted
was to save Mary's life, and I am glad I have done it."
And glad would we be if, by the laws of historical
truth, our stranger story could have ended here ; but,
alas ! we are obliged to pain the good reader's heart by
saying that the demon who had left the troubled little
breast of Mary Maconie took possession of Annie's.
The very next day she lay extended on the bed, pant-
ing under the fell embrace of the relentless foe. As
Mary got better, Annie grew worse ; and her case was
so far unlike Mary's, that there was more a tendency
to a fevered state of the brain. The little sufferer
watched with curious eyes the anxious faces of her
parents, and seemed conscious that she was in a dan-
gerous condition. Nor did it fail to occur to her as
a great mystery as well as wonder, why they did not
send for the wonderful being who had so promptly
saved the life of her sister. The thought haunted her,
yet she was afraid to mention it to her mother, because
it implied a sense of danger — a fear which one evening
she overcame. Fixing her eyes, now every moment
waxing less clear, on the face of her mother —

" Oh mother, dear," she whispered, " why do you
not send for the pelican ? "

THE STORY OF THE PELICAN. 165

In other circumstances the mother would have
smiled ; but, alas, no smile could be seen on that pale
face. Whether the pelican was sent for we know not,
but certain it is, that he had no power to save poor
Annie, and she died within the week. But she did
not die in vain, for the large sum insured upon her life
eventually came to Mary, whom she loved so dearly.

166 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

THE WIDOW'S AE SON.

We will not name the village where the actors in the
following incidents resided ; and it is sufficient for our
purpose to say that it lay in the county of Berwick,
and within the jurisdiction of the Presbytery of Dunse.
Eternity has gathered forty winters into its bosom since
the principal events took place. Janet Jeffrey was left
a widow before her only child had completed his tenth
year. While her husband lay upon his deathbed, he
called her to his bedside, and, taking her hand within
his, he groaned, gazed on her face, and said, " Now,
Janet, I'm gaun a lang and a dark journey; but ye
winna forget, Janet — ye winna forget — for ye ken it
has aye been uppermost in my thoughts and first in my
desires, to mak Thamas a minister ; promise me that ae
thing, Janet, that, if it be his will, ye will see it per-
formed, an' I will die in peace." In sorrow the pledge
was given, and in joy performed. Her life became
wrapt lip in her son's life ; and it was her morning
and her evening prayer that she might live to see her
"dear Thamas a shining light in the kirk." Often she
declared that he was an " auld farrant bairn, and could
ask a blessing like ony minister." Our wishes and
affections, however, often blind our judgment. No-
body but the mother thought the son fitted for the kirk,
nor the kirk fitted for him. There was always some-
thing original, almost poetical about him ; but still
Thomas was " no orator as Brutus was." His mother
had few means beyond the labour of her hands for their

the widow's ae sox. 1G7

support. She had kept him at the parish school until
he was fifteen, and he had learned all that his master
knew ; and in three years more, by rising early and
sitting late at her daily toils, and the savings of his field
labour and occasional teaching, she was enabled to make
preparation for sending him to Edinburgh. Never did
her wheel spin so blithely since her husband was taken
from her side, as when she put the first lint upon the
rock for his college sarks. Proudly did she show to
her neighbours her double spinel yarn — observing, " It's
nae finer than he deserves, poor fallow, for he'll pay
me back some day." The web was bleached and the
shirts made by her own hands ; and the day of his de-
parture arrived. It was a day of joy mingled with
anguish. He attended the classes regularly and faith-
fully ; and truly as St. Giles's marked the hour, the
long, lean figure of Thomas Jeffrey, in a suit of shabby
black, and half a dozen volumes under his arm, was
seen issuing from his garret in the West Bow, darting
down the frail stair with the velocity of a shadow, mea-
suring the Lawnmarket and High Street with gigantic
strides, gliding like a ghost up the South Bridge, and
sailing through the Gothic archway of the College, till
the punctual student was lost in its inner chambers.
Years rolled by, and at length the great, the awful day
arrived —

" Big with the fate of Thomas and his mother."

He was to preach his trial sermon ; and where ? In
his own parish — in his native village ! It was summer,
but his mother rose by daybreak. Her son, however,
was at his studies before her ; and when she entered
his bedroom with a swimming heart and swimming
eyes, Thomas was stalking across the floor, swinging
his arms, stamping his feet, and shouting his sermon to

168 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

the trembling curtains of a four-post bed, which she had
purchased in honour of him alone. "Oh, my bairn! my
matchless bairn ! " cried she, " what a day o' joy is this
for your poor mother ! But oh, hinny, hae ye it weel aff ?
I hope there's nae fears o' ye stickin' or using notes !"
" Dinna fret, mother — dinna fret," replied the young-
divine ; " stickin' and notes are out o' the question. I
hae every word o' it as clink as the A B C." The ap-
pointed hour arrived. She was first at the kirk. Her
heart felt too big for her bosom. She could not sit —
she walked again to the air — she trembled back — she
gazed restless on the pulpit. The parish minister gave
out the psalm — the book shook while she held it. The
minister prayed, again gave out a psalm, and left the
pulpit. The book fell from Mrs. Jeffrey's hand. A
tall figure paced along the passage. He reached the
pulpit stairs — took two steps at once. It Avas a bad
omen ; but arose from the length of his limbs ■ — not
levity. He opened the door — his knees smote upon
one another. He sat down — he was paler than death.
He rose — his bones were paralytic. The Bible was
opened — his mouth opened at the same time, and re-
mained open, but said nothing. His large eyes stared
wildly around. At length his teeth chattered, and the
text was announced, though half the congregation dis-
puted it. "My brethren!" said he once, and the
whiteness of his countenance increased ; but he said no
more. " My bre — thren !" responded he a second time ;
his teeth chattered louder ; his cheeks became clammy
and death-like. " My brethren !" stammered he a third
time emphatically, and his knees fell together. A deep
groan echoed from his mother's pew. His wildness in-
creased. " My mother !" exclaimed the preacher. They
were the last words he ever uttered in a pulpit. The
shaking and the agony began in his heart, and his body

THE WIDOW'S AE SON. 169

caught the contagion. He covered his face with his
hands, fell back, and wept. His mother screamed
aloud, and fell back also ; and thus perished her toils,
her husband's prayer, her fond anticipations, and the
pulpit oratory of her son. A few neighbours crowded
round her to console her and render her assistance. They
led her to the door. She gazed upon them with a look
of vacancy — thrice sorrowfully waved her hand, in token
that they should leave her ; for their words fell upon
her heart like dew upon a furnace. Silently she arose
and left them, and reaching her cottage, threw herself
upon her bed in bitterness. She shed no tears ; neither
did she groan, but her bosom heaved with burning
agony. Sickness smote Thomas to his very heart ; yea,
even unto blindness he was sick. His tongue was like
heated iron in his mouth, and his throat like a parched
land. He was led from the pulpit. But he escaped not
the persecution of the unfeeling titter, and the expressions
of shallow pity. He would have rejoiced to have dwelt in
darkness for ever, but there was no escape from the eyes
of his tormentors. The congregation stood in groups in
the kirkyard, "just," as they said, " to hae anither look
at the orator ;" and he must pass through the midst of
them. With his very soul steeped in shame, and his
cheeks covered with confusion, he stepped from the
kirk door. A humming noise issued through the crowd,
and every one turned their faces towards him. His
misery was greater than he could bear. " Yon was
oratory for ye!" said one. "Poor deevil !" added
another, " I'm sorry for him ; but it was as guid as a
play." " Was it tragedy or comedy?" inquired a third,
laughing as he spoke. The remarks fell upon his ear
— he grated his teeth in madness, but he could endure
no more ; and, covering his face with his hands, he
bounded off like a wounded deer to his mother's

170 TALES OF THE BOEDEES.

cottage. In despair he entered the house, scarce
knowing what he did. He beheld her where she had
fallen upon the bed, dead to all but misery. " Oh
mother, mother!" he cried, "dinna ye be angry —
dinna ye add to the afflictions of your son ! Will ye
no, mother? — will ye no?" A low groan was the
only answer. He hurried to and fro across the room,
wringing his hands. " Mother," he again exclaimed,
" will ye no speak ae word ? Oh, woman ! ye wadna
be angry if ye kenned what an awfu' thing it is to see
a thousan' een below ye, and aboon ye, and round about
ye, a' staring upon ye like condemning judges, an' look-
ing into your very soul — ye hae nae idea o' it, mother ;
I tell ye, ye hae nae idea o't, or ye wadna be angry.
The very pulpit floor gaed down wi' me, the kirk wa's
gaed round about, and I thought the very crown o' my
head wad pitch on the top o' the precentor. The very
een o' the multitude soomed round me like fishes! — an'
oh, woman ! are ye dumb ? will ye torment me mair ?
can ye no speak, mother ? " But he spoke to one who
never spoke again. Her reason departed, and her
speech failed, but grief remained. She had lived upon
one hope, and that hope was destroyed. Her round
ruddy cheeks and portly form wasted away, and within
a few weeks the neighbours, who performed the last
office of humanity, declared that a thinner corpse was
never wrapt in a winding sheet than Mrs. Jeffrey. Time
soothed, but did not heal the sorrows, the shame, and
the disappointment of the son. He sank into a village
teacher, and often, in the midst of his little school, he
would quote his first, his only text — imagine the
children to be his congregation — attempt to proceed —
gaze wildly round for a moment, and sit down and weep.
Through these aberrations his school dwindled into
nothingness, and poverty increased his delirium. Once,

THE WIDOW'S AE SON. 171

in the midst of the remaining few, he gave forth the
fatal text. " My brethren ! " he exclaimed, and smit-
ing his hand upon his forehead, cried, " Speak, mother !
— speak now ! " and fell with his face upon the floor.
The children rushed screaming from the school, and
when the villagers entered, the troubled spirit had fled
for ever.

172 TALES OF THE BORDERS,

THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG.

In detailing the curious circumstances of the following
story, I am again only reporting a real law case to be
found in the Court of Session Records, the turning-
point of which was as invisible to the judges as to the
parties themselves — that is, until the end came ; a cir-
cumstance again which made the case a kind of de-
veloped romance. But as an end implies a beginning,
and the one is certainly as necessary as the other, we
request you to accompany us — taking care of your feet
— up the narrow spiral staircase of a tenement called
Corbet's Land, in the same old town where so many
wonderful things in the complicated drama — or dream,
if you are a Marphurius — of human life have occurred.
Up which spiral stair having got by the help of our
hands, almost as indispensable as that of the feet, we
find ourselves in a little human dovecot of two small
rooms, occupied by two persons not unlike, in many
respects, two doves — Widow Craig and her daughter,
called May, euphuized by the Scotch into Mysie. The
chief respects in which they might be likened, -without
much stress, to the harmless creatures we have men-
tioned, were their love for each other, together with
their total inoffensiveness as regarded the outside
world ; and Ave are delighted to say this, for we see
so many of the multitudinous sides of human nature
dark and depraved, that we are apt to think there is
no bright side at all. Nor shall we let slip the oppor-
tunity of saying, at the risk of being considered very

THE STOHY OF MYSIE CRAIG. 173

simple, that of all the gifts of felicity bestowed, as the
Pagan Homer tells, upon mankind by the gods, no one
is so perfect and beautiful as the love that exists be-
tween a good mother and a good daughter.

For so much we may be safe by having recourse to
instinct, which is deeper than any secondary causes we
poor mortals can see. But beyond this, there were
special reasons tending to this same result of mutual
affection, which come more within the scope of our
observation. In explanation of which, we may say that
the mother, having something in her power during her
husband's life, had foreseen the advantages of using it
in the instruction of her quick and intelligent daughter
in an art of far more importance then than now — that
of artistic needlework. Nay, of so much importance
was this beautiful art, and to such perfection was it
brought at a time when a lady's petticoat, embroidered
by the hand, with its profuse imitations of natural ob-
jects, flowers, and birds, and strange devices, would
often cost twenty pounds Scots, that a sight of one of
those operose achievements of genius would make us
blush for our time and the labours of our women.
Nor was the perfection in this ornamental industry a
new thing, for the daughters of the Pictish kings con-
fined in the castle were adepts in it ; neither was it
left altogether to paid sempstresses, for great ladies
spent their time in it, and emulation quickened both
the genius and the diligence. So we need hardly say
it became to the mother a thing to be proud of, that
her daughter Mysie proved herself so apt a scholar that
she became an adept, and was soon known as one of
the finest embroideresses in the great city. So, too, as
a consequence, it came to pass that great ladies em-
ployed her ; and often the narrow spiral staircase of
Corbet's Land was brushed on either side by the huge

174 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

masses of quilted and emblazoned silk that, enveloping
the belles of the day, were with difficulty forced up to
and down from the small room of the industrious
Mysie.

But we are now speaking of art, while we should
have more to say (for it concerns us more) of the
character of the young woman who was destined to
figure in a stranger way than in making beautiful
figures on silk. Mysie was one of a class : few in
number they arc indeed, but on that account more to
be prized. Her taste and fine manipulations were but
counterparts of qualities of the heart — an organ to
which the pale face, with its delicate lines and the
clear liquid eyes, was a suitable index. The refinement
which enabled her to make her imitation of beautiful
objects on the delicate material of her work was only
another form of a sensibility which pervaded her whole
nature — that gift which is only conceded to peculiar
organizations, and is such a doubtful one, too, if we go,
as we cannot help doing, with the poet, when he sings
that " chords that vibrate sweetest pleasures," often
also " thrill the deepest notes of woe." Nay, we might
say that the creatures themselves seem to fear the gift,
for they shrink from the touch of the rough world, and
retire within themselves as if to avoid it, while they
are only courting its effects in the play of an imagina-
tion much too ardent for the duties of life ; and, as a
consequence, how they seek secretly the support of
stronger natures, clinging to them as do those strange
plants called parasites, which, with their tender arms
and something so like fingers, cling to the nearest stem
of a stouter neighbour, and embracing it, even though
hollow and rotten, cover it, and choke it with a flood
of flowers. So true is it that woman, like the generous
vine, lives by being supported and held up ; yet equally

THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG. 175

true that the strength she gains is from the embrace
she gives ; and so it is also that goodness, as our Scot-
tish poet Home says, often -wounds itself, and affection
proves the spring of sorrow.

All which might truly be applied to Mysie Craig ;
but as yet the stronger stem to which she clung was
her mother, and it was not likely, nor was it in reality,
that that affection would prove to her anything but
the spring of happiness, for it was ripened by love ;
and the earnings of the nimble fingers, moving often
into the still hours of the night, not only kept the
wolf from the door, but let in the lambs of domestic
harmony and peace. Would that these things had so
continued ! But there are other Avolves than those of
poverty, and the "ae lamb o' the fauld" cannot be
always under the protection of the ewe ; and it so
happened on a certain night, not particularized in the
calendar, that our Mysie, having finished one of these
floral petticoats on which she had been engaged for many
weeks, went forth with her precious burden to deliver
the same to its impatient owner, no other than the
then famous Anabella Gilroy, who resided in Advo-
cate's Close — of which fine lady, by the way, we may
say, that of all the gay creatures who paraded between
" the twa Bow?,'' no one displayed such ample folds of
brocaded silk, nodded her pon-pons more jauntily, or
napped with a sharper crack her high-heeled shoes, all
to approve herself to "the bucks" of the time, with
their scpiare coats brocaded with lace, their three-
cornered hats on the top of their bob-wigs, their knee-
buckles and shoe-buckles. And certainly not the least
important of those, both in his own estimation and that
of the sprightly Anabella, was George Balgarnie, a
young man who had only a year before succeeded to
the property of Balgruddery, somewhere in the north,

176 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

and of whom we might say that, in forming him, Nature
had taken so much pains with the building up of the
body, that she had forgotten the mind, so that he had
no more spiritual matter in him than sufficed to keep
his blood hot, and enable his sensual organs to work
out their own selfish gratifications; or, to perpetrate a
metaphor, he was all the polished mahogany of a piano,
without any more musical springs than might respond
to one keynote of selfishness. And surely Anabella
had approved herself to the fop to some purpose ; for
when our sempstress with her bundle had got into the
parlour of the fine lady, she encountered no other than
Balgarnie — a circumstance apparently of very small
importance ; but we know that a moment of time is
sometimes like a small seed, which contains the nucleus
of a great tree — perhaps a poisonous one. And so it
turned out that, while Anabella was gloating over the
beautiful work of the timid embroideress, Balgarnie
was busy admiring the artist, but not merely — perhaps
not at all — as an artist, only as an object over whom he
wished to exercise power.

This circumstance was not unobserved by the little
embroideress, but it was only observed to be shrunk
from in her own timid way ; and probably it would
soon have passed from her mind, if it had not been
followed up by something more direct and dangerous.
And it was ; for no sooner had Mysie got to the foot of
the stairs than she encountered Balgarnie, who had
gone out before her ; and now began one of those
romances in daily life of which the world is full, and of
which the world is sick. Balgarnie, in short, com-
menced that kind of suit which is nearly as old as the
serpent, and therefore not to be wondered at ; neither
are we to wonder that Mysie listened to it, because we
have heard so much about " lovely woman stooping to

THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG. 177

folly," that we are content to put it to the large account
of natural miracles. And not very miraculous either,
when we remember that if the low-breathed accents oi
tenderness awaken the germ of love, they awaken at
the same time faith and trust. And such was the be-
ginning of the romance which was to go through the
normal stages, — the appointment to meet again, the
meeting itself, the others that followed, the extension
of the moonlight walks, sometimes to the Hunter's
Bog between Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags, and
sometimes to the song-famed " Wells o' Weary," — all
which were just as sun and shower to the germ of the
plant. The love grew and grew, and the faith grew
and grew also which saw in him that which it felt in
itself. Nay, if any of those moonlight-loving elves that
have left their foot-marks in the fairy rings to be seen
near St. Anthony's Well had whispered in Mysie's ear,
" Balgarnie will never make you his wife," she would
have believed the words as readily as if they had im-
pugned the sincerity of her own heart. In short, we
have again the analogue of the parasitic plant. The
very fragility and timidity of Mysie were at once the
cause and consequence of her confidence. She would
cling to him and cover him with the blossoms of her
affection ; nay, if there were unsoundness in the stem,
these very blossoms would cover the rottenness.

This change in the life of the little sempstress could
not fail to produce some corresponding change at home.
We read smoothly the play we have acted ourselves ;
and so the mother read love in the daughter's eyes, and
heard it, too, in her long sighs ; nor did she fail to read
the sign that the song which used to lighten her beau-
tiful work was no longer heard ; for love to creatures
so formed as Mysie Craig is too serious an affair for
poetical warbling. But she said nothing ; for while she

VOL. XXITI. M

178 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

had faith in the good sense and virtue of her daughter,
she knew also that there was forbearance due to one
who was her support. Nor, as yet, had she reason to
fear, for Mysie still plied her needle, and the roses and
the lilies sprang up in all their varied colours out of
the ground of the silk or satin as quickly and as beau-
tifully as they were wont, though the lilies of her cheeks
waxed paler as the days flitted. And why the latter
should have been, we must leave to the reader ; for our-
selves only hazarding the supposition that, perhaps, she
already thought that Balgarnie should be setting about
to make her his wife — an issue which behoved to be
the result of their intimacy sooner or later ; for that in
her simple mind there should be any other issue, was
just about as impossible as that, in the event of the
world lasting as long, the next moon would not, at her
proper time, again shine in that green hollow, between
the Lion's Head and Samson's Ribs, which had so often
been the scene of their happiness. Nay, we might say
that though a doubt on the subject had by any means
got into her mind, it would not have remained there
lunger than it took a shudder to scare the wild thing
away.

Of course, all this was only a question of time ; but
certain it is, that by-and-by the mother could see some
connection between Mysie's being more seldom out on
those moonlight nights than formerly, and a greater
paleness in her thin face, as if the one had been the
cause of the other. But still she said nothing, for she
daily expected that Mysie would herself break the sub-
ject to her ; and so she was left only to increasing fears
that her daughter's heart and affections had been tam-
pered with, and perhaps she had fears that went farther.
Still, so far as yet had gone, there was no remission in
the labours of Mysie's fingers, as if in the midst of all

THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG. 179

— whatever that all might be — she recognised the para-
mount necessity of bringing in by those fingers the
required and usual amount of the means of their live-
lihood. Nay, somehow or other, there was at that very
time, when her cheek was at the palest, and her sighs
were at their longest, and her disinclination to speak
was at the strongest, an increase of work upon her ;
for was not there a grand tunic to embroider for
Miss Anabella, which was wanted on a. given day ; and
were there not other things for Miss Anabella's friend,
Miss Allardice, which were not to be delayed beyond
that same day ? And so she stitched and stitched on
and on, till sometimes the little lamp seemed to go out
for want of oil, while the true cause of her diminished
light was really the intrusion of the morning sun, against
which it had no chance. It might be, too, that her
very anxiety to get these grand dresses finished helped
to keep out of her mind ideas which could have done
her small good, even if they had got in.

But at length the eventful hour came when the
gentle sempstress withdrew the shining needle, made
clear by long use, from the last touch of the last rose ;
and doubtless, if Mysie had not been under the cloud
of sorrow we have mentioned, she would have been
happier at the termination of so long a labour than she
had ever been, for the finishing evening had always
been celebrated by a glass of strong Edinburgh ale —
a drink Avhich, as both a liquor and a liqueur, was as
famous then as it is at this day. But of what avail
was this work-termination to her now ? Was it not
certain that she had not seen Balgarnie for two moons ?
and though the impossibility of his not marrying her
was just as impossible as ever, why were these two
moons left to shine in the green hollow and on the
rising hill without the privilege of throwing the sha-

180 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

dows of Mysie Craig and George Balgarnie on the grass,
where the fairies had left the traces of their dances?
Questions these which she was unable to answer, if it
were not even that she was afraid to put them to her-
self. Then, when was it that she felt herself unable to
tie up her work in order to take it home, and that her
mother, seeing the reacting effect of the prior sleepless
nights in her languid frame, did this little duty for her,
even as while she was doing it she looked through her
tears at her changed daughter? But Mysie would do
so much. While the mother should go to Miss Allar-
dice, Mysie would proceed to Miss Anabella ; and so
it was arranged. They went forth together, parting
at the Nether Bow ; and Mysie, in spite of a weakness
which threatened to bring her with her burden to the
ground, struggled on to her destination. At the top
of Advocate's Close she saw a man hurry out and in-
crease his step even as her eye rested on him ; and if it
had not appeared to her to be among the ultimate im-
possibilities of things, natural as well as unnatural, she
would have sworn that that man was George Balgarnie ;
but then, it just so happened that Mysie came to the
conclusion that such a circumstance was among these
ultimate impossibilities.

This resolution was an effort which cost her more
than the conviction woidd have done, though doubtless
she did not feel this at the time, and so with a kind of
forced step she mounted the stair ; but when she got
into the presence of Miss Gilroy, she coidd scarcely
pronounce the words —

" I have brought you the dress, ma'am."

" And I am so delighted, Miss Craig, that I could

almost take you into my arms,-" said the lady ; " but

what ails ye, dear ? You are as white as any snow I

ever saw, whereas you ought to have been as blithe as

THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG. 181

a bridesmaid, for don't you know that you have brought
me home one of my marriage dresses ? Come now, smile
when I tell you that to-morrow is my wedding-day."

" Wedding-day," muttered Mysie, as she thought of
the aforesaid utter impossibility of herself not being
soon married to George Balgarnie ; an impossibility not
rendered less impossible by the resolution she had
formed not to believe that within five minutes he had
flown away from her.

" Yes, Miss Craig, and surely you must have heard
who the gentleman is ; for does not the town ring of it
from the castle to the palace, from Kirk-o'-Field to the
Calton?"

" I have not been out," said Mysie.

" That accounts for it," continued the lady; " and I
am delighted at the reason, for wouldn't it have been
terrible to think that my marriage with George Bal-
garnie of Balgruddery was a thing of so small a note
as not to be known everywhere?"

If Mysie Craig had appeared shortly before to Miss
Gilroy paler than any snow her ladyship had ever seen,
she must now have been as pale as some other kind of
snow that nobody ever saw. The dreadful words had
indeed produced the adequate effect, but not in the
most common way, for we are to keep in view that it
is not the most shrinking and sensitive natures that are
always the readiest to faint ; and there was, besides, the
aforesaid conviction of impossibility which, grasping the
mind by a certain force, deadened the ear to words im-
plying the contrary. Mysie stood fixed to the spot, as
if she were trying to realize some certainty she dared
not think was possible, her lips apart, her eyes riveted
on the face of the lady — mute as that kind of picture
which a certain ancient calls a silent poem, and motion-
less as a figure of marble,

182 TALES OF THE BOEDEKS.

An attitude and appearance still more inexplicable
to Anabella, perhaps irritating as an unlucky omen,
and therefore not possessing any claim for sympathy
— at least it got none.

" Are you the Mysie Craig," she cried, as she looked
at the girl, ." who used to chat to me about the dresses
you brought, and the flowers on them ? Ah, jealous and
envious, is that it ? But you forget, George Balgarnie
never could have made you his wife — a Avorking needle-
woman ; he only fancied you as the plaything of an
hour. He told me so himself when I charged him with
having been seen in your company. So, Mysie, you
may as well look cheerful. Your turn will come next
with some one in your own station."

There are words which stimulate and confirm ; there
are others that seem to kill the nerve and take away
the sense, nor can we ever tell the effect till we see it
produced ; and so we could not have told beforehand
— nay, we would have looked for something quite op-
posite— that Mysie, shrinking and irritable as she was
by nature, was saved from a faint (which had for some
moments been threatening her) by the cruel insult
which thus had been added to her misfortune. She
had even power to have recourse to that strange device
of some natures, that of "affecting to be not affected;"
and casting a glance at the fine lady, she turned and went
away without uttering a single word. But who knows
the pain of the conventional concealment of pain except
those who have experienced the agony of the trial?
Even at the moment when she heard that Georo-e Bal-
garnie was to be married, and that she came to know
that she had been for weeks sewing the marriage dress
of his bride, she was carrying under her heart the living
burden which was the fruit of her love for that man.
Yet not the burden of shame and dishonour, as our

THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG. 183

story will show, for she was justified by the law of her
country — yea, by certain words once written by an
apostle to the Corinthians, all which may as yet appear
a great mystery ; but as regards Mysie Craig's agony,
as she staggered down Miss Gilroy's stairs on her way
home, there could be no doubt or mystery whatever.

Nor, when she got home, was there any comfort there
for the daughter who had been so undutiful as to de-
part from her mother's precepts, and conceal from her
not only her unfortunate connection with a villain, but
the condition into which that connection had brought
her. But she was at least saved from the pain of a
part of the confession, for her mother had learned
enough from Miss Allardice to satisfy her as to the
cause of her daughter's change from the happy creature
she once was, singing in the long nights, as she wrought
unremittingly at her beautiful work, and the poor,
sighing, pale, heart-broken thing she had been for
months. Nor did she fail to see, with the quick eye
of a mother, that as Mysie immediately on entering
the house laid herself quietly on the bed, and sobbed
in her great agony, she had learned the terrible truth
from Miss Gilroy that the robe she had embroidered
was to deck the bride of her destroyer. Moreover, her
discretion enabled her to perceive that this was not the
time for explanation, for the hours of grief are sacred,
and the heart must be left to do its work by opening
the issues of Nature's assuagement, or ceasing to beat.
So the night passed, without question or answer ; and
the following day, that of the marriage, was one of
silence, even as if death had touched the tongue that
used to be the medium of cheerful words and tender
sympathies — a strange contrast to the joy, if not revelry,
in Advocate's Close.

It was not till after several days had passed that

184 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Mysie was able, as she still lay in bed, to whisper,
amidst the recurring sobs, in the ear of her mother, as
the latter bent over her, the real circumstances of her
condition ; and still, amidst the trembling words, came
the vindication that she considered herself to be as
much the wife of George Balgarnie as if they had been
joined by " Holy Kirk ;" a statement which the mother
could not understand, if it was not to her a mystery,
rendered even more mysterious by a reference -which
Mysie made to the law of the country, as she had heard
the same from her cousin, George Davidson, a writer's
clerk in the Lawnmarket. Much of which, as it came
in broken syllables from the lips of the disconsolate
daughter, the mother put to the account of the fond
dreams of a mind put out of joint by the worst form
of misery incident to young women. But what availed
explanations, mysteries or no mysteries, where the fact
was patent that Mysie Craig lay there, the poor heart-
broken victim of man's perfidy — her powers of industry
broken and useless — the fine weaving genius of her
fancy, whereby she wrought her embroidered devices
to deck and adorn beauty, only engaged now on por-
traying all the evils of her future life ; and above all,
was she not soon to become a mother ?

Meanwhile, and in the midst of all this misery, the
laid-up earnings of Mysie's industry wore away, where
there was no work by those cunning fingers, now thin
and emaciated ; and before the days passed, and the
critical day came whereon another burden would be
imposed on the household, there was need for the
sympathy of neighbours in that form which soon wears
out — pecuniary help. That critical day at length came.
Mysie Craig gave birth to a boy, and their necessities
from that hour grew in quicker and greater proportion
than the generosity of friends. There behoved some-

THE STORY OF MYSIB CRAIG. 185

thing to be done, and that without delay. So when
Mysie lay asleep, with the innocent evidence of her
misfortune by her side, Mrs. Craig put on her red
plaid and went forth on a mother's duty, and was soon
in the presence of George Balgarnie and his young
Avife. She was under an impulse which made light of
delicate conventionalities, and did not think it neces-
sary to give the lady an opportunity of being absent :
nay, she rather would have her to be present ; for was
she, who had been so far privy to the intercourse be-
tween her husband and Mysie, to be exempt from the
consequences which she, in a sense, might have been
said to have brought about ?

"Ye have ruined Mysie Craig, sir!" cried at once
the roused mother. " Ye have ta'en awa her honour.
Ye have ta'en awa her health. Ye have ta'en awa her
bread. Ay, and ye have reduced three human crea-
tures to want, it may be starvation ; and I have come
here in sair sorrow and necessity to ask when and
whaur is to be the remeid ? "

"When and where you may find it, woman!" said
the lady, as she cast a side-glance to her husband,
probably by way of appeal for the truth of what she
thought it right to say. " Mr. Balgarnie never in-
jured your daughter. Let him who did the deed yield
the remeid !"

"And do you stand by this?" said Mrs. Craig.

But the husband had been already claimed as free
from blame by his wife, who kept her eye fixed upon
him ; and the obligation to conscience, said by sceptics
to be an offspring of society, is sometimes weaker than
what is due to a wife, in the estimation of whom a man
may wish to stand in a certain degree of elevation.

" You must seek another father to the child of your
daughter," said he lightly. And not content with the

186 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

denial, he supplemented it by a laugh as he added,
" When birds go to the greenwood, they must take the
chance of meeting the goshawk."

" And that is your answer ?" said she.

" It is ; and you need never trouble either my wife
or me more on this subject," was the reply.

" Then may the vengeance o' the God of justice light
on the heads o' baith o' ye !" added Mrs. Craig, as she
went hurriedly away.

Nor was her threat intended as an empty one, for she
held on her way direct to the Lawnmarket, where she
found George Davidson, to whom she related as much
as she had been able to get out of Mysie, and also
what had passed at the interview with Balgarnie and
his lady. After hearing which, the young writer shook
his head.

"You will get a trifle of aliment," said he; "per-
haps half-a-crown a week, but no more ; and Mysie
could have made that in a day by her beautiful work."

" And she will never work mair," said the mother,
with a sigh.

" For a hundred years," rejoined he, more to himself
than to her, and probably in congratulation of himself
for his perspicacity, " and since ever there was a College
of Justice, there never was a case where a man pulled
up on oath for a promise of marriage admitted the fact.
It is a good Scotch law, only Ave want a people to obey
it. But what," he added again, " if we were to try it,
though it were only as a grim joke and a revenge in so
sad and terrible a case as that of poor Mysie Craig !"

Words which the mother understood no more than
she did law Latin ; and so she Was sent away as sorrow-
ful as she had come, for Davidson did not want to raise
hopes which there was no chance of being fulfilled ;
but he knew as a Scotchman that a man who trusts

THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG. 187

himself to a " strae rape " in the hope of its breaking,
may possibly hang himself ; and so it happened that the
very next day a summons was served upon George
Balgarnie, to have it found and declared by the Lords
of Session that he had promised to marry Mysie Craig,
whereupon a child had been born by her ; or, in fault
of that, he was bound to sustain the said child. There-
upon, without the ordinary law's delay, certain proceed-
ings went on, in the course of which Mysie herself was
examined as the mother to afford what the lawyers call
a semiplena probatio, or half proof, to be supplemented
otherwise, and thereafter George Balgarnie stood before
the august fifteen. He denied stoutly all intercourse
with Mysie, except an occasional walk in the Hunter's
B02: ; and this he would have denied also, but he knew
that he had been seen, and that it would be sworn to
by others. And then came the last question, which Mr.
Greerson, Mysie's advocate, put in utter hopelessness.
Nay, so futile did it seem to try to catch a Scotchman
by advising him to put his head in a noose on the pre-
tence of seeing how it fitted his neck, that he smiled
even as the words came out of his mouth —

" Did you ever promise to marry Mysie Craig? "

Was prudence, the chief of the four cardinal virtues,
ever yet consistent with vice ? Balgarnie Avaxed clever
— a dangerous trick in a witness. He stroked his
beard with a smile on his face, and answered —

" Yes, once — when I was drunk ! "

Words which were immediately followed by the
crack of a single word in the dry mouth of one of the
advocates — the word " Nicked."

And nicked he was ; for the presiding judge, ad-
dressing the witness, said —

" The drunkenness may be good enough in its own
way, sir ; but it does not take away the effect of your

188 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

promise ; nay, it is even an aggravation, insomuch as
having enjoyed the drink, you wanted to enjoy with
impunity what you could make of the promise also."

If Balgarnie had been a reader, he might have re-
membered Waller's verse —

' ' That eagle's fate aud mine are one,

"Which on the shaft that made him die
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high."

So Mysie gained her plea, and the marriage with
Anabella, for whom she had embroidered the marriage
gown, was dissolved. How matters progressed after-
wards for a time, we know not ; but the Scotch know
that there is wisdom in making the best of a bad bar-
gain, and in this case it was a good one ; for, as the
Lady of Balgruddery, Mysie Craig did no dishonour to
George Balgarnie, who, moreover, found her a faithful
wife, and a good mother to the children that came of
this strange marriage.

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 189

THE TWIN BROTHERS.

William Sim was the son of a feuar in the southern
part of Dumfriesshire, who, by dint of frugality, had
hoarded together from three to four hundred pounds.
This sum he was resolved to employ in setting up his
son in business ; and, in pursuance of this resolution,
at the age of fourteen William was bound as an ap-
prentice to a wealthy old grocer in Carlisle ; and it
was his fortune in a few months to ingratiate himself
into the favour and confidence of his master. The
grocer had a daughter, who, though not remarkable
for the beauty of her face or the elegance of her per-
son, had nevertheless an agreeable countenance, and
ten thousand independent charms to render it more
agreeable. She was some eighteen months older than
William ; and when he first came to be an apprentice
with her father, and a boarder in his house, she looked
upon him as quite a boy, while she considered herself
to be a full-grown woman. He was, indeed, a mere
boy — and a clownish-looking boy too. He wore a
black leathern cap, edged and corded with red, which
his mother called a bendy ; a coarse grey jacket ; a
waistcoat of the same ; and his trousers were of a
brownish-green cord, termed thickset. His shoes were
of the double-soled description, which ought more
properly to be called brogues ; and into them, on the
evening previous to his departure, his father had
driven tackets and sparables innumerable, until they
became like a plate of iron, or a piece of warlike work-

190 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

mansMp, resembling the scaled cuirass of a mailed
knight in the olden time ; "for," said he, " the callant
will hae runnin' about on the causeway and plainstanes
o' Carlisle sufficient to drive a' the shoon in the world
aff his feet." When, therefore, William Sim made his
debut behind the counter of Mr. Carnaby, the rich
grocer of Carlisle, and as he ran on a message through
the streets, with his bendy cap, grey jacket, thickset
trousers, and ironed shoes, striking fire behind him as
he ran, and making a noise like a troop of cavalry, the
sprucer youngsters of the city said he was " neAV caught."
But William Sim had not been two years in Carlisle
when he began to show his shirt collar ; his clattering
brogues gave place to silent pumps, his leathern bendy
to a fashionable hat, and his coarse grey jacket to a
coat with tails. Moreover, he began to bow and smile
to the ladies when they entered the shop ; he also be-
came quite a connoisseur in teas and confections ; he
recommended them to them, and he bowed and smiled
again as they left. Such was the work of less than two
years ; and before three went round, there was not a
smarter or a better dressed youth in all Carlisle than
William Sim. He became a favourite subject of con-
versation amongst the young belles ; and there was not
one of them who, if disengaged, would have said to
him, " Get thee behind me." Miss Carnaby heard the
conversation of her young companions, and she gradu-
ally became conscious that William was not a boy ; in
fact, she began to wonder how she had ever thought
so, for he, as she said unto herself, was " certainly a
very interesting young man.'1'' Within other four years,
and before the period of his apprenticeship had expired,
William began to repeat poetry — some said to write it,
but that was not the fact ; he only twisted or altered a
few words now and then, to suit the occasion; and

THE TAVIN BROTHERS. 191

almost every line ended with words of such soft sounds
as bliss, kiss — love, dove— joy, cloy, and others equally
sweet, the delightful meanings of which are only to be
met with in the sentimental glossary. He now gave
Miss Carnaby his arm to church ; and, on leaving it in
the afternoons, they often walked into the fields to-
gether. On such occasions,

" Talk of various kinds deceived the road ;"
and even when they were silent, their silence had an
eloquence of its own. One day they had wandered
farther than their wont, and they stood on the little
bridge where the two kingdoms meet, about half a
mile below Gretna. I know not what soft persuasion
he employed, but she accompanied him up the hill
which leadeth through the village of Springfield, and
they went towards the far-famed Green together. In
less than an hour, Miss Carnaby that was, returned to-
wards Carlisle as Mrs. Sim, leaning affectionately on her
husband's arm.

When the old grocer heard of what had taken place,
he was exceedingly wroth ; and although, as has been
said, William stood high in his favour, he thus ad-
dressed him —

" Ay, ay, sir ! — fine doings ! This comes of your
Sunday walking! And I suppose you say that my
daughter is yours — that she is your wife ; and site may
be yours — but I'll let you knoAv, sir, my money is mine ;
and I'll cut you both off. You shan't have a sixpence.
I'll rather build a church, sir ; I'll give it towards pay-
ing off the national debt, you rascal. You would steal
my daughter — eh!"

Thus spoke Mr. Carnaby in his wrath ; but when the
effervescence of his indignation had subsided, he ex-
tended to both the hand of forgiveness, and resigned
his business in favour ol his son-in-law.

192 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Mr. William Sim, therefore, began the world under
the most favourable circumstances. He found a for-
tune prepared to his hands ; he had only to improve it.
In a few years the old grocer died ; and he bequeathed
to them the gains of half a century. For twenty years
Mr. Sim continued inbusiness, and he had nearly doubled
the fortune which he obtained with his wife. Mrs. Sim
was a kind-hearted woman ; but by nature, or through
education, she had also a considerable portion of vanity,
and she began to think that it was the duty of her opu-
lent husband to retire from business, and assume the
character of an independent gentleman ; or rather, I
ought to say, of a country gentleman — a squire. She
professed to be the more anxious that he should do
this on account of the health of her daughter — the sole
survivor of five children — and who was then entering:
upon womanhood. Maria Sim (for such was their
daughter's name) was a delicate and accomplished girl
of seventeen. The lovely hue that dwelt upon her
cheeks, like the blush of a rainbow, was an emblem
of beauty, not of health. At the solicitations of her
mother, her father gave up his business, and purchased
a neat villa, and a few acres that surrounded it, in the
neighbourhood of Windermere. The house lay in the
bosom of poetry; and the winds that shouted like a
triumphant army through the mountain glens, or in
gentle zephyrs sighed upon the lake, and gambolled
with th'e ripples, made music around it.

The change, the beauty, I had almost said the de-
liciousness of their place of abode, had effected a won-
drous improvement in the health of Maria ; yet her
mother was not happy. She was not treated by her
neighbours with the obsequious reverence which she
believed to be due to persons possessed of twenty thou-
sand pounds. The fashionable ladies in the neighbour-

THE TWIN fcEOTIIEES. 193

hood, also, called her " a mean person " — "a nobody "
— " an upstart of yesterday." In truth, there -were not
a few who so spoke, because they envied the wealth of
the Sims, and were resolved to humble them.

An opportunity for them to do so soon occurred. A
subscription ball or assembly, patronized by all the
fashionables in the district, was to take place at Kes-
wick. Mrs. Sim, in some measure from a desire of
display, and also, as she said, to bring out Maria, put
down her husband's name, her own, and their daughter's,
on the list. Many of the personages above referred to,
on seeing the names of the Sim family on the subscrip-
tion paper, turned upon their heel, and exclaimed —
"Shocking!"

But the important evening arrived. Mrs. Sim had
ordered a superb dress from London expressly for the
occasion. A duchess might have worn it at a drawing-
room. The dress of Maria was simplicity typified, and
consisted of a frock of the finest and the whitest
muslin ; while her slender waist was girdled with a
lavender ribbon, her raven hair descended down her
snowy neck in ringlets, and around her head she wore
a wreath of roses.

When Mr. Sim, with his wife and daughter, entered
the room, there was a stare of wonderment amongst the
company. No one spoke to them, no one bowed to
them. The spirit of dumbness seemed to have smitten
the assembly. But a general whispering, like the hiss-
ing of a congregation of adders, succeeded the silence.
Then, at the head of the room, the voices of women
rose sharp, angry, and loud. Six or eight, who ap-
peared as the. representatives of the company, were in
earnest and excited conversation with the stewards ;
and the words — "low people!" — "vulgar!" — "not to
be borne ! " — " cheese ! faugh! " — " impertinence !" —

VOL. XXIII. N

194 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

"must be humbled !" — became audible throughout the
room. One of the stewards, a Mr. Morris of Morris
House, approached Mr. Sim, and said —

" You, sir, are Mr. Sim, I believe, late grocer and
cheesemonger in Carlisle?"

" I suppose, sir," replied the other, " you Ioioav that
without me telling you ; if you do not, you have some
right to know me."

" Well, sir," continued the steward of the assembly,
" I come to inform you that you have made a mistake.
This is not a social dance amongst tradesmen, but an
assembly of ladies and gentlemen ; therefore, sir, your
presence cannot be allowed here."

Poor Maria became blind, the hundred different
head-dresses seemed to float around her. She clung
to her father's arm for support. Her mother was in
an agony of indignation.

" Sir," said Mr. Sim, " I don't know what you call
gentlemen ; but if it be not genteel to have sold teas and
groceries, it is at least more honourable than to use
them and never pay for them. You will remember,
sir, there is a considerable sum standing against you
in my books ; and if the money be not paid to me to-
night, you shall have less space to dance in before

morning."

"Insolent barbarian!" exclaimed Squire Morris,
stamping his foot upon the floor.

Mrs. Sim screamed ; Maria's head fell upon her
father's shoulder. A dozen gentlemen approached to
the support of the steward ; and one of them, waving
his hand and addressing Mr. Sim, said, "Away, sir I"

The retired merchant bowed and withdrew, not in
confusion, but with a smile of malignant triumph. He
strove to soothe his wife — for his daughter, when re-
lieved from the presence of the disdainful eyes that

TIIE TWIN BROTHERS. 195

gazed on her, bore the insult that had been offered
them meekly — and, after remaining an hour in Keswick,
they returned to their villa in the same chaise in which
they had arrived.

In the assembly room the dance began, and fairy
forms glided through the floor, lightly, silently, as a
falling blossom embraceth the earth. Mr. Morris was
leading down a dance, when a noise was heard at the
door. Some person insisted on being admitted, and the
door-keepers resisted him. But the intruder carried
with him a small staff, on the one end of which was a
brass crown, and on its side the letters G. R. It was
a talisman potent as the wand of a magician ; the door-
keepers became powerless before it. The intruder
entered the room — he passed through the mazes of the
whirling dance — he approached Mr. Morris — he touched
him on the shoulder — he put a piece of paper in his
hand — he whispered in his ear —

" You are my prisoner! — come with me !"

His lady and his daughters were present, and they
felt most bitterly the indignity which a low tradesman
had offered them. Confusion paralyzed them ; they
stood still in the middle of the dance, and one of the
young ladies swooned away and fell upon the ground.
The time, the place, the manner of arrest, all bespoke
malignant and premeditated insult.

Mr. Morris gnashed his teeth together, but, without
speaking, accompanied the officer that had arrested him
in the room. He remained in custody in an adjoining
inn throughout the night ; on the following day, was
released on bail ; and, within a week, his solicitor paid
the debt, by augmenting the mortgage on Morris House
estate.

It is hardly necessary to say — for such is human
nature— that, after this incident, the hatred between

196 TALES OP THE BORDERS.

Mr. Sim and Squire Morris became inveterate; and the
wives of both, and the daughters of the latter, partook
in the relentless animosity. Two years passed, and
every day the mutual hatred and contempt in which
they held each other increased. At that period, a
younger son of Squire Morris, who was a lieutenant in
the service of the East India Company, obtained leave
to visit England and his friends. It was early in June ;
the swallows chased each other in sport, twittering as
they flew over the blue bosom of Windermere ; every
bush, every tree — yea, it seemed as if every branch
sent forth the music of singing birds, and the very air
was redolent with melody, from the bold songs of the
thrush and the lark to the love-note of the wood-
pigeon ; and even the earth rejoiced in the chirp of the
grasshopper, its tiny but pleasant musician. The fields
and the leaves were in the loveliness and freshness of
youth, luxuriating in the sunbeams, in the depth of
their summer green ; and the butterfly sported, and
the bee pursued its errand from flower to flower. The
miffhtv mountains circled the scene, and threw their
dun shadow on the lake, where, a hundred fathoms
deep, they seemed a bronzed and inverted world. At
this time, Maria Sim was sailing upon the lake in a
small boat that her father had purchased for her, and
which was guided by a boy.

A sudden, but not what could be called a strong,
breeze came away. The boy had little strength and
less skill, and, from his awkwardness in shifting the
sail, he caused the boat to upset. Maria was immersed
in the lake. The boy clung to the boat, but terror
deprived him of ability to render her assistance. She
struggled with the waters, and her garments bore her
partially up for a time. A boat, in which was a young
gentleman, had been sailing to and fro, and, at the time

THE TWIN BEOTHERS. 197

the accident occurred, was within three hundred yards
of her. On hearing her sudden cry, and the continued
screams of the boy, he drew in his sail, and, taking the
oars, at his utmost strength pulled to her assistance.
Almost at every third stroke he turned round his head
to see the progress he had made, or if he had yet
reached her. Twice he beheld her disappear beneath
the water — a third time she rose to the surface — he
was within a few yards of her. He sprang from his
boat. She was again sinking. He dived after her, he
raised her beneath his arm, and succeeded in placing
her in his boat. He also rescued the boy, and conveyed
them both to land.

Maria, though for a time speechless, was speedily,
through the exertions of her deliverer, restored to con-
sciousness. Even before she was capable of thanking
him or of speaking to him — yea, before her eyes had
opened to meet his — he had gazed with admiration on
her beautiful features, which were lovely, though the
shadow of death Avas then over them, almost its hand
upon them. In trc(|h, he had never gazed upon a
fairer face, and when she spoke, he had never listened
to a sweeter or a gentler voice. He had been beneath
an Indian sun, where the impulses of the heart are
fervid as the clime, and where, when the sun is gazed
upon, its influence is acknoAvledged. But, had she
been less beautiful than she was, and her features less
lovely to look upon, there was a strong something in
the very manner and accident of their being brought
into each other's society, which appealed more power-
fully to the heart than beauty could. It at least begot
an interest in the fate of each other ; and an interest
so called is never very widely separated from affection.
The individual who had saved Maria's life was Lieu-
tenant Morris.

198 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

He conveyed her first to a peasant's cottage, and
afterwards to her father's villa. He knew nothing of
the feeling of hatred that existed between their families;
and when Mr. Sim heard his name, though for a moment
it caused a glow to pass over his face, every other emo-
tion was speedily swallowed up in gratitude towards
the deliverer of his child ; and when Maria was suffi-
ciently recovered to thank him, though she knew him
to be the son of her father's enemy, it was with tears
too deep for words — tears that told what eloquence
would have failed to express. Even Mrs. Sim, for the
time, forgot her hatred of the parents in her obligations
to the son.

When, however, the young lieutenant returned to
Morris House, and made mention of the adventure in
which he had been engaged, and spoke at the same
time, in the ardour of youthful admiration, of the
beauty and gentleness of the fair being he had rescued
from untimely death, the cheeks of his sisters became
pale, their eyeballs distended as if with horror. The
word "wretch!" escaped from bis mother's lips, and
she seemed struggling with smothered rage. He turned
towards his father for an explanation of the change that
had so suddenly come over the behaviour of his mother
and sisters.

" Son," said the squire, " I had rather thou hadst
perished than that a son of mine should have put forth
his hand to assist a dog of the man whose daughter
thou hast saved ! "

On being made acquainted with the cause of the
detestation that existed between the two families, Lieu-
tenant Morris, in some degree, yielded to the whisper-
ings of wounded pride, and began to regret that he
had entered the house of a man who had offered an
indignity to his father that was not to be forgiven.

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 199

But he thought also of the beauty of Maria, of the
sweetness of her smile, and of the tears of voiceless
gratitude which he had seen bedimming the lustre of
her bright eyes.

He had promised to call again at her father's on the
day after the accident ; and with an ardent kindliness,
Mr. Sim had welcomed him to do so. But he went forth,
he wandered by the side of the lake, he approached
within sight of the house, there was a contention of
strange feelings in his breast, and he returned without
paying his promised visit. Nevertheless, thoughts of
Maria haunted him, and her image mingled with all
his fancies. She became as a spirit in his memory that
he could not expel, and that he would not if he could.

Three weeks passed on — it was evening — the sun
was sinking behind the mountains, and Lieutenant
Morris was wandering through a wooded vale, towards
Mr. Sim's mansion ; for though he entered it not, he
nightly drew towards it, as if instinctively, wandering
around it, and gazing on its windows as he did so,
marvelling as he gazed. He was absorbed in one of
those dreamy reveries in which men saunter, speak,
and muse unconsciously, when, in following the wind-
ings of a footpath which led through a thicket, he
suddenly found himself in the presence of a young
lady, who was walking slowly across the wood with a
book in her hand. Their eyes met — they startled —
the book dropped by her side — it was Maria.

I must not, however, dwell longer on this part of the
subject ; for the story of the twin brothers is yet to
begin. Let it be sufficient to say that William, or, as
I have hitherto called him, Lieutenant Morris, and
Maria whom he saved, became attached to each other.
Their dispositions were similar ; they seemed formed
for each other. Affection took deep root in their

200 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

hearts ; and to root up that affection in the breast of
either, -was to destroy the heart itself. He made known
his attachment towards Maria to his father ; and galled
pride and hatred to those who had injured him being
stronger in the breast of the old squire than the small
still voice of affection, he spurned his son from him,
and ordered him to leave his house for ever.

The parents of Maria, notwithstanding their first feel-
ings of gratitude towards the saviour of their daughter,
were equally averse to a union between them ; but
with Maria the impulse of the heart and the lover's
passionate prayer prevailed over her parents' frowns.
They were wed, they became all to each other, and
were disowned by those who gave them birth.

"When Lieutenant Morris left India, he obtained per-
mission to remain in England for three years ; and it
was about twelve months after his arrival that the
marriage betAveen him and Maria took place. He had
still two years to spend in his native land, and he hired
a secluded and neat cottage on the banks of the Annan
for that period, for the residence of himself and his
young and beautiful wife.

Twelve months after their marriage, Maria became
the mother of twins — the twin brothers of our tale.
But three months had not passed, nor had her infants
raised their first smile towards their mother's face,
when the sterile hand of death touched the bosom that
supplied them with life. The young husband wept by
the bed of death, with the hand of her he loved in his.

" William !" said the gentle Maria — and they were
her dying words, for she spoke not again — " my eyes
will not behold another sun ! I must leave you, love !
Oh my husband ! I must leave our poor, our helpless
infants ! It is hard to die thus ! But when I am "one,
dearest — when my babes have no mother — oh, go to

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 201

my mother, and tell her — tell her, William — that it was
the dying request of her Maria, that she -would be as a
mother to them. Farewell, love ! — farewell! If"

Emotion and the struggling^ of death overpowered
her — her speech failed — her eyes became fixed — her
soul passed away, and the husband sat in stupefaction
and in agony, holding the hand of his dead wife to his
breast. He became conscious that she stirred not —
that she breathed not — oh ! that she was not ! and
the wail of the distracted widower rang suddenly and
wildly through the cottage, startling his infants from
their slumber, and, as some who stood round the bed
said, causing even the features of the dead to move, as
though the departed spirit had lingered, casting a fare-
well glance upon the body, and passed over it again,
as the voice it had loved to hear rose loud in agony.

The father of Maria came and attended her body to
its last, long resting-place. But he did no more ; and
he left the churchyard without acknowledging that he
perceived his grief-stricken son-in-law.

In a few months it was necessary for Lieutenant
Morris to return to India, and he could not take his
motherless and tender infants thither. He wrote to
the parents of his departed Maria ; he told them of her
last request, breathed by her last words ; he implored
them, as they had once loved her, during his absence
to protect his children.

But the hatred between Mr. Sim and Squire Morris
had in no degree abated. The former would have
listened to his daughter's prayer, and taken her twins
and the nurse into his house ; but his wife was less
susceptible to the influence of natural feeling, and even,
while at intervals she wept for poor Maria, she said —

" Take both of them, indeed ! No, no ! I loved
our poor, thoughtless, disobedient Maria, Mr. Sim, as

202 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

well as you did, but I will not submit to the Morrises.
They have nothing to give the children ; we have.
But they have the same, they have a greater right to
provide for them than we have. They shall take one
of them, or none of them come into this house." And
again she broke into lamentations over the memory of
Maria, and, in the midst of her mourning, exclaimed —
" But the child that we take shall never be called
Morris."

Mr. Sim wrote an answer to his son-in-law, as cold
and formal as if it had been a note added to an invoice ;
colder indeed, for it had no equivalent to the poor,
hackneyed phrase in all such, of " esteemed favours.'1'1 In
it he stated that he would " bring up" one of the chil-
dren, provided that Squire Morris would undertake the
charge of the other. The unhappy father clasped his
hands together on perusing the letter, and exclaimed —

" Must my poor babes be parted ? — shall they be
brought up to hate each other? Oh Maria! would
that I had died with you, and our children also !"

To take them to India with him, where a war was
threatened, was impossible, and his heart revolted from
the thought of leaving them in this country with
strangers. At times he was seen, with an infant son
on each arm, sitting over the stone upon the grave of
their mother which he had reared to her memory, kiss-
ing their cheeks and weeping over them, while they
smiled in his face unconsciously, and offered to him,
in those smiles, affection's first innocent tribute. On
such occasions their nurse stood gazing on the scene,
wondering at her master's grief.

Morris, of Morris House, reluctantly consented to
take one of his grandchildren under his care; but at the
same time he refused to see his son previous to his
departure.

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 203

The widowed father wept over his twin sons, and
invoking a blessing on them, saw their little arms sun-
dered, and each conveyed to the houses of those who
had undertaken to be their protectors, while he again
proceeded towards India. The names of the twin sons
were George and Charles : the former was committed to
the care of Mr. Morris, the other to Mr. Sim. Yet it
seemed as if these innocent pledges of a family union,
instead of destroying, strengthened the deep-rooted
animosity that existed between them. Not a month
passed that they did not, in some way, manifest their
hatred of .and their persecution towards each other.

The squire exhibited a proof of his vindictiveness,
in not permitting the child of his son to remain beneath
his roof. He had a small property in Devonshire,
which was rented by an individual who, with his wife,
had been servants under his father. To them George
Morris, one of the infant sons of poor Maria, before he
was yet twelve months old, was sent, with an injunction
that he should be brought up as their own son, that he
should be taught to consider himself as such, and bear
their name.

The boy Charles, whose lot it was to be placed under
the protection of his mother's parents, Avas more fortu-
nate. The love they had borne towards their Maria
they now lavished upon him. They called him by
their own name— they spoke of him as their heir, as
their sole heir, and they inquired not after his brother.
That brother became included in the hatred which Mrs.
Sim, at least, bore to his father's family. As he grew
up, his father's name was not mentioned in his presence.
He was taught to call his grandfather — father, and
his grandmother — mother ; and withal, his mother so
called instilled into his earliest thoughts an abhorrence
of the inmates of Morris House. At times his grand-

204 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

father whispered to her on such occasions, "Do not
do the like of that, dear ; we know not how it may end."
But she regarded not his admonitions, and she strove
that her grandchild should hold the very name of
Morris in hatred.

The peasants to whose keeping George was confided,
occupied, as has been stated, a small farm under his
grandfather, which lay on the banks of the Dart, a few
miles from Totnes. Their name was Prescot : they
were cold-hearted and ignorant people ; they had no
children of their own, nor affection for those of others ;
neither had they received instructions to show any to
him whom they were to adopt as a son ; and if they
had been arraigned for not doing so, they were of a
character to have said with Shylock — " It is not in the
bond." When he grew up, there was then no school in
that part of Devonshire to which they could have sent
him, had they been inclined ; but they were not in-
clined ; though, if they had had the power to educate
him, they could have referred again to their bond, and
said that no injunction to educate him was mentioned
there. His first ideas were a consciousness of cruelty
and oppression. At seven years of age he was sent to
herd a few sheep upon Dartmoor ; before he was nine,
he was placed as a parish apprentice to the owner of a
tin mine, and buried from the light of heaven.

Often and anxiously Lieutenant Morris wrote from
India, inquiring after his sons. He sent presents — love-
gifts to each ; but his letters were unheeded, his pre-
sents disregarded. His children grew up in ignorance
of his existence, or of the existence of each other.

It was about eighteen years after the death of Maria,
and what is called an annual Revel was held at Ash-
burton. Prizes were to be awarded to the best wrest-
lers, and hundreds were assembled from all parts of

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 205

Devonshire to witness the sports of the clay. Two
companies of soldiers were stationed in the town at the
time, and the officers, at the suggestion of a young
ensign called Charles Sim, agreed to subscribe a purse
of ten guineas towards the encouragement of the games.
The young ensign was from Cumberland, where the
science of wrestling is still a passion ; and he, as the
reader will have anticipated from the name he bore,
was none other than one of the twin brothers. The
games were skilfully and keenly contested ; and a
stripling from the neighbourhood of Totnes, amidst the
shouts of the multitude, was declared the victor. The
last he had overcome was a gigantic soldier, a native of
Cumberland. When the young ensign beheld his
champion overcome, his blood rose for the honour of
his native county, and he regretted that he had not sus-
tained it in his own person.

The purse subscribed by the officers was still to be
wrestled for, and the stripling victor re-entered the
ring to compete for it. On his design being perceived,
others who wished to have contended for it drew back,
and he stood in the ring alone, no one daring to come
forward to compete with him. The umpire of the
games was proclaiming that, if no one stood against
him, the purse would be awarded to him who had
already been pronounced the victor of the day, when
Ensign Sim, who, with his brother officers, had wit-
nessed the sports from the windows of an adjacent inn,
said —

" Well, the lad shall have the purse, though I don't
expect he will win it ; for, if no one else will, I shall
give him a throw to redeem the credit of old Cumber-
land."

"Bravo, Sim!" cried his brother officers, and they
accompanied him towards the ring.

206 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The people again shouted when they perceived that
there was to be another game, and the more so when
they discovered that the stranger competitor was a
gentleman. The ensign, having cast off his regimentals,
and equipped himself in the strait canvas jacket worn
by wrestlers, entered the ring. But now arose a new
subject of wonderment, which in a moment was per-
ceived by the whole multitude ; and the loud huzzas
that had welcomed his approach were hushed in a con-
fused murmur of astonishment.

"Zwinge!" exclaimed a hundred voices, as they
approached each other ; " they be loik one anoother
as two beans !"

" Whoy, which be which?" inquired others.

The likeness between the two wrestlers was indeed
remarkable ; their age, their stature, the colour of their
hair, their features, were alike. Spectators could not
trace a difference between the one and the other. The
ensign had a small and pecnliar mark below his chin ;
he perceived that his antagonist had the same. They
approached each other, extending their arms for the
contest. They stood still, they gazed upon each other;
as they gazed they started ; their arms dropped by their
sides ; they stood anxiously sciTitinizing the countenance
of each other, in which each saw himself as in a glass.
Astonishment deprived them of strength ; they forgot
the purpose for which they met ; they stretched forth
their hands, they grasped them together, and stood
eagerly looking into each other's eyes.

"Friend," said the ensign, "this is indeed singular;
our extraordinary resemblance to each other fills me
with amazement. "What is your name ? from whence
do you come ?"

" Whoy, master," rejoined the other, " thou art so
woundy like myself, that had I met thee anywhere but

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 207

in the middle o' these folk, I should have been afeared
that I was agoing to die, and had zeen mysel'. My
name is George Prescot, at your sarvice. I coom from
three miles down the river there ; and what may they
call thee?"

" My name," replied the soldier, " is Charles Sim. 1
am an orphan ; my parents I never saw. And tell me
— for this strange resemblance between us almost over-
powers me — do yours live ? "

" Whoy," was the reply, " old Tom Prescot and his
woif be alive ; and they zay as how they be my vather
and moother, and I znppose they be ; but zoom cast up
to them that they bean't."

No wrestling match took place between them ; but
hand in hand they walked round the ring together,
while the spectators gazed upon them in silent wonder.

The ensign presented the youth, who might have
been styled his fac-simile, with the purse subscribed by
his brother officers and himself ; and in so doing he
offered to double its contents. But the youth, with a
spirit above his condition, peremptorily refused the
offer, and said —

" No, master — thank you the zame — I will take
nothing but what I have won."

Charles was anxious to visit " old Tom Prescot and
his wife," of whom the stranger had spoken ; but the
company to which he belonged was to march forward
to Plymouth on the following day, and there to embark.
His brother officers also dissuaded him from the thought.

" Why, Sim," said they, " the likeness between you
and the conqueror of the ring was certainly a very
pretty coincidence, and your meeting each other quite
a drama. But, my good fellow," added they, laughingj
" take the advice of older heads than your own — don't
examine too closely into your father's faults."

208 TALES OF THE BORDEKS.

Three years passed, and Charles, now promoted to
the rank of a lieutenant, accompanied the Duke of York
in his more memorable than brilliant campaign in Hol-
land. A soldier was accused of having been found
sleeping on guard ; he was tried, found guilty, and
condemned to be shot. A corporal's guard was accom-
panying the doomed soldier from the place where sen-
tence had been pronounced against him to the prison-
house, from whence he was to be brought forth for
execution on the following day. Lieutenant Sim passed
near them. A voice exclaimed —

" Master ! master ! — save me ! save me !"
It was the voice of the condemned soldier. The
lieutenant turned round, and in the captive who called
to him for assistance he recognised the Devonshire
wrestler — the strange portrait of himself. And even
now, if it were possible, the resemblance between them
was more striking than before ; for, in the stranger, the
awkwardness of the peasant had given place to the
smartness of the soldier. Charles had felt an interest
in him from the first moment he beheld him ; lie had
wished to meet him again, and had resolved to seek for
him should he return to England ; and now the interest
that he had before felt for him was increased tenfold.
The offence and the fate of the doomed one were soon
told. The lieutenant pledged himself that he would
leave no effort untried to save him ; and he redeemed
his pledge. He discovered, he obtained proof that the
condemned prisoner, George Prescot, had been em-
ployed on severe and dangerous duties, against which
it was impossible for nature longer to stand up, but in
all of which he had conducted himself as a cood, a
brave, and a faithful soldier ; and, more, that it could
not be proved that he was actually found asleerj at his
post, but that he was stupified through excess of fatigue.

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 209

He hastened to lay the evidence he had obtained re-
specting the conduct and innocence of the prisoner
before his Eoyal Highness, who, whatever were his
faults, was at least the soldier's friend. The Duke
glanced over the documents which the lieutenant laid
before him ; he listened to the evidence of the com-
rades of the prisoner. He took a pen ; he wrote a few
lines ; he placed them in the hands of Lieutenant Sim.
They contained the free pardon of Private Prescot.
Charles rushed with the pardon in his hand to the
prisoner ; he exclaimed — r

"Take this — you are pardoned — you are free !"

The soldier would have embraced his knees to thank
him ; but the lieutenant said —

" No ! kneel not to me — consider me as a brother. I
have merely saved the life of an innocent and deserving
man. But the strange resemblance between us seems
to me more than a strange coincidence. You have
doubts regarding your parentage ; I know but little
of mine. Nature has written a mystery on our faces
which we need to have explained. When this cam-
paign is over, we shall inquire concerning it. Farewell
for the present ; but we must meet again."

The feelings of the reprieved and unlettered soldier
were too strong for his words to utter ; he shook the
hand of his deliverer and wept.

A few days after this some sharp fighting took place.
The loss of the British was considerable, and they were
compelled to continue their retreat, leaving their dead,
and many of their wounded, exposed, as they fell be-
hind them. When they again arrived at a halting-
place, Lieutenant Sim sought the regiment to which the
soldier who might be termed his second self belonged.
But he was not to be found ; and all that he could learn
respecting him was, that, three days before, George Pres-

VOL. XXIII. O

210 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

cot had been seen fighting bravely, but that he fell
covered with wounds, and in their retreat was left upon
the field.

Tears gushed into the eyes of the lieutenant when
he heard the tidings. His singular meeting with the
stranger in Devonshire ; their mysterious resemblance
to each other ; his meeting him again in Holland under
circumstances yet more singular ; his saving his life ;
and the dubious knowledge which each had respecting
their birth and parentage, — all had sunk deep into his
heart, and thoughts of these things chased sleep from
his pillow.

It was but a short time after this that the regiment
of Lieutenant Sim was ordered to India, and he accom-
panied it ; and it was only a few months after his
arrival, when the Governor-General gave an entertain-
ment at his palace, at which all the military officers
around were present. At table, opposite to Lieutenant
Sim, sat a man of middle age ; and, throughout the
evening, his eyes remained fixed upon him, and occa-
sionally seemed filled with tears. He was a colonel in
the Company's service, and a man who, by the force of
merit, had acquired wealth and reputation.

" I crave your pardon, sir," said he, addressing the
lieutenant ; " but if I be not too bold, a few words
with you in private would confer a favour upon me,
and if my conjectures be right, will give us both cause
to rejoice."

" You may command me, sir," said the youth.

The colonel rose from the table and left the room,
and the lieutenant rose also and accompanied him.
They entered an adjoining apartment. The elder
soldier gazed anxiously on the face of the younger,
and again addressing him, said —

" Sir, do not attribute this strange behaviour upon

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 211

my part to rudeness. It has been prompted by feel-
ings painfully, deeply, I may add tenderly, interesting
to me. It may be accident, but your features bring
memories before my eyes that have become a part of
my soul's existence. Nor is it your features only, but
I have observed that there is the mark of a rose-bud
beneath your chin. I remember twins on ■whom that
mark was manifest, and the likeness of a countenance
is graven upon my heart, the lineaments of which
were as yours are. Forgive me then, sir, in thus
abruptly requesting your name."

The lieutenant looked surprised at the anxiety and
looks of the stranger, and he answered —

" My name is Charles Sim."'

"Yes! yes!" replied the colonel, gasping as he
spoke ; "I saw it ; I felt it ! Your name is Charles,
but not Sim ; that was your mother's name — your
sainted mother's. You bear it from your grandfather.
You come from Cumberland ? "

" I do !" was the reply, in accents of astonishment.

" My son ! my son ! — child of my Maria!" were the
accents that broke from the colonel, as he fell upon
the neck of the other.

"My lather!" exclaimed Charles, " have I then found
a father?" And the tears streamed down his cheeks.

Many questions were asked, many answered ; and
amongst others, the father inquired —

" Where is your brother — my little George ? Does
he live ? You were the miniatures of your mother;
and so strikingly did you resemble each other, that
while you were infants, it was necessary to tie a blue
ribbon round his arm, and a green one round yours,
to distinguish yoit from each other."

Charles became pale ; his knees shook ; his hands
trembled.

212 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" Then I had a brother ?" he cried.

" You had," replied his father ; " but wherefore do
you say you had a brother ? Is it possible that you do
not know him ? He has been brought up with my
father — Mr. Morris of Morris House."

" No, he has not," replied Charles ; " the man you
speak of, and whom you say is my grandfather, has
brought up no one — none of my age. I have hated
him from childhood, for he has hated me ; and but that
you have told me he is my grandfather, I would hate
him still. But he has brought up no one that could
be a brother of mine."

"Then my child has died in infancy," rejoined the
colonel.

"No, no," added Charles ; "I knew not that I had
a brother — not even that I had a father ; but you say
my brother resembled me ; that I from my birth had
the mark beneath my chin which I have now, and that
he had the same : then I know him ; I have seen my
brother!"

"Where, where? when, when?" breathlessly in-
quired the anxious parent. " Speak, my son ! — oh
speak !"

" Shortly after I had joined my regiment," continued
Charles, " I was present in Devonshire, at what is
called a revel. Our mess gave a purse towards the
games. We put forward a Cumberland man belong-
ing to the regiment, in the full confidence that he
would be the victor of the day ; but a youth, a mere
youth, threw not only our champion, but all who
dared to oppose him. I was stung for the honour of
Cumberland ; I was loath to see the hero carry his
laurels so easily from the field. I accoutred myself in
the wrestler's garb ; I entered the ring. The shouting
of the multitude ceased instantaneously. I gazed upon

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 213

my antagonist, he gazed upon me. Our hands fell ;
we both shook ; we were the image of each other.
Three years afterwards I was in Holland. A soldier
was unjustly condemned to die ; I saved him ; I ob-
tained his pardon. He was my strange counterpart
whom I met in' Devonshire. He had the mark of the
rose-bud beneath his chin that I have, and which you
say my brother has."

" And where is he now ? " eagerly inquired the
colonel.

" Alas ! I know not," answered Charles ; " nor do I
think he lives. Three days after I had rescued him
from unmerited death, I learned that he had fallen
bravely on the field ; and whether he be now a prisoner
or with the dead, I cannot tell."

"Surely it was thy brother," said the colonel; "yet
how he should be in Devonshire, or a soldier in the
ranks, puzzles me to think. No, no, Charles, it cannot
be ; it is a coincidence, heightened by imagination.
Your grandfather has not been kind to me, but he is
not capable of the cruelty which the tale you have
told would imply he had exercised towards the child
I entrusted to his care. He hates me, but surely he
could not be cruel to my offspring. You know Morris
House ?" he added.

" I know it well," replied Charles ; " but I never
knew in it one who could be my brother, nor one of
my age ; neither did I know Mr. Morris to be my
grandfather ; nor yet have I heard of him but as one
A\ho had injured my mother while she lived, and who
had been the enemy of her parents,"

" Enough, enough, my son," said the colonel ; " my
soul is filled with words which I cannot utter. I weep
for your angel-mother; I weep for my son, your brother;
and I mourn for the unceasing hatred that exists be-

214 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

tween your grandsires. But, Charles, we must return
to England ; we must do so instantly. I have now
fortune enough for you and for your brother also, if
lie yet live, and if we can find him. But we must in-
quire after and go in quest of him."

"Within three months Charles Morris, or Lieutenant
Sim as he has hitherto been called, and his father re-
turned to England together. But instead of following
them, I shall return to George Prescot, the prize-
wrestler and the condemned and pardoned soldier. It
has been mentioned that he was wounded and left upon
the field by a retreating army. 1 have to add that he
was made prisoner, and when his wounds were healed,
he was, though not perceptibly, disabled for active
service. Amongst his brethren in captivity was a
Captain Paling, who, when an exchange of prisoners
took place, hastened to join his regiment, and gave
George, who was deemed unfit for service, a letter to
his mother and sisters who resided in Dartmouth. The
letter was all that the captain coidd give him, for he
was penniless as George was himself.

George Prescot feeling himself once more at liberty,
took his passage from Rotterdam in a sloop bound for
Dartmouth, and with only the letter of Captain Paling
in his pocket to pay for his conveyance. He perceived
that the skipper frequently cast suspicious glances
towards him, as though he were about to ask, " Where
is your money, sir ? " But George saw this, and he
bore it down with a high hand. He knew that the
certain way of being treated with the contempt and
neglect which poverty always introduces in its train,
was to plead being poor. He was by no means learned,
but he understood something of human nature, and he
knew a good deal of the ways of men — of the shallow-
ness of society, and the depths of civility. He there-

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 215

fore carried his head high. He called for the best that
the ship could afford, and he fared as the skipper did,
though he partook but sparingly.

But the vessel arrived in Dartmouth harbour ; it
entered the mouth of the romantic river, on the one
side of which was the fort, still bearing the name of
Cromwell, and on the other Kingsbridge, which Peter
Pindar hath celebrated ; while on both sides, as preci-
pitous banks, rose towering hills, their summits covered
by a stunted furze, and the blooming orchard meeting
it midway.

Some rather unpleasant sensations visited the dis-
abled soldier as the vessel sailed up the river towards
the town. The beauty of its situation made no impres-
sion upon him, for he had seen it a thousand times ;
and it was perhaps as well that it did not ; for to look
on it from the river, or from a distant height — like a
long line of houses hung on the breast of romance —
and afterwards to enter it and find yourself in the
midst of a narrow, dingy street, where scarce two
wheelbarrows could pass, produceth only disappoint-
ment, and that, too, of the bitterest kind. It seems,
indeed, that the Devonians have conceded so much of
their beautiful county to the barrenness of Dartmoor,
that they grudge every inch that is occupied as a street
or highway. Ere this time, George Prescot had in a
great measure dropped his Devonshire dialect ; and
now, taking the letter of Captain Paling from his
pocket, he placed it in the hands of the commander of
the packet, saying, " Send your boy ashore with this to
a widow lady's of the name of Paling ; you will know
her family, I suppose. You may tell the boy to say
that the letter is from her son, Captain Paling, and that
I shall wait here until I receive her answer before pro-
ceeding up the river."

216 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The skipper stated that he knew Mrs. Paling well,
who was a most respectable lady, and that he remem-
bered also her son, who was an officer in the army, and
who for some time had been a prisoner of war.

The boy went on shore with the letter, and within
a quarter of an hour returned, having with him a
young gentleman, accompanied by a couple of pointer
dogs. The stranger was the brother of Captain Paling.
He inquired for George Prescot, and on seeing him,
invited him to his mother's house. The skipper, on
seeing his passenger in such respectable company, let
fall no hint that the passage-money was not paid ; and
the soldier and the brother of Captain Paling went on
shore together.

In his letter the captain dwelt on many kindnesses
which he had received from its bearer, and of the
bravery which he had seen him evince on the field ;
informing them also that his pockets would be but ill
provided with cash, and regretting his own inability to
replenish them.

The kindness of Mrs. Paling and her family towards
him knew no limits. She asked him a hundred ques-
tions respecting her son, her daughters concerning
their brother ; and they imagined wants for him, that
they might show him a kindness. Now, however,
twelve miles was all that lay between him and his
home. They entreated him to remain until next day ;
but he refused, for

" Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

It is true, he could hardly give the name of home to
the house of those whom he called his parents, for it
had ever been to him the habitation of oppressors ; yet
it was his home, as the mountain covered with eternal
snow is the home of the Greenlander, and he knew no

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 217

other. The usual road to it was by crossing the Dart at
a ferry about a hundred yards above the house of Mrs.
Paling. Any other road caused a circuit of many miles.

" If you will not remain with us to-night," said the
brother of Captain Paling, who had conducted him
from the vessel to his mother's house, " I shall accom-
pany you to the ferry."

" No, I thank you — I thank you," said George, con-
fusedly ; " there is no occasion for it — none whatever.
I shall not forget your kindness."

He did not intend to go by the ferry ; for though
the charge of the boatman was but a halfpenny, that
halfpenny he had not in his possession ; and he wished
to conceal his poverty.

But Avomen have sharp eyes in these matters. They
see where men are blind ; and a sister of Captain Paling
named Caroline read the meaning of their guest's con-
fusion, and of his refusing to permit her brother to
accompany him to the shore ; and, with a delicacy
which spoke to the heart of him to whom the words
were addressed, she said —

" Mr. Prescot, you have only now arrived from the
Continent, and it is most likely that you have no small
change in your pocket. The ferrymen are unreason-
able people to deal with. If you give them a crown,
they will row away and thank you, forgetting to return
the change. The regular charge is but a halfpenny ;
therefore you had better take coppers with you ; " and
as she spoke, she held a halfpenny in her fingers towards
him.

" Well, well," stammered out George, with his hand
in his pocket, " I believe I have no coppers ; " and he
accepted the halfpenny from the hand of Caroline Paling ;
and while he did so, he could not conceal the tears that
rose to his eyes.

218 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

But, trifling as the amount of her offer was, it must
be understood that the person to whom it was tendered
was one who would not have accepted more — who was
ashamed of his poverty, and strove to conceal it ; and
there was a soul, there was a delicacy, in her manner
of tendering it which I can speak of, but not describe.
It saved him also from having to wander weary and
solitary miles at midnight.

No sooner had the disabled soldier crossed the
river, and entered the narrow lanes overshadowed
by dark hedges of hazel, than he burst into tears,
and his first words were, " Caroline, I will remember
thee ! "

It was near midnight when he approached the house
which he called his home. The inmates were asleep.
He tapped at the window, the panes of which were
framed in lead after the form of diamonds.

" Who be there ? " cried an angry voice.

" Your son ! your son ! " he replied. " George ! "

" Zon ! " repeated the voice ; " we have no zon. If
it be thee, go to Coomberland, lad. We have noughts
to do with thee. Thy old grandfather, Zquire Morris,
be now dead, and he ha'n't paid us so well for what we
have done as to have oughts to zay to thee again ; zo
good night, lad."

" Father ! mother ! " cried George, striking more
passionately on the window, " what do you mean? "

" Whoy, ha'n't I told thee ? " answered the voice
that had spoken to him before. " Thou art no zon of
ours. Thou moost go to Coomberland, man, to Zquire
Morris — to his zeketors,* 1 mean, for he is dead. They
may tell thee who thou art ; I can't. We ha'n't been
paid for what we have done for thee already. How-
ever, thou may'st coom in for t'night ; " and as the old

* Executors.

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 219

man who had professed to be his father spoke, he arose
and opened the door.

George entered the house, trembling with agitation.

"Father," he said — "for thou hast taught me to
call thee father ; and if thou art not, tell me who I
am."

" Ha'n't I told thee, lad ? " answered the old man.
" Go to Coomberland ; I know noughts about thee."

" To Cumberland ! " exclaimed George ; and he
thought of the young officer whom he had twice met,
who belonged to that county, and whose features were
the picture of his own. " Why should I go to Cum-
berland ? "

" Whoy, I can't tell thee whoy thou shouldst go,"
said the old man ; " but thou was zent me from there,
and there thou moost go back again, vor a bad bargain
thou hast been to me. Z quire Morris zent thee here,
and forgot to pay for thee ; and if thou lodgest here
to-night, thou won't forget to be a-moving, bag and
baggage, in the morning."

George was wearied, and glad to sleep beneath the
inhospitable roof of those whom he had considered as
his parents; but on the following morning he took leave
of them, after learning from them all that they knew
of his history.

But I must again leave him, and return to Colonel
Morris, and his son Charles.

They came to England together, and hastened to-
wards Morris House ; and there the long disowned son
learned that his father was dead, and that his mother
and his sisters knew not where his child was, or what
had become of him. But his kindred had ascertained
that he was now rich, and they repented of their un-
kindness towards him.

" Son," said his mother, " I know nothing of thy

220 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

child. Thy father was a strange man — he told little to
me. If any one can tell thee aught concerning thy
boy, it -will be John Bell, the old coachman ; but he
has not been in the family for six years, and where he
now is I cannot tell, though I believe he is still some-
where in the neighbourhood."

With sad and anxious hearts the colonel and his son
next visited the house of Mr. Sim — the dwelling-place
in which the infancy, the childhood, and what may be
called the youth, of the latter had been passed.

Tears gathered in the eyes of Charles as he ap-
proached the door. He knew that his grandsire and
his grandmother had acted wrongly towards him, in
never speaking to him of his father, or making known
to him that such a person lived ; but when he again
saw the house which had been the scene of a thousand
happy days, round which he had chased the gaudy
butterfly and the busy bee, or sought the nest of the
chaffinch, the yellowhammer, and the hedge-sparrow,
the feelings of boyhood rose too strong in his soul for
resentment ; and on meeting Mr. Sim (his grandfather)
as they approached the door of the house, Charles ran
towards him, and, stretching out his hand, cried,
"Father!"

The old man recognised him, and exclaimed, "Charles !
— Charles ! — child of my Maria !" and wept.

At the mention of her name, the colonel wept also.

"What gentleman is this with thee, Charles?" in-
quired Mr. Sim.

" It is my father /" was the reply.

Mr. Sim, who was now a grey-haired man, reeled
back a few paces — he raised his hands — he exclaimed,
" Can I be forgiven ? "

" Forgiven ! — ay, doubly forgiven !" answered Colo-
nel Morris, " as the father of lost, loved Maria, and as

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 221

having been more than a father to my boy, who is now
by my side. But know you nothing of my other son ?
My Maria bore twins."

"Nothing! nothing!" replied Mr. Sim ; " that ques-
tion has cost me many an anxious thought. It has
troubled also the conscience of my wife ; for it was her
fault that he also was not committed to my charge ;
and I would have inquired after your child long ago,
but that there was no good-will between your father
and me ; and I was a plain, retired citizen — he a magis-
trate, and a justice of the peace for the county, who
could do no wrong."

The colonel groaned.

They proceeded towards the villa together. Mrs. Sim
met her grandson with a flood of tears, and, in her joy
at meeting him, she forgot her dislike to his father and
her hatred to that father's family.

The colonel endeavoured to obtain information from
his father-in-law respecting his other son ; and he told
him all that his mother had said, of what she had spoken
regarding the coachman, and also of what Charles had
told him, in twice meeting one who so strongly resembled
himself.

"Colonel," said Mr. Sim, "I know the John Bell
your mother speaks of ; he now keeps an inn near
Langholm. To-morrow we shall go to his house, and
make inquiry concerning all that he knows."

"Be it so, father," said the colonel. And on the
following day they took a chaise and set out together —
the grandfather, the father, and the son.

They had to cross the Annan, and to pass the church-
yard where Maria slept. As they drew near to it, the
colonel desired the driver to stop.

" Follow me, Charles," he said ; and Mr. Sim ac-
companied them.

222 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

They entered the churchyard ; the colonel led them
to the humble grave-stone that he had raised to the
memory of his Maria. He sat down upon it, he
pressed his lips to it and wept.

" Charles," said he, " look on your mother's grave.
Here, on this stone, day after day, I was wont to sit
with you and your brother upon my knee, fondling
you, breathing your mother's name in your ears ; and
though neither of you knew what I said, you smiled as
I wept and spoke. Oh Charles ! though you then
iilled my whole heart (and you do now), I could only
distinguish you from each other by the ribbons on your
arms. Would to Heaven that I may discover my
child ! and, whatever be his condition, I shall forgive
my father for the injustice he has done me and mine —
I shall be happy. And, oh ! should we indeed find
your brother — should he prove to be the youth whom
you have twice met — I shall say that Heaven has re-
membered me when I forgot myself ! But come
hither, Charles — come, kneel upon your mother's grave
— kiss the sod where she lies, and angels will write it
in their books, and show it to your mother, where she
is happy. Come, my boy."

Charles knelt on his mother's grave. He had arisen,
and they were about to depart ; for his grandfather had
accompanied them, and was a silent but tearful spectator
of the scene.

They were leaving the churchyard, joined in the
arms of each other, when two strangers entered it. The
one was John Bell, the other George Prescot.

" Colonel ! Colonel ! there is John Bell that you
spoke of," exclaimed Mr. Sim.

" Father ! father !" at the same instant cried his son,

" he is here — it is him ! — my brother — or he whom

I have told you of, who so strangely resembles me ! "

THE TWIN BROTHERS. 223

Charles rushed forward — it was George Prescot —
and he took the proffered hand of the other, and said,
" Sir, I rejoice to meet thee again — it seems I belong
to Cumberland as well as thou dost ; and this gentle-
man (pointing to John Bell), who seems to know more
of me than I do myself, has promised to show me here
my mother's grave !"

" And where is that grave ? " cried the colonel
earnestly, who had been an interested spectator of all
that passed.

" Even where the wife of jour youth is buried, your
honour," answered John Bell ; " you have with you
one son — behold his twin brother ! "

The colonel pressed his new-found son to his breast.
With his children he sat down on the stone over Maria's
grave, and they wept together.

Our tale is told. Colonel Morris and his sons had
met. His elder brothers died, and he became the heir
of his father's property. Mr. Sim also stated that, in
his will, he should divide his substance equally between
the brothers ; and he did so. I have but another word
to add. George forgot not Caroline Paling, who had
assisted him when his heart was full and his pocket
empty, and within twelve months he again visited Dart-
mouth ; but when he returned from it, Caroline ac-
companied him as his wife ; and when he introduced
her to his father and his brother — " Behold," said he,
" what a halfpenny, delicately tendered, may produce.'

224 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER.

It is a common thing for writers of a certain class,
when they want to produce the feeling of wonder in
their readers, to introduce some frantic action, and
then to account for it by letting out the secret that the
actor was mad. The trick is not so necessary as it
seems, for the strength of human passions is a poten-
tiality only limited by experience ; and so it is that
a sane person may under certain stimulants do the
maddest thing in the world. The passion itself is
always true — it is only the motive that may be false ;
and therefore it is that in narrating for your amuse-
ment, perhaps I may add instruction, the following-
singular story — traces of the main parts of which I
got in the old books of a former procurator-fiscal — I
assume that there was no more insanity in the principal
actor, Euphemia, or, as she was called, Effie Carr, when
she brought herself within the arms of the law, than
there is in you, when now you are reading the story of
her strange life. She was the only daughter of John
Carr, a grain merchant, who lived in Bristo Street, It
would be easy to ascribe to her all the ordinary and
extraordinary charms that are thought so necessary to
embellish heroines ; but as we are not told what these
were in her case, we must be contented with the assur-
ance that nature had been kind enough to her to give
her power over the hearts of men. We shall be nearer
our purpose when we state, what is necessary to explain
a peculiar part of our story, that her father, in conse-

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 225

quence of his own insufficient education, had got her
trained to help him in keeping his accounts with the
farmers, and in writing up his books ; nay, she enjoyed
the privilege of writing his drafts upon the Bank of
Scotland, which the father contrived to sign, though in
his own illiterate way, and with a peculiarity which it
would not have been easy to imitate.

But our gentle clerk did not consider these duties
imposed upon her by her father as excluding her either
from gratifying her love of domestic habits, by assisting
her mother in what at that time was denominated
hussyskep or housekeeping, or from a certain other
gratification, which might without a hint from us be
anticipated — no other than the luxury of falling head
and ears, and heart too we fancy, in love with a certain
dashing young student of the name of Kobert Stor-
month, then attending the University, more for the sake
of polish than of mere study, for he was the son of the
proprietor of Kelton, and required to follow no pro-
fession. How Effie got entangled with this youth we
have no means of knowing, so we must be contented
with the Scotch proverb —

"Tell me where the flea may bite,
And I will tell where love may light."

The probability is, that from the difference of their
stations and the retiring nature of our gentle clerk, we
shall be safe in assuming that he had, as the saying
goes, been smitten by her charms in some of those
street encounters, where there is more of love's work
done than in " black-footed" tea coteries expressly held
for the accommodation of Cupid. And that the smit-
ing was a genuine feeling we are not left to doubt ;
for in addition to the reasons we shall afterwards have
too good occasion to know, he treated Effie, not as those
VOL. XXIII. P

226 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

■wild students who are great men's sons do <( the light
o' loves" they meet in their escapades, for he enti-usted
his secrets to her, he took such small counsel from her
poor head as a " learned clerk" might be supposed able
t.o give ; nay, he told her of his mother, and how one
day he hoped to be able to introduce her at Kelton as
his wife. All which Erne repaid with the devotedness
of that most wonderful affection called the first or virgin
love — the purest, the deepest, the most thorough-going
of all the emotions of the human heart. But as yet he
had not conceded to her wish that he should consent
to their love being made known to Erne's father and
mother. Love is only a leveller to itself and its object :
the high-born youth, inured to refined manners, shrank
from a family intercourse, which put him too much in
mind of the revolt he had made against the presumed
wishes and intentions of his proud parents. Wherein,
after all, he was only true to the instincts of that insti-
tution, apparently so inhumane as well as unchristian
in its exclusiveness, called aristocracy, and yet with
the excuse that its roots are pretty deeply set in human
nature.

But, proud as he was, Bob Stormonth, the younger of
Kelton, was amenable to the obligations of a necessity,
forged by his own imprudent hands. He had, by a
fast mode of living, got into debt — a condition from
which his father, a stern man, had relieved him twice
before, but with a threat on the last occasion, that if
he persevered in his prodigality, he would withdraw
from him his yearly allowance, and throw him upon
his own resources. The threat proved ineffectual, and
this young heir of entail, with all his pride, was once
in the grasp of low-born creditors ; nay, things in this
evil direction had gone so far that writs were out
against him, and one in the form of a caption was al-

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 227

ready in the hands of a messenger-at-arms. That the
debts were comparatively small in amount, was no
amelioration where the purse was all but empty ; and
he had exhausted the limited exchequers of his chums,
which with college youths was, and is, not difficult to
do. So the gay Bob was driven to his last shift, and
that, as is generally the case, was a mean one ; for
necessity, as the mother of inventions, does not think
it proper to limit her births to genteel or noble devices
to please her proud consort. He even had recourse to
poor EfEe to help him ; and, however ridiculous this
may seem, there were reasons that made the applica-
tion appear not so desperate as some of his other
schemes. It was only the caption that as yet quick-
ened his fears ; and as the sum for which the writ was
issued was only twenty pounds, it was not, after all, so
much beyond the power of a clerk.

It was during one of their ordinary walks in the
Meadows that the pressing necessity was opened by
Stormonth to the vexed and terrified girl. He told her
that, but for the small help he required in the mean-
time, he would be ruined. The wrath of his father
would be excited once more, and probably to the ex-
clusion of all reconciliation ; and he himself compelled
to flee, but whither he knew not. He had his plan
prepared, and proposed to EfEe, who had no means of
her own, to take a loan of the sum out of her father's
cash-box — words very properly chosen according to
the euphemistic policy of the devil ; but Effie's genuine
spirit was roused and alarmed.

"Dreadful!" she whispered, as if afraid that the
night wind would carry her words to honest ears.
"- Besides," she continued, " my father, who is a hard
man, keeps his desk lockit."

Words which took Stormonth aback, for even he

228 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

saw there was here a necessity as strong as his own ;
yet the power of invention went to work again.

" Listen, Effie,'' said he. " If you cannot help me,
it is not likely we shall meet again. I am desperate,
and will go into the army."

The ear of Effie was chained to a force which was
direct upon the heart. She trembled and looked wist-
fully into his face, even as if by that look she could
extract from him some other device less fearful, by
which she might have the power of retaining him for
so short a period as a day.

" You draw out your father's drafts on the bank,
Effie," he continued. " Write one out for me, and I
will put your father's name to it. You can draw the
money. I will be saved from ruin ; and your father
will never know."

A proposal which again brought a shudder over the
girl.

" Is it Robert Stormonth who asks me to do this
thing?" she whispered again.

" No," said he ; " for I am not myself. Yesterday,
and before the messenger was after me, I would have
shrunk from the suggestion. I am not myself, I say,
Effie. Ay or no ; keep me or lose me — that is the
alternative."

" Oh, I cannot," was the language of her innocence,
and for which he was prepared ; for the stimulant was
again applied in the most powerful of all forms — the
word farewell was sounded in her ear.

" Stop, Robert ! let me think." But there was no
thought, only the heart beating wildly. " I will do
it ; and may the penalty be mine, and mine only."

So it was : " even virtue's self turns vice when mis-
applied." What her mind shrank from was embraced
by the heart as a kind of sacred duty of a love making

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 229

a sacrifice for the object of its first worship. It was
arranged ; and as the firmness of a purpose is often in
proportion to the prior disinclination, so Effie's deter-
mination to save her lover from ruin was forthwith
put in execution ; nay, there was even a touch of the
heroine in her, so wonderfully does the heart, acting
under its primary instincts, sanctify the device which
favours its affection. That same evening Effie Carr
wrote out the draft for twenty pounds on the Bank of
Scotland, gave it to Stormonth, who, from a signature
of the father's, also furnished by her, perpetrated the
forgery — a crime at that time punishable by death.
The draft so signed was returned to Effie. Next fore-
noon she went to the bank, as she had often done for
her father before ; and the document being in her
handwriting, as prior ones of the same kind had also
been, no scrutinizing eye was turned to the signature.
The money was handed over, but not counted by the
recipient, as before had been her careful habit — a cir-
cumstance with its effect to follow in due time. Mean-
Avhile Stormonth was at a place of appointment out of
the reach of the executor of the law, and was soon found
out by Effie, who gave him the money with trembling
hands. For this surely a kiss was due. We do not
know ; but she returned with the satisfaction, overcom-
ing all the impulses of fear and remorse, that she had
saved the object of her first and only love from ruin
and flight.

But even then the reaction was on the spring ; the
rebound was to be fearful and fatal. The teller at the
bank had been struck with Effie's manner ; and the
non-counting of the notes had roused a suspicion, which
fought its way even against the improbability of a mere
girl perpetrating a crime from which females are gene-
rally free. He examined the draft, and soon saw that

230 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

the signature was a bad imitation. Thereupon a mes-
senger was despatched to Bristo Street for inquiry.
John Carr, taken by surprise, declared that the draft,
though written by his daughter, was forged — the
forgery being in his own mind attributed to George
Lindsay, his young salesman. Enough this for the
bank, who had in the first place only to do with the
utterer, against whom their evidence as yet only lay.
Within a few hours afterwards Effie Carr was in the
Tolbooth, charged with the crime of forging a cheque
on her father's account-current.

The news soon spread over Edinburgh — at that time
only an overgrown village, in so far as regarded local
facilities for the spread of wonders. It had begun
there, where the mother was in recurring faints, the
father in distraction and not less mystery, George
Lindsay in terror and pity. And here comes in the
next strange turn of our story. Lindsay all of a sud-
den declared he was the person who imitated the name
— a device of the yearning heart to save the girl of his
affection from the gallows, and clutched at by the
mother and father as a means of their daughter's re-
demption. One of those thinly-sown beings Avho are
cold-blooded by nature, who take on love slowly but
surely, and seem fitted to be martyrs, Lindsay defied
all consequences, so that it might be that Effie Carr
should escape an ignominious death. Nor did he take
time for further deliberation : in less than half an hour
he was in the procurator-fiscal's office — the willing self-
criminator ; the man who did the deed ; the man who
was ready to die for his young mistress and his love.
His story, too, was as ready as it Avas truth-seeming.
He declared that he had got Effie to write out the
draft as if commissioned by John Carr ; that he took
it away, and with his own hands added the name ; that

THE STORY OP THE GIRL FORGER, 231

he had returned the check to Effie to go with it to the
bank, and had received the money from her on her re-
turn. The consequence was his wish, and it was inevi-
table. That same day George Lindsay was lodged also
in the Tolbooth, satisfied that he had made a sacrifice
of his life for one whom he had loved for years, and
who yet had never shown him even a symptom of hope
that his love would be returned.

All which proceedings soon came on the wings of
rumour to the cars of Robert Stormonth, who was not
formed to be a martyr even for a love which was to
him as true as his nature would permit. He saw his
danger, because he did not see the character of a faith-
ful girl who would die rather than compromise her
lover. He fled — aided probably by that very money
he had wrung out of the hands of the devoted girl ;
nor was his disappearance connected with the tragic
transaction ; for, as we have said, the connection be-
tween him and Effie had been kept a secret, and his
flight could be sufficiently accounted for by his debt.

Meanwhile the precognitions or examination of the
parties went on, and with a result as strange as it was
puzzling to the officials. Effie was firm to her declara-
tion, that she not only wrote the body of the cheque,
but attached to it the name of her father, and had
appropriated the money in a way which she declined
to state. On the other hand, Lindsay was equally
staunch to his statement made to the procurator-fiscal,
that he had got Effie to write the draft, had forged
the name to it, and got the money from her. The
authorities very soon saw that they had got more than
the law bargained for or wanted ; nor was the difficulty
likely soon to be solved. The two parties could not
both be guilty, according to the evidence, nor could
one of them be guilty to the exclusion of the other ;

232 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

neither, when the balance was cast, was there much
difference in the weight of the scales, because, while it
was in one view more likely that Lindsay signed the
false name, it was beyond doubt that Effie wrote the
body of the document, and she had, moreover, presented
it. But was it for the honour of the law that people
should be handed on a likelihood? It was a new case
without new heads to decide it, and it made no differ-
ence that the body of the people, who soon became
inflamed on the subject, took the part of the girl and
declared against the man. It was easy to be seen that
the tracing of the money would go far to solve the
mystery ; and accordingly there was a strict search
made in Lindsay's lodgings, as well as in Effie's private
repositories at home. We need not say with what
effect, where the money was over the Border and
away. It was thus in all views more a case for Astrsea
than common heads ; but then she had gone to heaven.
The Lord Advocate soon saw that the law was likely to
be caught in its own meshes. The first glimpse was got
of the danger of hanging so versatile, so inconsistent, so
unsearchable a creature as a human being on a mere
confession of guilt. That that had been the law of
Scotland in all time, nay, that it had been the law of
the world from the beginning, there was no doubt. Who
could know the murderer or the forger better than the
murderer or the forger himself ? and would any one
throw away his life on a false plea ? The reasoning does
not exhaust the deep subject ; there remains the pre-
sumption that the criminal will, in ninety-nine cases out
of a hundred, deny, and deny boldly. But our case
threw a new light on the old law, and the Lord Advo-
cate was slow to indict where he saw not only reasons
for failure, but also rising difficulties which might strike
at the respect upon which the law was founded.

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 233

The affair hung loose for a time, and Lindsay's
friends, anxious to save him, got him induced to run
his letters — the effect of which is to give the prose-,
cutor a period wherein to try the culprit, on failure of
which the person charged is free. The same was done
by Effie's father ; but quickened as the Lord Advocate
was, the difficulty still met him like a ghost that would
not be laid, that it' he put Effie at the bar, Lindsay
would appear in the witness-box ; and if he put Lind-
say on his trial, Effie would swear he was innocent ;
and as for two people forging the same name, the thing
had never been heard of. And so it came to pass that
the authorities at last, feeling they were in a cleft stick,
where if they relieved one hand the other would be
caught, were inclined to liberate both panels. But the
bank was at that time preyed upon by forgeries, and
were determined to make an example now when they
had a culprit, or perhaps two. The consequence was,
that the authorities were forced to give way, vindicat-
ing their right of choice as to the party they should
arraign. That party was Effie Carr, and the choice
justified itself by two considerations : that she, by
writing and uttering the cheque, was so far committed
by evidence exterior to her self-inculpation ; and
secondly, that Lindsay might break down in the wit-
ness-box under a searching examination. Effie was
therefore indicted and placed at the bar. She pleaded
guilty, but the prosecutor, notwithstanding, led evi-
dence, and at length Lindsay appeared as a witness
for the defence. The people who crowded the court
had been aware from report of the condition in which
Lindsay stood ; but the deep silence which reigned
throughout the hall when he was called to answer,
evinced the doubt whether he would stand true to his
self-impeachment. The doubt was soon solved. With

234 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

a face on which no trace of fear could be perceived,
with a voice in which there was no quaver, he swore
that it was he who signed the draft and sent Effie for
the money. The oscillation of sympathy, which had
for a time been suspended, came round again to the
thin pale girl, who sat there looking -wistfully and
wonderingly into the face of the witness, and the mur-
muring approbation that broke out, in spite of the
shrill "silence" of the crier, expressed at once admira-
tion of the man — criminal as he swore himself to be —
and pity for the accused. What could the issue be ?
Effie was acquitted, and Lindsay sent back to gaol.
Was he not to be tried ? The officials felt that the
game was dangerous. If Lindsay had stood firm in
the box, had not Effie sat firm at the bar, with the
very gallows in her eye, and would not she, in her
turn, be as firm in the box ? All which was too
evident, and the consequence in the end came to be,
that Lindsay was in the course of a few days set at
liberty.

And now there occurred proceedings not less strange
in the house of John Carr. Lindsay was turned off,
because, though he had made a sacrifice of himself to
save the life of Effie, the sacrifice was only that due to
the justice he had offended. The dismissal was against
the protestations of Effie, who alone knew he was inno-
cent ; and she had to bear the further grief of learn-
ing that Stormonth had left the city on the very day
whereon she was apprehended — a discovery this too
much for a frame always weak, and latterly so wasted
by her confinement in prison, and the anguish of mind
consequent upon her strange position. And so it came
to pass in a few more days that she took to her bed, a
wan, wasted, heart-broken creature ; but stung as she
had been by the conduct of the man she had offered

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 235

to die to save, she felt even more the sting of ingrati-
tude in herself for not divulging to her mother as
much of her secret as would have saved Lindsay from
dismissal, for she was now more and more satisfied that
it was the strength of his love for her that had driven
him to his great and perilous sacrifice. Nor could her
mother, as she bent over her daughter, understand
why her liberation should have been followed by so
much sorrow ; nay, loving her as she did, she even
reproached her as being ungrateful to God.

" Mother," said the girl, " I have a secret that lies
like a stane upon my heart. George Lindsay had nae
mair to do with that forgery than you."

" And who had to do with it then, Efiie, dear?"

" Myself," continued the daughter ; " I filled up the
cheque at the bidding o' Robert Stormonth, whom I
had lang loved. It was he wha put my faither's name
to it. It was to him I gave the money, to relieve him
from debt, and he has fled."

" Effie, Effie," cried the mother ; "and Ave have done
this thing to George Lindsay — ta'en from him his basket
and his store, yea, the bread o' his mouth, in recompense
for trying to save your life by offering his ain !"

"Yes, mother,'' added Effie; "but we must make
that wrang richt."

" And mair, lass," rejoined the mother, as she rose
abruptly and nervously, and hurried to her husband,
to whom she told the strange intelligence. Then John
Carr was a just man as well as a loving parent ; and
while he forgave his unfortunate daughter, he went
and brought back George Lindsay to his old place that
very night ; nor did he or Mrs. Carr know the joy
they had poured into the heart of the young man, for
the reason that they did not know the love he bore to
their daughter. But if this was a satisfaction to Effie,

236 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

in so far as it relieved her heart of a burden, it brought
to her a burden of another kind. The mother soon
saw how matters stood with the heart of Lindsay, and
she, moreover, saw that her or her daughter's gratitude
could not be complete so long as he was denied the
boon of being allowed to marry the girl he had saved
from the gallows, and she waited her opportunity of
breaking the delicate subject to Effie. It was not time
yet, when Effie was an invalid, and even so far wasted
and worn as to cause apprehensions of her ultimate
fate, even death ; nor perhaps would that time ever
come when she could bear to hear the appeal without
pain ; for though Stormonth had ruined her character
and her peace of mind — nay, had left her in circum-
stances almost unprecedented for treachery, baseness,
and cruelty — he retained still the niche where the
offerings of a first love had been made : his image had
been indeed burned into the virgin heart, and no other
form of man's face, though representing the possessor
of beauty, wealth, and worldly honours, would ever
take away that treasured symbol. It haunted her even
as a shadow of herself, which, disappearing at sundown,
comes again at the rising of the noon ; nay, she would
have been contented to make other sacrifices equally
great as that which she had made ; nor wild moors,
nor streams, nor rugged hills, would have stopped her
in an effort to look upon him once more, and replace
that inevitable image by the real vision, which had
first taken captive her young heart.

But time passed, bringing the usual ameliorations to
the miserable. Effie got so far better in health that
she became able to resume, in a languid way, her
former duties, with the exception of those of " the
gentle clerk" — for of these she had had enough; even
the very look of a bank-draft brought a shudder over

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 237

her ; nor would she have entered the Bank of Scotland
iigain, even with a good cheque for a thousand pounds,
to have been all her own. Meanwhile the patient
George had plied a suit which he could only express
by his eyes or the attentions of one who worships, but
he never alluded, even in their conversations, to the
old sacrifice. The mother too, and not less the father,
saw the advantages that might result as well to the
health of her mind as that of her body. They had
waited — a vain waiting — for the wearing out of the
traces of the obdurate image ; and when they thought
they might take placidity as the sign of what they
waited for, they first hinted, and then expressed in
plain terms, the wishes of their hearts. For a time all
their efforts were fruitless ; but John Carr getting old
and weak, wished to be succeeded in his business by
George ; and the wife, when she became a widow,
would require to be maintained — reasons which had
more weight with Effie than any others, excepting
always the act of George's self-immolation at the shrine
in which his fancy had placed her. The importunities
at length wore out her resistings, without effacing the
lines of the old and still endeared image, and she gave
a cold, we may say reluctant, consent. The bride's
"ay" was a sigh, the rapture a tear of sadness. But
George was pleased even with this : Effie, the long-
cherished Effie, was at length his.

In her new situation, Effie Carr — now Mrs. Lindsay
— performed all the duties of a good and faithful wife ;
by an effort of the will no doubt, though in another
sense only a sad obedience to necessity, of which we
are all, as the creatures of motives, the very slaves.
But the old image resisted the appeals of her reason,
as well as the blandishments of a husband's love. She
was only true, faithful, and kind, till the birth of a

238 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

child lent its reconciling power to the efforts of duty.
Some time afterwards John Carr died — an event which
carried in its train the subsequent death of his wife.
There was left to the son-in-law a dwindling business,
and a very small sum of money, for the father had met
with misfortunes in his declining years, which impaired
health prevented him from resisting. Time wore on,
and showed that the power of the martyr-spirit is not
always that of the champion of worldly success, for it
Avas now but a struggle between George Lindsay, with
a stained name, and the stern demon of misfortune.
Pie was at length overtaken by poverty, which, as
affecting Effie, preyed so relentlessly upon his spirits,
that within two years he followed John Carr to the
grave. Effie was now left with two children to the
work of her fingers, a poor weapon wherewith to beat
off the wolf of want, and even this was curtailed by the
effects of the old crime, which the public still kept in
green remembrance.

Throughout, our story has been the sensationalism
of angry fate, and even less likely to be believed than
the work of fiction. Nor was the vulture face of the
Nemesis yet smoothed down. The grief of her bereave-
ment had only partially diverted Effie's mind from the
recollections of him who had ruined her, and yet could
not be hated by her, nay, could not be but loved by
her. The sensitized nerve, which had received the old
image, gave it out fresh again to the reviving power of
memory, and this was only a continuation of what had
been a corroding custom of years and years. But, as
the saying goes, it is a long road that does not offer by
its side the spreading bough of shade to the way-worn
traveller. One day, when Effie was engaged with her
work, of which she was as weary as of the dreaming
which accompanied it, there appeared before her, with-

THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 239

out premonition or foreshadowing sign, Robert Stor-
month of Kelton, dressed as a country gentleman,
booted, and with a whip in his hand.

"AreyouEffie Carr?"

The question was useless to one who was already
lying back in her chair in a state of unconsciousness,
from which she recovered only to open her eyes and
avert them, and shut them and open them again, like
the victim of epilepsy.

"And do you fear me?" said the excited man, as he
took her in his strong arms and stared wildly into her
face ; " I have more reason to fear you, whom I ruined,"
he continued. " Ay, brought within the verge of the
gallows. I know it all, Effie. Open your eyes, dear
soul, and smile once more upon me. Nay, I have
known it for years, during which remorse has scourged
me through the world. Look up, dear Effie, while I
tell you I could bear the agony no longer; and now
opportunity favours the wretched penitent, for my
father is dead, and I am not only my own master,
but master of Kelton, of which you once heard me
speak. Will you not look up yet, dear Effie ? I
come to make amends to you, not by wealth merely,
but to offer you again that love I once bore to you,
and still bear. Another such look, dear — it is oil to
my parched spirit. You are to consent to be my wife;
the very smallest boon I dare offer."

During which strange rambling speech Effie was
partly insensible ; yet she heard enough to afford her
clouded mind a glimpse of her condition, and of the
meaning of what was said to her. For a time she kept
staring into his face as if she had doubts of his real
personality ; nor could she find words to express even
those more collected thoughts that began to gather into
form.

2dO TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" Robert Stormonth," at length she said, calmly,
" and have you suffered too ? Oh, this is more won-
derful to me than a' the rest o' these wonderful things."

" As no man ever suffered, dear Effie," he answered.
" I Avas on the eve of coming to you, when a friend I
retained here wrote me to London of your marriage
with the man who saved you from the fate into which I
precipitated you. How I envied that man who offered
to die for you ! He seemed to take from me my only
means of reparation ; nay, my only chance of happi-
ness. But he is dead. Heaven give peace to so noble
a spirit ! And now you are mine. It is mercy I come
to seek in the first instance ; the love — if that, after
all that is past, is indeed possible — I will take my
chance of that."

" Robert," cried the now weeping woman, " if that
love had been aince less, what misery 1 would have
been spared ! Ay, and my father, and mother, and
poor George Lindsay, a' helped awa to the grave by
my crime, for it stuck to us to the end." And she
buried her head in his bosom, sobbing piteously.

" My crime, dear Effie, not yours," said he. " It
was you who saved my life ; and if Heaven has a
kindlier part than another for those who err by the
fault of others, it will be reserved for one who made
a sacrifice of love. But we have, I hope, something
to enjoy before you go there, and as yet I have not
got your forgiveness."

"It is yours — it is yours, Robert," was the sobbing
answer. " Ay, and with it a' the love I ever had for
you."

" Enough for this time, dear Effie," said he. " My
horse waits for me. Expect me to-morrow at this
hour with a better-arranged purpose." And folding
her in hid arms, and kissing her fervently, even as his

TIIE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER. 241

remorse were thereby assuaged as well as his love
gratified, he departed, leaving Effie to thoughts we
should be sorry to think ourselves capable of putting
into words. Nor need we say more than that Stor-
month kept his word. Effie Carr was in a few days
Mrs. Stormonth, and in not many more the presiding
female power in the fine residence of Kelton.

VOL. XXIII. Q

242 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

THE BURGHER'S TALES.

THE TWO RED SLIPPERS.

The taking clown of the old house of four or five fiats
called Gowanlock's Land, in that part of the High Street
which used to be called the Luckenbooths, has given
rise to various stories connected with the building.
Out of these I have selected a very strange legend
— so strange indeed, that, if not true, it must have been
the production, quod est in arte summa, of a capital in-
ventor ; nor need I say that it is of much importance
to talk of the authenticity of these things, for the most
authentic are embellished by invention — and it is cer-
tainly the best embellished that live the longest ; for
all which we have very good reasons in human nature.
Gowanlock's Land, it would seem, merely occupied
the site of an older house, which belonged, at the. time
of Prince Charlie's occupation of the city, to an old
town councillor of the name of Yellowlees. This older
house was also one of many stories — an old form in
Edinburgh, supposed to have been adopted from the
French ; but it had, which Avas not uncommon, . an
entry from the street running under an arch, and lead-
ing to the back of the premises to the lower part of the
tenement, that part occupied by the councillor. There
was a lower fiat, and one above, which thus constituted
an entire house ; and which, moreover, rejoiced in the
privilege of having an extensive garden, running down
as far as the sheet of water called the North Loch, that
secret " domestic witness," as the ancients used to say,

THE TWO EED SLIPPERS. 24

o

of many of the dark crimes of the old city. These
gardens were the pride of the rich burghers of the
time, decorated by Dutch-clipped hollies and trim box-
wood walks ; and in our special instance of Councillor
Yellowlees' retreat, there was, in addition, a summer-
house or rustic bower standing at the bottom, that is,
towards the north, and close upon the loch. I may
mention also that, in consequence of the clamp, this
little bower was strewed with rushes for the very
special comfort of Miss Annie Yellowlees, the only and
much petted child of the good councillor.

All which you must take as introductory to the
important fact that the said Miss Annie, who, as a
matter of course, was " very bonnie," as well as passing-
rich to be, had been, somewhat previous to the prince's
entry to the town, pledged to be married to no less
considerable a personage than Maister John Menelaws,
a son of him of the very same name who dealt in pelts
in a shop of the Canongate, and a student of medicine
in the Edinburgh University ; but as the councillor
had in his secret soul hankerings after the prince, and
the said student, John, was a red-hot royalist, the mar-
riage was suspended, all to the inexpressible grief of
our " bonnie Annie," whe would not have given her
John for all the Charlies and Geordies to be found
from Berwick to Lerwick. On the other hand, while
Annie was depressed, and forced to seek relief in soli-
tary musings in her bower by the loch, it is just as
true that "it is an ill wind that blaws naebody gude ;"
nay, the truth of the saying was verified in Richard
Templeton, a fellow-student of Menelaws, and a rival,
too, in the affections of Annie ; wdio, being a Charlieite
as well as an Annieite, rejoiced that his companion was
in the meantime foiled and disappointed.

Meanwhile, and, I may say, while the domestic affairs

244 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

of the councillor's house were still in this unfortunate
position, the prince's bubble burst in the way which
history tells us of, and thereupon out came proscrip-
tions of terrible import, and, as fate would have it,
young Templeton's name was in the bloody register ;
the more by reason that he had been as noisy as
Edinburgh students generally are in the proclamation
of his partisanship. He must fly or secrete himself, or
perhaps lose a head in which there was concealed a
considerable amount of Scotch cunning. He at once
thought of the councillor's house, with that secluded
back garden and summer-house, all so convenient for
secrecy, and the envied Annie there, too, whom he
might by soft wooings detach from the hated Mene-
laws, and make his own through the medium of the pity
that is akin to love. And so, to be sure, he straight-
way, under the shade of night, repaired to the house
of the councillor, who, being a tender-hearted man,
could not see a sympathiser with the glorious cause in
danger of losing his head. Templeton was received —
a report set abroad that he had gone to France — and
all proper measures were taken within the house to
prevent any domestic from letting out the secret.

In this scheme, Annie, we need hardly say, was a
favouring party ; not that she had any love for the
young man, for her heart was still true to Menelaws
(who, however, for safety's sake, was now excluded
from the house), but that, with a filial obedience to a
beloved father, she felt, with a woman's heart, sym-
pathy for one who was in distress, and a martyr to
the cause which her father loved. Need we wonder at
an issue which may already be looming on the vision
of those who know anything of human nature ? The
two young folks were thrown together. They were
seldom out of each other's company. Suffering is

THE TWO RED SLIPPERS. 245

love's opportunity, and Templeton bad to plead for
him not only his misfortune, but a tongue rendered
subtle and winning by love's action in the heart. As
the days passed, Annie saw some new qualities in the
martyr prisoner which she had not seen before ; nay,
the pretty little domestic attentions had the usual
reflex effect upon the heart which administered them,
and all that the recurring image of Menelaws could
do to fight against these rising predilections was so far
unavailing, that that very image waxed dimmer and
dimmer, while the present object was always working
through the magic of sensation. Yes, Annie Yellowlees
grew day by day fonder of her protege, until at length
she got, as the saying goes, " over head and ears." Nay,
was she not, in the long nights, busy working a pair
of red slippers for the object of her new affections, and
were not these so very suitable to one who, like Her-
cules, was reduced almost to the distaff, and who, un-
like that woman-tamed hero, did not need them to
be applied anywhere but to the feet ?

In the midst of all this secluded domesticity, there
was all that comfort which is said to come from stolen
waters. Then was there not the prospect of the pro-
scription being taken off, and the two would be made
happy ? Even in the meantime they made small esca-
pades into free space. When the moon was just so far
up as not to be a tell-tale, Templeton would, either with
or without Annie, step out into the garden with these
very red slippers on his feet. That bower by the loch,
too, was favourable to the fondlings of a secret love; nor
was it sometimes less to the prisoner a refuge from the
eeriness which comes of ennui — if it is not the same
thing — under the pressure of which strange feeling he
would creep out at times when Annie could not be with
him ; nay, sometimes when the family had gone to bed.

2±6 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And now we come to a very wonderful turn in our
strange story. One morning Templeton did not make
his appearance in the breakfast parlour, but of course
he would when he got up and got his red slippers on.
Yet he was so punctual ; and Annie, who knew that her
father had to go to the council chamber, would see
what was the cause of the young man's delay. She
went to his bedroom door. It was open ; but where Avas
Templeton ?. He was not there. He could not be out
in the city ; he could not be even in the garden with
the full light of a bright morning sun shining on it.
He was not in the house ; he was not in the garden, as
they could see . from the windows. He was nowhere
to be found ; and, what added to the wonder, he had
taken with him his red slippers, wherever he had
gone. The inmates were in wonderment and conster-
nation, and, conduplicated evil ! they could make no
inquiry for one who lay under the ban of a bloody
proscription.

But wonders, as we all know, generally ensconce
themselves in some snug theory, and die by a kind of
pleasant euthanasia ; and so it was with this wonder
of ours. The councillor came, as the days passed, to
the conclusion that Templeton, wearied out by his
long confinement, had become desperate, and had gone
abroad. As good a theory as could be got, seeing that
lie had not trusted himself in going near his friends ;
and Annie, Avhose grief was sharp and poignant, came
also to settle down with a belief which still promised
her her lover, though perhaps at a long date. But,
somehow or another, Annie could not explain why,
even with all the fondness he had to the work of her
hands, he should have elected to expose himself to
damp feet by making the love-token slippers do the duty
of the pair of good shoes he had left in the bedroom.

THE TWO RED SLIPPERS. 247

Even this latter wonder wore away; and months
and months passed on the revolving wheel which casts
months, not less than moments, into that gulf we call
eternity. The rigour of the Government prosecutions
was relaxed, and timid sympathisers began to show
their heads out of doors, but Richard Templeton never
returned to claim either immunity or the woman of his
affections. Nor within all this time did John Mene-
laws enter the house of the councillor ; so that Annie's
days were renounced to sadness, and her nights to
reveries. But at last comes the eventful " one day "
of the greatest of all story-tellers, Time, whereon happen
his startling discoveries. Verily one day Annie had
wandered disconsolately into the garden, and seated
herself on the wooden form in the summer-house,
where in the moonlight she had often nestled in the
arms of her proscribed lover, who was now gone, it
might be, for ever. Objective thought cast her into a
reverie, and the reverie brought up again the images
of these objects, till her heart beat with an affection
renewed through a dream. At length she started up,
and, wishing to hurry from a place which seemed filled
with images at once lovable and terrible, she felt her
foot caught by an impediment whereby she stumbled.
On looking down she observed some object of a reddish-
brown colour ; and becoming alarmed lest it might be
one of the toads with which the place was sometimes
invaded, she started back. Yet curiosity forced her to a
closer inspection. She applied her hand to the object,
and brought away one of those very slippers which she
had made for Templeton. All very strange ; but what
maybe conceived to have been her feelings when she saw,
sticking up from beneath the rushes, the white skele-
ton of a foot which had filled that very slipper ! A ter-
rible suspicion shot through her mind. She flew to her

248 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

father, and, hurrying him to the spot, pointed out to
him the grim object, and showed him the slipper which
had covered it. Mr. Yellowlees was a shrewd man,
and soon saw that, the foot being there, the rest of the
body was not far away. He saw, too, that his safety
might be compromised either as having been concerned
in a murder or the harbourage of a rebel ; and so,
making caution the better part of his policy, he re-
paired to a sympathiser, and having told him the story,
claimed his assistance. Nor was this refused. That
same night, by the light of a lamp, they exhumed the
body of Templeton, much reduced, but enveloped with
his clothes ; only they observed that the other red
slipper was wanting. On examining the body, they
could trace the evidence of a sword-stab through the
heart. All this they kept to themselves ; and that
same night they contrived to get the sexton of the
Canongate to inter the body as that of a rebel who had
been killed, and left where it was found.

This wonder also passed away, and, as time sped,
old things began to get again into their natural order.
Menelaws began to come again about the house ; and
as an old love, when the impediments are removed,
is soon rekindled again, he and Annie became even all
that which they had once been to each other. The
old vows were repeated without the slightest reference
being made by either party to the cause which had
interfered to prevent them from having been fulfilled.
It was not for Annie to proffer a reason, and it did not
seem to be the wish of Menelaws to ask one. In a
short time afterwards they were married.

The new-married couple, apparently happy in the
enjoyment of an affection which had continued so long,
and had survived the crossing of a new love, at least
on one side, removed to a separate house farther up in

TIIE TWO RED SLTrPEES. 249

the Lawnmarket. Menelaws had previously graduated
as a doctor, and he commenced to practise as such, not
without an amount of success. Meanwhile the coun-
cillor died, leaving Annie a considerable fortune. In
the course of somewhere about ten years they had five
children. They at length resolved on occupying the
old house with the garden, for Annie's reluctance be-
came weakened by time. It was on the occasion of
the flitting that Annie had to rummage an old trunk
which Menelaws, long after the marriage, had brought
from the house of his father, the dealer in pelts. There
at the bottom, covered over by a piece of brown paper,
she found — what? The very slipper which matched
the one she still secretly retained in her possession.
Verbum sapienti. You may now see where the strange
land lies ; nor was Annie blind. She concluded in an
instant, and with a horror that thrilled through her
whole body, that Menelaws had murdered his rival.
She had lain for ten years in the arms of a murderer.
She had borne to him five children. Nay, she loved
him with all the force of an ardent temperament. The
thought was terrible, and she recoiled from the very
possibility of living with him a moment longer. She
took the fatal memorial and secreted it along with its
neighbour ; and having a friend at a little distance from
Edinburgh, she hurried thither, taking with her her
children. Her father had left in her own power a
sufficiency for her support, and she afterwards re-
turned to town. All the requests of her husband for
an explanation she resisted, and indeed they were not
long persisted in, for Menelaws no doubt gauged the
reason of her obduracy — a conclusion the more likely
that he subsequently left Scotland. I have reason to
believe that some of the existing Menelaws' are de-
scended from this strange union.

250 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

THE FAITHFUL WIFE.

There is very prevalent, along the Borders, an opinion
that the arms of the town of Selkirk represent an inci-
dent -which occurred there at the time of the battle of
Flodden. The device, it is well known, consists of a
female bearing a child in her arms, seated on a tomb,
on which is also placed the Scottish lion. Antiquaries
tell us that this device was adopted in consequence of
the melancholy circumstance of the wife of an inhabi-
tant of the town having been found, by a party return-
ing from the battle, lying dead at the place called
Ladywood-edge, with a child sucking at her breast.

We have not the slightest wish to disturb this vene-
rable legend. It commemorates, with striking force,
the desolation of one of Scotland's greatest calamities ;
and though the device is rudely and coarsely imagined,
there is a graphic strength in the conception, which,
independently of the. truth of the story, recommends it
to the lover of the bold and fervid genius of our country-
men. We must, at same time, be allowed to say that
there is another version, and this wre intend, shortly,
now to lay before the public, without vouching for its
superiority of accuracy over its more favoured and
cherished brother; and rather, indeed, cautioning the
credulous lovers of old legends to be upon their guard,
lest Dr. Johnson's reproof of Richardson be applicable
to us, in saying that we have it upon authority.

When recruits were required by King James the
Fourth for the invasion of the English territory, which

THE FAITHFUL WIFE. 251

produced the most lamentable of all our defeats, it is
well known that great exertions were used in the cause
by the town-clerk of Selkirk, whose name was William
Brydone, for which King James the Fifth afterwards
conferred on him the honour of knighthood. Many
of the inhabitants of Selkirk, fired with the ardour
which the chivalric spirit of James infused into the
hearts of his people, and with the spirit of emulation
which Brydone had the art of exciting among his towns-
men, as Borderers, joined the banners of their provost.
Among these was one, Alexander Hume, a shoemaker,
a strong stalwart man, bold and energetic in his cha-
racter, and extremely enthusiastic in the cause of the
king. He was deemed of considerable importance by
Brydone, being held the second best man of the hun-
dred citizens who are said to have joined his standard.
When he came among his companions he was uniformly
cheered. They had confidence in his sagacity and pru-
dence, respected his valour, and admired his strength.
If Plume was thus courted by his companions, and
urged by Brydone to the dangerous enterprise in which
the king, by the wiles and flattery of the French queen,
had engaged, he was treated in a very different manner
by Margaret, his wife, — a fine young woman, who, fond
to distraction of her husband, was desirous of prevent-
ing him from risking his life in a cause which she
feared, with prophetic feeling, would bring desolation
on her country. Every effort which love and female
cajolery could suggest was used by this dutiful wife to
keep her husband at home. She hung round his neck, —
held up to his face a fine child five months old, whose
mute eloquence softened the heart, but could not alter
the purpose of the father, — wept, prayed, implored.
She asked him the startling question — Who, when he
was dead — and die he might — would shield her from

252 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

injury and misfortune, and cherish, with the tenderness
and love which its beauty and innocence deserved, the
interesting pledge of their affection ? She painted in
glowing colours — which the imagination, excited by
love, can so well supply — the situation of her as a
widow and her child as an orphan. Their natural
protector gone, what would be left to her but grief,
what would remain for her child but destitution ? His
spirit would hear her wails ; but beggary would array
her in its rags, and hunger would steal from her
cheek the vestiges of health and the lineaments of
beauty.

These appeals were borne by Hume by the panoply
of resolution. He loved Margaret as dearly, as truly
as man coidd love woman, as a husband could love the
partner of his life and fortunes. He answered with
tears and embraces ; but he remained true to the cause
of his king and his country.

""Would you hae me, Margaret," he said, "to dis-
grace mysel' in the face o' my townsmen ? Doesna our
guid king intend to leave his fair Margaret, and risk
the royal bluid o' the Bruce for the interests o' auld
Scotland ? and doesna our honoured provost mean to
desert, for a day o' glory, his braw wife, that he may
deck her wimple wi' the roses o' England, and her
name wi' a Scotch title ? Wharfore, then, should I,
a puir tradesman, fear to put in jeopardy for the
country that bore me the life that is hers as weel as
yours, and sacrifice, sae far as the guid that my arm
can produce, the glory o' my king and the character o'
my country?"

Margaret heard this speech with the most intense
grief. She was incapable of argument. She was in-
consolable. Her husband remained inexorable, and
entreaty gave way to anger. She had adopted the

THE FAITHFUL WIFE. 253

idea that Hume was buoyed up with the pride of
leadership ; and she told him, with some acrimony,
that his ambition of being thought the bravest man of
Selkirk would not, in the event of his death, supply
the child he was bound to work for with a bite of
bread. Her love and anger carried her beyond bounds.
She used other language of a harsher character, which
forced her good-natured husband to retaliate in terms
unusual to him, unsuited to the serious subject which
they had in hand, and far less to the dangerous separa-
tion which they were about to exj^erience. The con-
versation got more acrimonious. Words of a high
cast produced expressions stronger still, and Plume left
his wife in anger, to go to the field from which he
might never return.

Regret follows close upon the heels of incensed love.
Alexander Hume had not been many paces from his
own house, when his wife saw, in its proper light, the
true character of her situation. Her husband had "one
on a perilous enterprise. He might perish. She had
perhaps got her last look of him who was dearest to
her bosom. That look was in anger. The idea was
terrible. Those who know the strength and delicacy
of the feelings of true affection may conceive the situa-
tion of Margaret Hume. Unable to control herself,
she threw her child into its crib, and rushed out of
the house. One parting glance of reconciliation was
all she wanted. She hurried through the town with
an excited and terrified aspect, searching everywhere
for her husband. He had departed with his com-
panions ; and Margaret was left in the agony of one
whose sorrow is destined to be increased by the work-
ings of an excited fancy, and the remorseful feelings of
self-impeachment.

In the meantime, Hume having joined his com-

254 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

panions, proceeded to the main army of the king,
which was encamped on the hill of Flodden, lying on
the left of the river Till. The party with which he
was associated put themselves under the command of
Lord Home ; who, with the Earls of Crawford and
Montrose, led the left of the van of the Scottish army.
This part of the king's troops, it is well known, was
opposed to Sir Edmund Howard. They were early en-
gaged, and fought so successfully that Howard soon
stood in need of succour from Lord Dacre, to save him
from being speared on the field.

In this struggle Alexander Hume displayed the
greatest prowess. He was seen in every direction
dealing out death wherever he went. He was not,
however, alone. His companions kept well up to him ;
and, in particular, one individual, who had joined the
party as they approached the field, fought with a
bravery equal to that of Hume himself. That person
kept continually by his side, and seemed to consider
the brave Borderer as his chosen companion-in-arms,
whom he was bound to defend through all the perils
of the fio-ht. A leather haubergeon and an iron helmet,
in which there was placed a small white feather, plucked
from a cock's wing, constituted the armour of this
brave seconder of Hume's gallantry. When Hume
was attacked by the English with more force than
his individual arm could sustain, no one of his com-
panions was more ready to bring him aid than this
individual. On several occasions he may be said to
have saved his life, for Hume's recklessness drew him
often into the very midst of the fight, where he must
have perished had it not been for the timely assistance
of his friend. On one occasion, in particular, an Eng-
lishman came behind him, and was in the very act of
inserting a spear between the clasps of his armour,

THE FAITHFUL WIFE. 255

when his companion struck the dastardly fellow to the
earth, and resumed the fight in front of the battle.

This noble conduct was not unappreciated by
Hume ; for where is bravery found segregated from
gratitude and generosity ? He called upon him, even
in the midst of the battle, for his name, that he
might, in the event of their being separated, recollect
and commemorate his friendship. The request was
not complied with, but the superintending and saving-
arm of the stranger continued to be exercised in favour
of the Borderer. They fought together to the end of
the battle. The result of the bloody contest is but too
well known. The strains of poetry have carried the
wail of bereavement to the ends of the earth, and
sorrow has claimed the sounds as its own individual
expression.

The Scottish troops took their flight in different
directions. Hume and his companions .were obliged
to lie in secret for a considerable time in the surround-
ing forests. He made many incpiiries among his friends
for the individual who had fought with him so bravely
and saved his life. He could find no trace of him,
beyond the information that he had disappeared when
Hume had given up the fight. The direction in which
he went was unknown; nor could any one tell the place
from which he came.

The people of Selkirk who had been in the fight,
sought their town as soon as they could with safety
get out of the reach of the English. Their numbers
formed a sorry contrast to those who had, with light
hearts and high hopes, sought the field of battle ; and
it has been reported that when the wretched wounded
and bloodstained remnant entered the town, a cry of
sorrow was raised by the inhabitants collected to meet
them, the remembrance of which remained on the

25G TALES OF THE BORDERS.

hearts of their children long after those who uttered it
had been consigned with their griefs to the grave.

Hume, who had also grievously repented of the
harsh words he had applied to his beloved wife on the
occasion of their separation, was all impatience to clasp
her to his bosom, and seal their reconciliation with a
kiss of repentance and love. Leaving his companions
as they entered the town, he flew to the house. He
approached the door. He reached it with a trembling
heart. He had prepared the kind words of salutation.
He had wounds to show, and to get dressed by the
tender hand of sympathy. Lifting the latch, he en-
tered. No one came to meet him. No sound, either
of wife or child, met his ear. On looking round he
saw, sitting in an arm - chair, the person who had
accompanied him in battle, wearing the same hauber-
geon, the same helmet, the individual white feather
that had attracted his attention. That person was
Maraaret Hume. She was dead. Her head reclined

O

on the back of the chair, her arms hung by her side,
the edge of her haubergeon was uplifted, and at her
white bosom, from which flowed streams of blood, her
child sucked the milk of a dead mother. Omissis nugis
rem experiamur.

END OF VOL. XXIII.

MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.

CONTENTS.

The Minstrel's Tales —

I. Edmund and Helen, {John Mackay Wilson), 5

II. The Romaunt of Sir Peregrine asd the

Lady Etheline, ....{A lexander Leighton), ii

III. The Legend of Allerlet Hall, {Alexander

Leighton), 52

IV. The Legend of the Lady Katharine,

{A lexander Leighton), 57

V. The Ballad of Ailie Faa, {A lexander

Leighton), 67

VI. The Legend of the Fair Emergilde,

{Alexander Leighton), 72

VII. The Romaunt of the Castle of Weir,

{A lexander Leighton), 78

VIII. The Romaunt of St. Mary's Wynd, {Alex-
ander Leighton), 87

IX. The Legend of Mai; y Lee, {A lexander

Leighton), , 98

X. The Ballad of Age and Youth, {Alex-
ander Leighton), 107

XI. The Legend of Craigullan, {Alexander

Leighton), 113

XII. The Hermit of the Hills, ...{John Maclcaij

Wilson), 119

3

CONTENTS.

XIIT. The Ballad of Rumbollow, (Alexander

Leighton), 128

XIV. The Legend of the Burning of Mrs. Jam-

phray, (A lexcmder Leighton), 133

XV. The Ballad of Ballogie's Daughters,

(Alexander Leighton), 141

XVI. The Legend of Dowiei.ee, (Alexander

Leighton), 145

XVII. The Ballad of Maid Marion, ...(Alexander

Leighton), 154

XVIII. The Ballad of Roseallan Castle,... (^47ea;-

ander Leighton), 153

XIX. The Ballad of the Tournay, ...(Alexander

Leighton), ICO

XX. The Ballad of Golden Counsel, (Alex-
ander Leighton), 164

XXI. The Ballad of Matrimony, (Alexander

Leighton), 168

XXII. The Song of Rosalie, (Alexander Leighton), 171

XXIII. The Ballad of the "World's Vanity,

(A! 'Leighton), 173

XXIV. The Siege: A Dramatic Tale, (John

MacJcay Wilson), 177

XXV. Farewell to a Place on the Borders,

(Rev. W. G.), 207

Glossary, 211

General Index, 251

WILSON'S
TALES OF THE BOBDEBS;

AND OF SCOTLAND.

THE MINSTREL'S TALES.
I.

EDMUND AND HELEN.
CANTO FIRST.

Come, sit thee by me, love, and thou shalt hear
A tale may win a smile and claim a tear —
A plain and simple story told in rhyme,
As sang the minstrels of the olden time.
No idle Muse I'll needlessly invoke —
No patron's aid, to steer me from the rock
Of cold neglect round which oblivion lies ;
But, loved one, I will look into thine eyes,
From which young poesy first touched my soul,
And bade the burning words in numbers roll ; —
They were the light in which I learned to sing ;
And still to thee will kindling fancy cling —
Glow at thy smile, as when, in younger years,
I've seen thee smiling through thy maiden tears,
Like a fair floweret bent with morning dew,
While sunbeams kissed its leaves of loveliest hue.

G TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Thou wert the chord and spirit of my lyre —
Thy love the living voice that breathed — " aspire ! " —
That smoothed ambition's steep and toilsome height,
And in its darkest paths was round me, light.
Then, sit thee by me, love, and list the strain,
Which, but for thee, had still neglected lain.

ir.

Didst thou e'er mark, within a beauteous vale,

Where sweetest wild-flowers scent the summer gale,

And the blue Tweed, in silver windings, glides,

Kissing the bending branches on its sides,

A snow-white cottage, one that well might seem

A poet's picture of contentment's dream ?

Two chestnuts broad and tall embower the spot,

And bend in beauty o'er the peaceful cot ;

The creeping ivy clothes its roof with green,

While round the door the perfumed woodbine's seen

Shading a rustic arch ; and smiling near,

Like rainbow fragments, blooms a rich parterre ;

Grey, naked crags — a steep and pine-clad hill — ■

A mountain chain and tributary rill —

A distant hamlet and an ancient wood,

Begirt the valley where the cottage stood.

That cottage was a young Enthusiast's home,

Ere blind ambition lured his steps to roam ;

He was a wayward, bold, and ardent boy,

At once his parents' grief — their hope and joy.

Men called him Edmund. — Oft his mother wept

Beside the couch where yet her schoolboy slept,

EDMUND AND HELEN.

As, starting in his slumbers, he would seem

To speak of things of which none else might dream.

in.

Adown the vale a stately mansion rose,
With arboured lawns, like visions of repose
Serene in summer loveliness, and fair
As if no passion e'er was dweller there
Save innocence and love ; for they alone
Within the smiling vale of peace were known.
But fairer and more lovely far than all,
Like Spring's first flowers, was Helen of the Hall —
The blue-eyed daughter of the mansion's lord,
And living image of a wife adored,
But now no more ; for, ere a lustrum shed
Its smiles and sunshine o'er the infant's head,
Death, like a passing spirit, touched the brow
Of the young mother ; and the father now
Lived as a dreamer on his daughter's face,
That seemed a mirror wherein he could trace
The long lost past — the eyes of love and light,
Which his fond soul had worshipped, ere the night
Of death and sorrow sealed those eyes in gloom —
Darkened his joys, and whelmed them in the tomb.

IV.

Young Edmund and fair Helen, from the years
Of childhood's golden joys and passing tears,
Were friends and playmates ; and together they
Across the lawn, or through the woods, would stray.

8 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

"While he -was wont to pull the lilies fair,

And weave them, with the primrose, round her hair;-

Plait toys of rushes, or bedeck the thorn

With daisies sparkling with the dews of morn ;

While she, these simple gifts would grateful take —

Love for their own and for the giver's sake.

Or, they would chase the butterfly and bee

From flower to flower, shouting in childish glee ;

Or hunt the cuckoo's echo through the glade,

Chasing the wandering sound from shade to shade.

Or, if she conned the daily task in vain,

A word from Edmund made the lesson plain.

Thus years rolled by in innocence and truth,

And playful childhood melted into youth,

As dies the dawn in rainbows, ray by ray

In blushing beauty stealing into day.

And thus too passed, unnoticed and unknown,

The sports of childhood, fleeting one by one.

Like broken dreams, of which we neither know

From whence they come, nor mark Ave when they go.

Yet would they stray where Tweed's fair waters glide,

As we have wandered — fondly side by side ;

And when dun gloaming's shadows o'er it stole

As silence visible — until the soul

Grew tranquil as the scene — then would they trace

The deep'ning shadows on the river's face —

A voiceless world, where glimmered, downward far,

Inverted mountain, tree, and cloud, and star.

EDMUND AND HELEN. 9

'Twas Edmund's choicest scene, and he would dwell
On it, till he grew eloquent, and tell
Its beauties o'er and o'er, until the maid
Knew every gorgeous tint and mellowed shade
Which evening from departed sunbeams threw,
And as a painter on the waters drew.

VI.

Or, when brown Autumn touched the leaves with age,

The heavens became the young Enthusiast's page

Wherein his fancy read ; and they would then,

Hand locked in hand, forsake the haunts of men ;

Communing with the silver queen of night,

Which, as a spirit, shone upon their sight,

Full orbed in maiden glory ; and her beams

Fell on their hearts, like distant shadowed gleams

Of future joy and undefined bliss —

Half of another world and half of this.

Then, rapt in dreams, oft would he gazing stand,

Grasping in his her fair and trembling hand,

And thus exclaim, " Helen, when I am gone,

When that bright moon shall shine on you alone,

And but one shadow on the river fall —

Say, wilt thou then these heavenly hours recall ?

Or read, upon the fair moon's smiling brow

The words we've uttered — those we utter now ?

Or think, though seas divide us, I may be

Gazing upon that glorious orb with. thee

At the same moment — hearing, in its rays,

The hallowed whisperings of early days !

10 TALES OF THE BOEDERS.

For, oh, there is a language in its calm
And holy light, that hath a power to balm
The troubled spirit, and like memory's glass,
Make bygone happiness before us pass."

VII.

Or, they would gaze upon the evening star,

Blazing in beauteous glory from afar,

Dazzling its kindred spheres, and bright o'er all,

Like Love on the Eternal's coronal ;

Until their eyes its rays reflected, threw

In glances eloquent — though words were few ;

For Avell I ween, it is enough to feel

The power of such an hour upon us steal,

As if a holy spirit filled the air,

And nought but love and silence might be there—

Or whispers, which, like Philomel's soft strains,

Are only heard to tell that silence reigns.

Yet, he at times would break the hallowed spell,

And thus in eager rhapsodies would dwell

Upon the scene : " O'er vis rolls world on world,

Like the Almighty's regal robes unfurled ; —

O'erwhelming, dread, unbounded, and sublime —

Eternity's huge arms that girdle time

And roll around it, marking out the years

Of this dark spot of sin amidst the spheres !

For, oh, while gazing upon worlds so fair,

'Tis hard to think that sin has entered there ;

That those bright orbs which now in glory swim,

Should e'er for man's ingratitude be dim!

EDMUND AND HELEN. 11

Bewildered, lost, I cast mine eyes abroad,

And read on every star the name of God !

The thought o'envhelms me ! — Yet, while gazing on

Yon star of love, I cannot feel alone ;

For wheresoe'er my after lot may be,

That evening star shall speak of home and thee.

Fancy will view it o'er yon mountain's brow

That sleeps in solitude before lis now ;

"While memory's lamp shall kindle at its rays,

And light the happy scenes of other days —

Such scenes as this ; and then the very breeze

That with it bears the odour of the trees,

And gathers up the meadow's sweet perfume,

From off my clouded brow, shall chase the gloom

Of sick'ning absence ; for the scented air

To me wafts back remembrance, as the prayer

Of lisping childhood is remembered yet,

Like living words, which we can ne'er forget."

VIII.

Till now, their life had been one thought of joy,

A vision time was destined to destroy —

As dies the dewy network on the thorn,

Before the sunbeams, with the mists of morn.

Thus far their lives in one smooth current ran —

They loved, yet knew not when that love began,

And hardly knew they loved ; though it had grown

A portion of their being, and had thrown

Its spirit o'er them ; for its shoots had sprung

Up in their hearts, while yet their hearts were young ;

12 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Even like the bright leaves of some wandering seed,
Which Autumn's breezes bear across the mead,
O'er naked wild and mountain, till the wind,
Dropping its gift, a stranger flower we find.
And with their years the kindling feeling grew,
But grew unnoticed, and no change they knew ;
For it had grown, even as a bud displays
Its opening beauties — one on which we gaze,
Yet note no seeming change from hour to hour,
But find, at length, the bud a lovely flower.

IX.

Thus, thrice six golden summers o'er them fled,

And on their hearts their rip'ning influence shed ;

Till one fair eve, when from the gorgeous west,

Cloud upon cloud in varied splendour pressed

Around the setting sun, which blinding shone

On the horizon like its Maker's throne,

Till veiled in glory, and its parting ray

Fell as a blessing on the closing day ;

Or, like the living smile of Nature's God

Upon his creatures, shedding peace abroad.

The early lark had ceased its evening song,

And silence reigned amidst the feathered throncr,

Save where the chaffinch, with unvarying strain,

Its short, sweet line of music trilled again ;

Or where the stock-dove, from the neighbouring grove,

Welcomed the twilight with the voice of love :

Then Edmund wandered by the trysting-tree,

Where, at that hour, the maid was wont to be ;

EDMUND AND HELEN. 13

But now she came not. Deep'ning shade on shade,

The night crept round him ; still he lonely strayed,

Gazed on the tree till grey its foliage grew,

And stars marked midnight, ere he slow withdrew.

Another evening came — a third passed on —

And wondering, fearing, still he stood alone,

Trembling and gazing on her father's hall,

Where lights were glittering as a festival ;

And, as with cautious step he ventured near,

Sounds of glad music burst upon his ear,

And figures glided in the circling dance,

While wild his love and poverty at once

Flashed through his bursting heart, and smote him now

As if a thunderbolt had scorched his brow,

And scathed his very spirit ; as he stood,

Mute as despair — the ghost of solitude !

Strange guests were revelling at the princely hall —

Proud peers and ladies fair ; but, chief of all,

A rich and haughty knight, from Beaumont side,

Who came to woo fair Helen as his bride ;

Or rather from her father ask her hand,

And woo no more, but deem consent command.

He too was young, high-born, and bore a name

Sounding with honours bought, though not with fame ;

And the consent he sought her father gave,

Nor feared the daughter of his love would brave

In aught his wishes, or oppose his will ;

For she had ever sought it, as the rill

14 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Seeketli the valley or the ocean's breast ;

And ere his very wishes were expressed,

She strove to trace their meaning in his eyes,

Even as a seaman readeth on the skies

The coming breeze, the calm, or brooding gale,

Then spreads the canvas wide, or reefs the sail.

Nor did he doubt that still her heart was free

As the fleet mountain deer, which as a sea

The wilderness surrounds ; for she had grown

Up as a desert flower, that he alone

Had watched and cherished ; and the blinding pride

Of wealth and ancestry had served to hide

From him alone, what long within the vale

Had been the rustic gossip's evening tale.

That such presumptuous love could e'er employ

The secret fancies of the cottage boy,

He would have held impossible, or smiled

At the bold madness of a thought so wild —

Reading his daughter's spirit by his own,

Which reared an ancient name as virtue's throne,

And only stooped to look on meaner things,

Whose honours echoed not the breath of kings.

XI.

Wild were the passions, fierce the anguish now,
Which tore the very soul, and clothed the brow
Of the Enthusiast ; while gaunt despair
Its heavy, cold, and iron hand laid bare,
And in its grasp of torture clenched his heart,
Till, one by one, the life-drops seemed to start

EDMUND AND HELEN. 15

In agony unspeakable : within

His breast its freezing shadow — dark as sin,

Gloomy as death, and desolate as hell —

Like starless midnight on his spirit fell,

Burying his soul in darkness ; Avhilc his love,

Fierce as a whirlwind, in its madness strove

With stern despair, as on the field of wrath

The wounded war-horse, panting, strives with death.

Then as the conflict weakened, hope would dash

Across his bosom, like the death-winged flash

That flees before the thunder ; yet its light

Lived but a moment, leaving deeper night

Around the strife of passions ; and again

The struggle maddened, and the hope was vain.

XII.

He heard the maidens of the valley say,

How they upon their lady's wedding-day

Would strew her path with flowers, and o'er the lawn

Join in the dance, to eve from early dawn ;

While, with a smile and half deriding glance,

Some sought him as their partner in the dance :

And peasant railers, as he passed them by,

Laughed, whispered, laughed again, and mocked ;

sigh.
But he disdained them ; and his heaving breast
Had no room left to feel their vulgar jest,
For it ran o'er with agony and scorn,
As water dropping on a- rock was borne.

16 TALES OP THE BORDERS.

XIIT.

'Twas a fair summer night, and the broad moon
Sailed in calm glory through the skies of June,
Pouring on earth its pale and silv'ry light,
Till roughest forms were softened to the sight ;
And on the western hills its faintest raj-
Kissed the yet ruddy streaks of parted day.
The stars were few, and, twinkling, dimly shone,
For the bright moon in beauty reigned alone.
One cloud lay sleeping 'neath the breathless sky,
Bathed in the limpid light ; while, as the sigh
Of secret love, silent as shadows glide,
The soft wind played among the leafy pride
Of the green trees, and scarce the aspen shook ;
A babbling voice was heard from every brook,
And down the vale, in murmurs low and long,
Tweed poured its ancient and unwearied song.
Before, behind, around, afar, and near,
The wakeful landrails watchword met the ear.
Then Edmund leaned against the hallowed tree,
Whose shade had been their temple, and where ht
Had carved their names in childhood, and they yet
Upon the rind were visible. They met
Beneath its branches, spreading as a bower,
For months — for years ; and the impassioned hour
Of silent, deep deliciousness and bliss,
Pure as an angel's, fervid as the kiss
Of a young mother on her first-born's brow,
Fled in their depth of joy they knew not how ;

EDMUND AND HELEN. 17

Even as the Boreal meteor mocks the eye,

Living a moment on the gilded sky,

And dying in the same, ere we can trace

Its golden hues, its form, or hiding-place.

But now to him each moment draersed a chain,

And time itself seemed weary. The fair plain,

Where the broad river in its pride was seen,

With stately woods and fields of loveliest green,

To him was now a wilderness ; and even

Upon the everlasting face of heaven

A change had passed — its very light was changed,

And shed forth sickness ; for he stood estranged

From all that he had loved, and every scene

Spoke of despair where love and joy had been.

Thus desolate he stood, when, lo ! a sound

Of voices and gay laughter echoed round.

Then straight a party issued from the wood,

And ere he marked them all before him stood.

He gazed, he startled, shook, exclaimed aloird,

" Helen ! " then burst away, and as a shroud

The sombre trees concealed him ; but a cry

Of sudden anguish echoed a reply

To his wild word of misery, though he

Heard not its tone of heart-pierced agony.

She, whom his fond soul worshipped as its bride,

He saw before him by her wooer's side,

'Midst other proud ones. 'Twas a sight like death —

Death on his very heart. The balmy breath

Of the calm night struck on his brow with fire ;

For each fierce passion, burning in its ire,

VOL. XXIV. B

18 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Raged in his bosom as a with'ring flame,

And scarce he knew he madly breathed her name ;

But, as a bark before the tempest tost,

Rushed from the scene, exclaiming wildly, " Lost ! "

XIV.

Two days of sorrow slowly round had crept,
And Helen lonely in her chamber wept,
Shunning her father's guests, and shunning, too,
The glance of rage and scorn which now he threw
Upon the child that e'er to him had been
Dear as immortal hope, when o'er the scene
Of human life, death, slow as twilight, lowers.
She was the sunlight of his widowed hours —
The all he loved, the glory of his eye,
His hope by day, the sole remaining tie
That linked him with the world ; and rudely now
That link seemed broken ; and upon his brow
Wrath lay in gloom ; while, from his very feet,
He spurned the being he was wont to meet
With outstretched arms of fondness and of pride,
While all the father's feelings in a tide
Of transport gushed. But now she wept alone,
Shunning and shunned ; and still the bitter tone
In which she heard her Edmund breathe her name,
Rang in her heaving bosom ; and the flame
That lit his eye with frenzy and despair,
Upon her naked spirit seemed to glare
With an accusing glance ; yet, while her tears
Were flowing silently, as hours and years

EDMUND AND HELEN. 19

Flow down the tide of time, one whom she loved,
And who from childhood's days had faithful proved,
Approached her weeping, and within her hand
A packet placed, as Edmund's last command !
"Wild throbbed her heart, and tears a moment fled,
While, tremblingly, she broke the seal, and read ;
Then Avept, and sobbed aloud, and read again,
These farewell words, of passion and of pain.

xv.

edmund's letter.
Helen ! — -farewell ! — I write but could not speak
That parting word of bitterness ; the cheek
Grows pale when the tongue utters it ; the knell
Which tells " the grave is ready!" and dotli swell
On the dull wind, tolling — " the dead — the dead !"
Sounds not more desolate. It is a dread
And fearful thing to be of hope bereft,
As if the soul itself had died, and left
The body living — feeling in its breast
The death of deaths, its everlasting guest !
Such is my cheerless bosom ; 'tis a tomb
Where Hope lies buried in eternal gloom,
And Love mourns o'er it — yes, my Helen — Love —
Like the sad wailings of a widowed dove
Over its rifled nest. Yet blame me not,
That I, a lowly peasant's son, forgot
The gulf between our stations. Could I gaze
Upon the glorious sun, and see its rays

20 TALES OE THE BORDERS.

Fling light and beauty round me, and remain

Dead to its power, while on the lighted plain

The humblest weed looked up in love, and spread

Its leaves before it ! The vast sea doth wed

The simple brook ; the bold lark soars on high,

Bounds from its humble nest and woos the sky ;

Yea, the frail ivy seeks and loves to cling

Round the proud branches of the forest's king :

Then blame me not ; — thou wilt not, canst not blame ;

Our sorrows, hopes, and joys have been the same —

Been one from childhood ; but the dream is past,

And stern realities at length have cast

Our fates asunder. Yet, when thou shalt see

Proud ones before thee bend the suppliant knee,

And kiss thy garment while they woo thy hand,

Spurn not the peasant boy who dared to stand

Before thee, in the rapture of his heart,

And woo thee as thine equal. Courtly art

May find more fitting phrase to charm thine ear,

But, dearest, mayst thou find them as sincere !

And, oh ! by every past and hallowed hour !

By the lone tree that formed our trysting bower !

By the fair moon, and all the stars of night,

That round us threw love's holiest, dearest light !

By infant passion's first and burning kiss !

By every witness of departed bliss !

Forget me not, loved one ! forget me not !

For, oh, to know that I am not forgot —

That thou wilt still retain within thy breast

Some thought of him who loved you first and best —

EDMUND AND HELEN. 21

To know but this, would in my bosom be

Like one faint star seen from the pathless sea

By the bewildered mariner. Once more,

Maid of my heart, farewell ! A distant shore

Must be thy Edmund's home — though where the

sotd
Is as a wilderness ; from pole to pole
The desolate in heart may ceaseless roam,
Nor find on earth that spot of heaven — a home !
But be thou happy ! — be my Helen blessed ! —
Thou wilt be happy ! Oh ! those words have pressed
Thoughts on my brain on which I may not dwell !
Again, farewell ! — my Helen, fare-thee-well !

XYI.

A gallant bark was gliding o'er the seas,
And, like a living mass, before the breeze,
Swept on majestic, as a thing of mind
Whose spirit held communion with the wind,
Bearing and rising o'er the billowed tide,
As a proud steed doth toss its head in pride.
Upon its deck young Edmund silent stood —
A son of sadness ; and his mournful mood
Grew day by day, while wave on wave rolled by,
And he their homeward current with a sigh
Eollowed with fondness. Still the vessel bore
The wanderer onward from his native shore,
Till in a distant land he lonely stood
'Midst city crowds in more than solitude.

22 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

XVII.

There long he wandered, without aim or plan,

Till disappointment whispered, Act as man!

But though it cool the fever of the brain,

And shake, untaught, presumption's idle reign,

Bring folly to its level, and bid hope

Before the threshold of attainment stop,

Still — when its blastings thwart our every scheme,

When humblest wishes seem an idle dream,

And the bare bread of life is half denied —

Such disappointments humble not our pride ;

But do they change the temper of the soul,

Change every word and action, and enrol

The nobler mind with things of basest name —

With idleness, dishonesty, and shame !

It hath its bounds, and thus far it is well

To check presumption — visions wild to quell ;

Then 'tis the chastening of a father's hand —

All wholesome, all expedient. But to stand

Writhing beneath the unsparing lash, and be

Trampled on veriest earth, while misery

Stems the young blood, or makes it freeze with care,

And on the tearless eyeballs writes, Despair !

Oh ! this is terrible ! — and it doth throw

Upon the brow such early marks of woe,

That men seem old ere they have well been young ;

Their fond hopes perish, and their hearts are wrung

With such dark feelings — misanthropic gloom,

Spite of their natures, haunts them to the tomb.

EDMUND AND HELEN. 23

XVIII.

Now, Edmund 'midst the bustling throng appears

One old in wretchedness, though young in years ;

For he had struggled with an angry world,

Had felt misfortune's billows o'er him hurled,

And strove against its tide — where wave meets wave

Like huge leviathans sporting wild, and lave

Their mountain breakers round with circling sweep,

Till, drawn within the vortex of their deep,

The man of ruin struggleth — but in vain ;

Like dying swimmers who, in breathless pain

Despairing, strike at random ! — It would be

A subject worth the schoolmen's scrutiny,

To trace each simple source from whence arose

The strong and mingled stream of human woes.

But here we may not. It is ours alone

To make the lonely wanderer's fortunes known ;

And now, in plain but faithful colours dressed,

To paint the feelings of his hopeless breast.

XIX.

His withered prospects blacken — wounds await —

The grave grows sunlight to his darker fate.

All now is gall and bitterness within,

And thoughts, once sternly pure, half yield to sin.

His sickened soul, in all its native pride,

Swells 'neath the breast that tattered vestments hide,

Disdained, disdaining ; while men flourish, he

Still stands a stately though a withered tree.

24 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

But, Heavens ! the agony of the moment when
Suspicion stamped the smiles of other men ;
When friends glanced doubts, and proudly prudent grew,
His counsellors, and his accusers too !

xx.

Picture his pain, his misery, when first
His growing wants their proud concealment burst ;
When the first tears start from his stubborn soul.
Big, burning, solitary drops, that roll
Down his pale cheek — the momentary gush
Of human weakness — till the whirlwind rush
Of pride, of shame, had dashed them from his eye,
And his swollen heart heaved mad with agony !
Then, then the pain — the infinity of feeling —
Words fail to paint its anguish. Reason, reeling,
Staggered with torture through his burning brain,
While his teeth gnashed with bitterness and pain ;
Reflection grew a scorpion, speech had fled,
And all but madness and despair were dead.

XXI.

He slept to dream of death, or worse than death ;
For death were bliss, and the convulsive wrath
Of living torture peace, to the dread weight
That pressed upon sensation, while the light
Of reason gleamed but horror, and strange hosts
Of hideous phantasies, like threat'ning ghosts,
Grotesquely mingled, preyed upon his brain :
Then would he dream of yesterdays again,

EDMUND AND HELEN. 25

Or view to-morrow's terrors thick surround
His fancy with forebodings. While the sound
Of his own breath broke frightful on his ear,
He, bathed in icy sweat, would start in fear,
Trembling and pale ; then did his glances seem
Sad as the sun's last, conscious, farewell gleam
Upon the eve of judgment. Such appear
His days and nights whom hope has ceased to cheer.
But grov'llers know it not. The supple slave
Whose worthiest record is a nameless grave,
Whose truckling spirit bends and bids him kneel,
And fawn and vilely kiss a patron's heel —
Even he can cast the cursed suspicious eye,
Inquire the cause of this — the reason why ?
And stab the sufferer. Then, the tenfold pain
To feel a gilded butterfly's disdain ! —
A kicking ass, without an ass's sense,
Whose only virtue is, pounds, shillings, pence ;
And now, while ills on ills beset him round,
The scorn of such the hopeless Edmund found.

XXII.

But hope returned, and on the wanderer's ear
Breathed its life-giving watchword, Persevere !
And torn by want, and struggling with despair,
These were his words, his fixed resolve and prayer,
" Hail perseverance, rectitude of heart,
Through life thy aid, thy conquering power impart ;
Repulsed and broken, blasted, be thou ever
A portion of my spirit ! Leave me never ;

26 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Firm, fixed in purpose, watchful, unsubdued,
Until my hand hath grasped the prize pursued."

CANTO SECOND.

Now, list thee, love, again, and I will tell

Of other scenes, and changes which befell

The hero of our tale. A wanderer still,

Like a lost sheep upon a wintry hill —

Wild through his heart rush want and memory now,

Like whirlwinds meeting on a mountain's brow ;

Slow in his veins the thin blood coldly creeps ;

He starts, he dreams, and as he walks, he sleeps !

Lie is a stranger — houseless, fainting, poor,

Without the shelter of one friendly door ;

The cold wind whistles through his garments bare,

And shakes the night dew from his freezing hair.

You weep to hear his woes, and ask me why,

When sorrows gathered and no aid was nigh,

He sought not then the cottage of his birth,

The peace and comforts of his father's hearth ?

That also thou shalt hear. Scarce had he left

His parents' home, ere ruthless fortune reft

His friend and father of his little all.

Crops failed, and friends proved false ; but, worse than all,

The wife of his young love, bowed down with grief

For her sole child, like an autumnal leaf

Nipped by the frosts of night, drooped day by day,

As a fair morning cloud dissolves away.

EDMUND AND HELEN. 27

Her eyes were dimmed with tears, and o'er her cheek,
Like a faint rainbow, broke a fitful streak,
Coming and vanishing. She weaker grew,
And scarce the half of their misfortunes knew,
Until the law's stern minions, as their prey,
Relentless seized the bed on which she la}'.
" My husband ! Oh my son I" she faintly cried ;
Sank on her pillow, and before them died.
Even they shed tears. The widowed husband, there,
Stood like the stricken ghost of dumb despair ;
Then sobbed aloud, and, sinking on the bed,
Kissed the cold forehead of his sainted dead.
Then went he forth a lone and ruined man ;
But, ere three moons their circling journeys ran,
Pride, like a burning poison in his breast,
Scorched up his life, and gave the ruined rest ;
Yet not till he, with tottering steps and slow,
Regained the vale where Tweed's fair waters flow,
And there, where pines around the churchyard wave,
He breathed his last upon his partner's grave !

ir.

1 may not tell what ills o'er Edmund passed ;

Enough to say that fortune smiled at last.

In the far land where the broad Ganges rolls ;

Where nature's bathed in glory, and the souls

Of men alone dwell in a starless night,

While all around them glows and lives in light :

There now we find him, honoured, trusted, loved,

Eor from the humblest stations he had proved

28 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Faithful in all, and trust on trust obtained,

Till, if not wealth, he independence gained —

Earth's noblest blessing, and the dearest given

To man beneath the sacred hope of heaven.

And still, as time on silent pinions flew,

His fortunes nourished and his honours grew ;

But as they grew, an anxious hope, that long

Had in his bosom been but as the song

Of viewless echo, indistinct, and still

Keceding from us, grew as doth a rill

Embraced by others and increasing ever,

Till distant plains confess the sweeping river.

And, need I say, that hope referred alone

To her who in his heart had fixed her throne,

And reigned within it still, the sovereign queen.

Yet darkest visions oft Avould flit between

His fondest fancies, as the thought returned

That she for whom his soul still restless burned,

Would be another's now, while haply he,

Lost to her heart, would to her memory be

As the remembrance of a pleasing dream,

Vague and forgotten half, but which we deem

Worthy no waking thought. Thus years rolled by ;

Hope wilder glowed and brightened in his eye.

Nor knew he why he hoped ; but though despair

The Enthusiast's heart may madly grasp, and glare

Even on his soul, it may not long remain

A dweller on his breast, for hope doth reign

There as o'er its inheritance ; and he

Lives in fond visions of futurity.

EDMUND AND HELEN. 29

III.

Twelve slow and chequered years had passed. — Again

A stately vessel ploughed the -pathless main,

And waves and days together glided by,

Till, as a cloud on the Enthusiast's eye,

His island home rose from the ocean's breast —

A thing of strength, of glory, and of rest —

The giant of the deep ! — while on his sight

Burst the blue hills, and cliffs of dazzling white — ■

Stronger than death ! and beautiful as strong !

Kissed by the sea, and worshipped with its song !

" Home of my fathers !" the Enthusiast cried ;

"Their home — ay, and their grave!" he said and sighed.

But gazing still upon its glorious strand,

Again he cried, " My own, my honoured land !

Fair freedom's home and mine ! Britannia ! hail !

Queen of the mighty seas ; to whom each gale

From every point of heaven a tribute brings,

And on thy shores earth's farthest treasure flings !

Land of my heart and birth ! at sight of thee

My spirit boundeth, like a bird set free

From long captivity ! Thy very air

Is fragrant with remembrance ! Thou dost bear,

On thy Herculean cliffs, the rugged seal

Of godlike Liberty ! The slave might kneel

Upon thy shore, bending the willing knee,

To kiss the sacred earth that sets him free !

Even I feel freer as I reach thy shore,

And my soul mingles with the ocean's roar

30 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

That hymns around thee ! Birthplace of the brave !

My own — my glorious home ! — the very wave,

Rolling in strength and beauty, leaps on high,

As if rejoicing on thy beach to die !

My loved — my father-land ! thy faults to me

Are as the specks which men at noontide see

Upon the blinding sun, and dwindle pale

Beneath thy virtue's and thy glory's veil.

Land of my birth ! where'er thy sons may roam,

Their pride — their boast — their passport is their home! "

IV.

'Twas early spring ; and winter lingered still

On the cold summit of the snow-capt hill ;

The day was closing, and slow darkness stole

Over the earth as sleep steals on the soul,

Sealing the eyelids up — unconscious, slow,

Till sleep and darkness reign, and we but know,

On waking, that we slept — but may not tell ;

Nor marked we when sleep's darkness on us fell.

A lonely stranger then bent anxious o'er

A rustic gate before the cottage door —

The snow-white cottage where the chestnuts grew,

And o'er its roof their arching branches threw.

It was young Edmund, gazing, through his tears,

On the now cheerless home of early years —

"While as the grave of buried joys it stood,

Its white walls shadowed through the leafless wood ;

The once arched woodbine waving wild and bare ;

The parterre, erst the object of his care,

EDMUND AND HELEN. 31

With early weeds o'ergrown ; and slow decay
Had changed or swept all else he loved away.
Upon the sacred threshold, once his own,
He silent stood, unwelcomed and unknown ;
Gazed, sighed, and turned away ; then sadly strayed
To the cold, dreamless churchyard, where were laid
His parents, side by side. A change had come
O'er all that he had loved : his home Avas dumb,
And through the vale no accent met his ear
That he was wont in early days to hear ;
While childhood's scenes fell dimly on his view,
As a dull picture of a spot we knew,
Where we but cold and lifeless forms can trace,
But no bold truth, nor one familiar face.

v.

Night sat upon the graves, like gloom to gloom,
As silent treading o'er each lowly tomb,
Thoughtful and sad, he lonely strove to trace,
Amidst the graves, his father's resting-place.
• And well the spot he knew ; yea, it alone
Was all now left that he might call his own
Of all that was his kindred's ; and although
He looked for no proud monument to show
The tomb he sought, yet mem'ry marked the spot
Where slept his ancestors ; and had it not,
He deemed — he felt — that if his feet but trode
Upon his parents' dust, the voice of God,
As it of old flashed through a prophet's breast,
Would in his bosom whisper, " Here they rest 1"

32 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

'Twas an Enthusiast's thought ; — but, oh ! to tread,
With darkness round us, 'midst the voiceless dead,
With not an eye but Heaven's upon our face —
At such a moment, and in such a place,
Seeking the dead we love — who would not feel,
Yea, and believe as he did then, and kneel
On friend or father's grave, and kiss the sod
As in the presence of our father's God !

VI.

He reached the spot ; he startled — trembled — wept ;

And through his bosom wildest feelings swept.

He sought a nameless grave, but o'er the place

Where slept the generations of his race,

A marble pillar rose. " Oh Heaven !" he cried,

" Has avaricious Ruin's hand denied

The parents of my heart a grave with those

Of their own kindred ? — have their ruthless foes

Grasped this last, sacred spot we called our own ?

If but a weed upon that grave had grown,

I would have honoured it ! — have called it brother !

Even for my father's sake, and thine, my mother !

But that cold marble freezes up my heart,

And seems to tell me that I have no part

With its proud dead ; while through the veil of night

The name it bears yet mocks my anxious sight."

Thus cried he bitterly ; then, trembling, placed

His finger on the marble, while he traced

Its letters one by one, and o'er and o'er ; —

Grew blind with eagerness, and shook the more,

EDMUND AND HELEN. 33

As with each touch, the feeling o'er him came —
The unseen letters formed his father's name !

VII.

While thus, with beating heart, pursuing still
His anxious task, slow o'er a neighbouring hill
The broad moon rose, by not a cloud concealed,
Lit up the valley, and the tomb revealed ! —
His parents' tomb ! — and now, with wild surprise,
He saw the column burst upon his eyes —
Fair, chaste, and beautiful ; and on it read
These lines in mem'ry of his honoured dead :
"Beneath repose the virtuous and the just,
Mingled in death, affection's hallowed dust.
In token of their worth, this simple stone
Is, as a daughter's tribute, reared by one
Who loved them as such, and their name would save
As virtue's record o'er their lowly grave."
" Helen !" he fondly cried, " thy hand is here !"
And the cold grave received his burning tear ;
Then knelt he o'er it — clasped his hands in prayer ;
But, while yet lone and fervid kneeling there,
Before his eyes, upon the grave appear
Primroses twain — the firstlings of the year, —
And bursting forth between the blossomed two,
Twin opening buds in simple beauty grew.
He gazed — he loved them as a living thing ;
And wondrous thoughts and strange imagining
Those simple flowers spoke to his listening soul
In superstition's whispers ; whose control

VOL. XXIV. 0

34 TALES OF THE BOEDERS.

The wisest in their secret moments feel,
And blush at weakness they may not reveal.

VIII.

He left the place of death ; and, rapt in thought,

The trysting-tree of love's young years he sought ;

And, as its branches opened on his sight,

Bathing their young buds in the pale moonlight,

A Avhispered voice, melodious, soft, and low,

As if an angel mourned for mortal woe,

Borne on the ev'ning breeze, came o'er his ear :

He knew the voice — his heart stood still to hear I

And each sense seem'd a listener ; but his eye

Sought the sad author of the wand'ring sigh ;

And 'neath the tree he loved, a form as fair

As summer in its noontide, knelt in prayer.

He clasped his hands — his brow, his bosom burned ;

He felt the past — the buried past returned !

Still, still he listened, till, like words of flame,

Through her low prayer he heard his whispered name !

" Helen !" he Avildly cried — " my own — my blest !"

Then bounded forth. — I cannot tell the rest.

There was a shriek of joy : heart throbbed on heart,

And hands were locked as though they ne'er might part;

Wild words were spoken — bliss tumultuous rolled,

And all the anguish of the past was told.

IX.

Upon her love long had her father frowned,
Till tales of Edmund's rising fortunes found

EDMUND AND HELEN. 35

Their way across the wilderness of sea,
And reached the valley of his birth. But she,
With truth unaltered, and with heart sincere,
Through the long midnight of each hopeless year
That marked his absence, shunned the proffered hand
Of wealth and rank ; and met her sire's command
With tears and bended knees, until his breast
Again a father's tenderness confessed.

'Twas May — bright May : bird, flower, and shrub, and

tree,
Rejoiced in light ; while, as a waveless sea
Of living music, glowed the clear blue sky,
And every fleecy cloud that floated by
Appeared an isle of song ! — as all around
And all above them echoed with the sound
Of joyous birds, in concert loud and sweet,
Chanting their summer hymns. Beneath their feet
The daisy put its crimson liv'ry on ;
While from beneath each crag and mossy stone
Some gentle flower looked forth ; and love and life
Through the Creator's glorious works were rife,
As though his Spirit in the sunbeams said,
"Let there be life and love !" and was obeyed.
Then, in the valley danced a joyous throng,
And happy voices sang a bridal song ;
Yea, tripping jocund on the sunny green,
The old and young in one glad dance were seen ;

36 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Loud o'er the plain their merry music rang,
While cripple granddames, smiling, sat and sang
The ballads of their youth ; and need I say
'Twas Edmund's and fair Helen's wedding-day ?
Then, as he led her forth in joy and pride,
A hundred voices blessed him and his bride.
Yet scarce he heard them ; for his every sense,
Lost in delight and ecstasy intense,
Dwelt upon her; and made their blessings seem
As words breathed o'er us in a wand'ring dream.

XI.

Now months and years in quick succession flew,
And joys increased, and still affection grew.
For what is youth's first love to wedded joy ?
Or what the transports of the ardent boy
To the fond husband's bliss, which, day by day,
Lights up his spirit with affection's ray ?
Man knows not what love is, till all his cares
The partner of his bosom soothes and shares —
Until he find her studious to please —
Watching his wishes ! — Oh, 'tis acts like these
That lock her love within his heart, and bind
Their souls in one, and form them of one mind.
Love flowed within their bosoms as a tide,
While the calm rapture of their own fireside
Each day grew holier, dearer ; and esteem
Blended its radiance with the glowing beam
Of young affection, till it seemed a sun
Melting their wishes and their thoughts as one.

EDMUND AND HELEN. 37

XII.

Eight years passed o'er them in unclouded joy,

And now by Helen's side a lovely boy,

Looked up and called her, Mother ; and upon

The knee of Edmund climbed a little one —

A blue-eyed prattler — as her mother fair.

They were their parents' joy, their hope, their care ;

But, while their cup with happiness ran o'er,

And the long future promised joys in store,

Death dropped its bitterness within the cup,

And its late pleasant waters mingled up

With wailing and with woe. Like early flowers,

Which the slow worm with venomed tooth devours,

The roses left their two fair children's cheeks,

Or came and went like fitful hectic streaks,

As day by day they drooped : their sunny eyes

Grew lustreless and sad ; and yearning cries —

Such as wring life-drops from a parent's heart —

Their lisping tongues now uttered. The keen dart

Of the unerring archer, Death, had sunk

Deep in their bosoms, and their young blood drunk ;

Yet the affection of the children grew,

As its dull, wasting poison wandered through

Their tender breasts ; and still they ever lay

With their arms round each other. On the day

That ushered in the night on which they died,

The boy his mother kissed, and fondly cried,

" Weep not, dear mother ! — mother, do not weep !

You told me and my sister, death was sleep —

38 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

That the good Saviour, who from heaven came down,

And who for our sake wore a thorny crown —

You often told us how He came to save

Children like us, and conquered o'er the grave ;

And I have read in his blessed book,

How in his hand a little child He took,

And said that such in heaven should greatest be :

Then, weep not, mother — do not weep for me ;

For if I be angel when I die,

I'll watch you, mother — I'll be ever nigh ;

Where'er you go, I'll hover o'er your head ;

Then, though I'm buried, do not think me dead !

But let my sister's grave and mine be one,

And lay us by the pretty marble stone,

To which our father dear was wont to go,

And where, in spring, the sweet primroses blow ;

Then, weep not, mother !" But she wept the more ;

While the sad father his affliction bore

Like one in whom all consciousness was dead,

Save that he wrung his hands and rocked his head,

And murmured oft this short and troubled prayer — ■

" O God ! look on me, and my children spare !"

XIII.

Their little arms still round each other clung,
When their last sleep death's shadow o'er them flung !
And still they slept, and fainter grew their breath — ■
Faint and more faint, until their sleep Avas death.
Deep, but unmurmured was the mother's grief,
For in her Faith she sought and found relief ;

EDMUND AND HELEN. 39

Yea, while she mourned a daughter and a son,

She looked to heaven, and cried, " Thy will bo

done!"
But, oh ! the father no such solace found —
Dark, cheerless anguish wrapt his spirit round ;
He was a stranger to the Christian's hope,
And in bereavement's hour he sought a prop
On which his pierced and stricken soul might lean ;
Yet, as he sought it, doubts would intervene —
Doubts which for years had clouded o'er his soul — ■
Doubts that with prayers he struggled to control ;
For though a grounded faith he ne'er had known,
He was no prayerless man ; but he had grown
To thinking manhood from his dreaming youth,
A seeker still — a seeker after truth ! —
An earnest seeker, but his searching care
Sought more in books and nature than by prayer ;
And vain he sought, nor books nor nature gave
The hope of hopes that animates the grave !
Though, to have felt that hope, he would have

changed
His station with the mendicant who ranged
Homeless from door to door and begged his bread,
While heaven hurled its tempest round his head.
For what is hunger, pain, or piercing wind,
To the eternal midnight of the mind ?
Or what on earth a horror can impart,
Like his who feels engraven on his heart
The word, Annihilation! Often now
The sad Enthusiast would strike his brow,

40 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And cry aloud, with deep and bitter groans,

" How have I sinned, that both my little ones —

The children of my heart — should be struck down !

O Thou Almighty Spirit ! if thy frown

Is now upon me, turn aside thy wrath,

And guide me — lead, oh lead me in the path

Of heaven's own truth ; direct my faith aright,

Teach me to hope, and lend thy Spirit's light."

XIV.

Thus, long his soul as a frail bark was tossed
On a dark sea, with helm and compass lost,
Till she who ever to his breast had been
The star of hope and love, with brow serene,
As if no sorrow e'er her heart had riven,
But her eye calmly looked through time to heaven-
Soothed his sad spirit, and with anxious care
Used much of reason, and yet more of prayer ;
Till bright'ning hope dawned gently o'er his soul,
Like the sun's shadow at the freezing pole,
Seen by the shiv'ring Greenlander, or e'er
Its front of fire does his horizon cheer ;
While brighter still that ardent hope became,
Till in his bosom glowed the living flame
Of Christian faith — faith in the Saviour sent,
By the eternal God, to preach, " Bepent
And be ye saved." — Then peace, as sunshine, fell
On the Enthusiast's bosom, and the swell
Of anguish died away, as o'er the deep
The waves lie down when winds and tempests sleep.

EDMUND AND HELEN. 41

XV.

Time glided on, and wedded joys still grew

As beauty deepens on an autumn view

With tinges rich as heaven ! and, though less green,

More holy far than summers fairest scene.

Now o'er the happy pair, at life's calm eve

Age like a shadow fell, and seemed to- weave

So fair a twilight round each silvered brow,

That they ne'er felt so young, so blest as now ;

Though threescore winters o'er their path had fled,

And left the snow of years on either head.

For age drew round them, but they knew it not —

The once bright face of youth was half forgot ;

But still the young, the unchanged heart was there,

And still his aged Helen seemed as fair

As when, with throbbing heart and giddy bliss,

He from her lips first snatched the virgin kiss !

XVI.

Last scene of all : An old and widowed man,

Whose years had reached life's farthest, frailest span,

And o'er whose head, as every moment flew,

Eternity its dark'ning twilight threw,

Lay in his silent chamber, dull and lone,

Watching the midnight stars, as one by one

They as slow, voiceless spirits glided past

The window of his solitude, and cast

Their pale light on his brow ; and thus he lay

Till the bright star that ushers in the day

42 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Eose on his sight, and, with its cheering beams,
Lit in his bosom youth's delicious dreams ;
Yea, while he gazed upon that golden star.
Rolling in light, like love's celestial car,
He deemed he in its radiance read the while
His children's voices and his Helen's smile ;
And as it passed, and from his sight withdrew,
His longing spirit followed it ! and flew
To heaven and deathless bliss — from earth and care-
To meet his Helen and his children there !

SIR PEREGRINE AND THE LADY ETHELINE. 43

II.

THE ROMAUNT OF SIR PEREGRINE AND
THE LADY ETHELINE.

Of a maiden's beauty the world- Avide praise
Was a thing of duty in chivalrous days,
When her envied name was a nation's fame,
And raised in knights' breasts an emulous flame,
Which lighted to honour and grand emprise —
Things always so lovely in ladies' eyes ;
For a true woman's favour will ever be won
By that which is noble and nobly done.

Sir Peregrine sounded his bugle horn

With a note of love and a blast of scorn ;

Of love to the Ladye Etheline

Up in yon Castle of Eaglestein,

Whose beauty had passed o'er Christian land

As a philter to nerve the resolute hand

Of many a knight in the goodly throng

Who gathered round Godfrey of Buglion,

With Richard, and Raymond, and Leopold,

And thousands of others as brave and bold ;

And a blast of scorn to every knight

Who would dare to challenge his envied right.

44 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The porte yields quick to the warder's hand
By the Yerl's consent, by the Yerl's command ;
And the ladye, who knew the winding sound,
As the tra-la-la rang all around,
Has opened her casement up on high,
And thrown him the kiss of her courtesy.

n.
" I am come, fair ladye, to beg of thee,
As here I crave upon bended knee,
That thou wilt grant unto my prayer
A single lock of thy golden hair,
To wear in a lockheart over my breast,
And carry with me to the balmy East —
The land where the Saviour met his death,
The sacred Salem of saving faith,
Which holds the sepulchre of our Lord,
Defiled by a barbarous Paynim horde.
Grant me the meed for which I burn,
And, by our Ladye, on my return,
AVe will wedded be in the sacred bands
Of a sacrament sealed by holy hands."

The ladye has, with a gesture bland,

Taken her scissors into her hand,

And dipt a lock of her auburn hair,

And yielded it to his ardent prayer ;

But a pearly drop from her weeping eyes

Hath fallen upon the golden prize.

" Ah ! blessed drop," said the knight, and smiled-

" This tear was from thine heart beguiled,

SIR PEREGRINE AND THE LADY ETHELINE. 45

And I take it to be an omen of good,
For tears, my love, are purified blood,
That impart a beauty to female eyes,
And vouch for her kindly sympathies."
" Ah ! no, ah ! no," the maid replied —
" An omen of ill," and she heavily sighed ;
Then a flood came gushing adown her cheek,
Nor further word could the damoiselle speak.
Then said Sir Peregrine, smiling still,
" If tears, my love, are an omen of ill,
The way to deprive them of evil spell
Is to kiss them away, and — all is well !"
And he took in his arms the yielding maid,
And kissed them away, as he had said.

The warder has oped the portcluse again,
To let Sir Peregrine forth with his train.
Loud spoke the horn o'er fell and dell,
" Fare thee — fare thee — fare thee well ;"
But Etheline, as she waved her hand,
Could not those flowing tears command,
And thought the bugle in sounds did say,
" Fare thee — fare thee well for aye."

in.
A year has passed : at Eaglestein
There sat the Ladye Etheline ;
Her eyes were wet, and her cheek was pale,
Her sweet voice dwindled into a wail ;
For though through the world's busy crowd
The deeds of the war were sung aloud,

46 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And the name of Sir Peregrine was enrolled

With Godfrey's among the brave and bold,

No letter had come from her knight so dear,

To belie the spell of the lock and tear.

The Countess would weep, and the Yeii would say,

" Alas ! for the hour when he went away."

But the womb of old Time is everly full,

And the storm-wind bloweth after a lull.

Hark ! a horn has sounded both loud and clear,

And echoed around both far and near ;

It is Sir Eonald from Palestine —

Sir Ronald, a suitor of Etheline.

"I have come," said he, "through pain and peril,

To tell unto thee, most noble Yerl :

Woe to the SAvord of the fierce Soldan,

Who slew our most gallant capitan !

Sir Peregrine, in an unhappy hour,

Fell wounded before Hish Salem's tower,

And ere he died he commissioned me

To bear to Scotland, and give to thee,

This bit of the genuine haly rood

Dipt in his heart's outpouring blood,

That thou mightst give it to Etheline,

As a relic of dead Sir Peregrine."

IV.

All Eagles tein vale is yellow and sere,
The ancient elms seem withered and bare,
The river asleep in its rushy bed,
The waters are green, and the grass is red,

SIR PEREGRINE AND THE LADY ETHELINE. 47

The roses are dead in the sylvan bowers,

Where oft in the dewy evening hours,

Ere yet the fairies had sought the dell,

And the merle was singing her day-farewell,

The Lady Etheline would recline

And think of her dear Sir Peregrine :

All was cheerless now, forlorn,

As if they missed her at early morn ;

At noontide and at evening fall

They sorrowed for her, the spirit of all.

In the solary, up in the western wing,

The Countess and Yerl sat sorrowing

For one so young, so gentle, and fair,

Their only child, lying ailing there,

Waning and waning slowly away,

Yet waxing more beautiful every day,

As if she were drawing from spheres above,

Before she got there, the spirit of love,

Which shone as a light through the silken lire,

Pure as was that of the vestal fire ;

And ever she kissed in hysterical mood

The bit of the cross all red with blood.

" Oh mother dear ! I wish — I fear

The time of my going is drawing near :

Last night, at the mirk and midnight hour,

A voice seemed to come through my chamber door —

For the ear of the dying is tender and fine —

And three times it sounded Etheline ;

And it is true, as I've heard say,

Such voices are calls to come away —

48 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The voices of angels hovering near,

Who wish us to join them in yonder sphere."

" Oh ! no, oh ! no, my own dear child,

Thine overfine ears have thee beguiled :

It was the Yerl, when in a dream,

Who three times called thy dear-loved name ;

I heard the call as awake I lay,

And thou mayst believe what now I say."

" Oh mother! oh mother! what do I hear ?

It is the nightingale singing clear ;

I have heard the notes in Italian clime,

And remember them since that early time ;

And it is true, as I've heard say,

That when the nightingale sings by day,

The dying who hears it will pass away."

"No, no, my child, the song you hear

Is that of the throstle- cock singing clear :

I see him upon the linden tree,

And you. if you like, may also see.

I know its speckled breast too Avell ;

It is not, dear child, the nightingale."

When this she heard, the maiden sighed,
As if she were vexed she was denied
The hope of passing quickly away
To yon regions bright of eternal day.

" Oh mother ! list, what do I hear ?
Sir Peregrine's horn is winding clear :

SIR PEREGRINE AND THE LADY ETHELINE. 49

Ah, I know the sound, as it seems to say

In its -windings, ' Hali-hali-day ;'

And it is true, as I've heard tell,

When a dead man's horn sounds loud and shrill,

It is a true sign to his earthly bride,

He will wait for her spirit at evening tide."

The Countess turned her face to the Yerl ;

It was true what was said by the dying girl ;

It teas Sir Peregrine's horn they heard,

And they both sat mute, nor whispered a word,

For they wondered much, and were sore afraid

Of mysteries working about the maid,

Who, as she lay in her ecstasie,

Kept muttering sIoav an Ave Marie :

" Oh, Lady sweet ! the sign hath come,

Happy the maid whom her knight calls home ;

It is the nightingale that I hear,

The golden sun is shining clear ;

And I've heard tell in time past gone,

Blessed is the bier that the sun shines on."

And, as they listened, there came to their ear

The grating of the portcullis gear,

And a cry of fear from the ballion green,

As if the retainers a ghost had seen :

Tramp and tramp on the scaliere,

And along the corridor leading there ;

The door is opened, and lo ! comes in

The leal and the living Sir Peregrine.

VOL. XXIV. D

50 TALES OF tup: borders.

" Holy Maria!" the Countess cried,

" Holy Maria!" the Yerl replied ;

The maid looked up, then sank her head,

As an Ave Marie again she said :

"Ave Marie ! my sweet ladye,

Ave Marie ! I come to thee.

Ah, soft and clear those eyes of thine,

That look so kindly into mine ;

Oh Ladye sweet ! stretch forth thy hand

To welcome me to yon happy land ;

Oh Virgin ! open thy bosom fair,

That thy poor child may nestle there ;"

Then she laid her arms across her breast,

And gently, softly, sank to rest.

The throstle-cock's voice rang out more clear

On the linden tree there growing near,

And the sun burst forth with brighter ray

On the couch where her spirit had passed away.

v.

Over hollow, and over height,

Sir Peregrine sought that caitiff knight

Who had wrought such woe to Eaglestein —

To him and the Lady Etheline.

The time has come and the wish made good,

The villain he met in the Calder Wood.

" Hold, hold, thou basest dastard Theou,

For CeoiTs a name thou'rt far below ;

Ten lives like thine would not suffice

To be to my soul a sacrifice ;

SIR PEREGRINE AND THE LADY ETIIELINE. 51

There is the glaive, it is thine to try,

Or with it or without it thou must die.''

But the caitiff laughed a laugh of scorn :

" Come on, thou bastard of bastards born.-'

Their falchions are gleaming in bright mid-day : ■

They rushed like tigers upon their prey ;

Sir Peregrine's eyes flashed liquid fire,

The caitiff's shone out with unholy ire;

But victory goes not aye with right,

Nor the race to those the quickest in flight.

Sir Peregrine's fury o'ershot his aim :

His sword breaks through — his arm is maim !

With nothing to wield, with nothing to ward,

No word of mercy or quarter heard ;

With a breast-wound deep as his heart he lies,

A look of scorn — Sir Peregrine dies.

Behind the crumbling walls of Eaglestein,

The tomb of the old Yerls may still be seen,

And there long mouldering lay close side by side,

Sir Peregrine the bold and his fair bride ;

Their ashes scattered now and blown away,

As thine and mine will be some coming day.

This world is surely an enchanted theme,

A thing of seims and shows — a wild fantastic dream.

52 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

III.

THE LEGEND OF ALLERLEY HALL.

The tower-bell has sounded the midnight hour,
Old Night has unfolded her sable pall,
Darkness o'er hamlet, darkness o'er hall,
Loud screams the raven on Allerley Tower ;*
A glimmering gleam from yon casement high
Is all that is seen by the passer-by.

All things are neglected, time-smitten there,
Crazy and cobwebbed, mildewed and worn,
Moth-eaten, Aveeviled, dusty, forlorn,
Everything owning to waning and wear ;
From the baron's hall to the lady's bower
Neglect is the watchword in Allerley Tower.

There is silence within old Allerley Hall,
Save the raven without with her " croak, croak,"
And the cricket's "click, click," in the panels of oak,
Behind the dim arras that hangs on the wall ;

* In Ayrshire, as I have heard, but I know of no trace of the
family. The old distich may be traced to some other county :

" The Allerley oak stands high abune trees ;
"When the raven croaks there, an Allerley dees."

Such rhymes have generally something to rest upon, but I can-
not associate this with any county, far less a family.

THE LEGEND OF ALLEULEY HALL. 53

So silent and sad in the midnight hour,
Yet life may still linger in Allerley Tower.

An old woman sits by a carved old bed —
The drape of green silk, all yellow and sere,
The gold-colonred fringes dingy and drear ;
And she nods and nods her silvery head,
And sometimes she looks with a half-drowsy air,
To notice how Death may be working there.

Lord William lies there, care-worn and pale,
All his sunlight of spirit has passed away,
And left to him only that twilight of grey
Which ushers men into the long dark vale ;
Fast ebbing his life, yet feeling no pain,
Save a memory working within his brain.

He had sought the world's crowd for forty years,
But only a little relief to borrow
From the heartfelt pangs of that early sorrow
Which had drawn him aAvay from his gay compeers,
And made him oft sigh, with a pain-begot scorn,
That into this world he ever was born.

But being brought in, as a victim, to tarry,

With him, as with all, it is how to get out

With no more of pain than you can't go without,

Where all have original sin to carry ;

But his memory brightened, as strength waxed low,

Of the grief he had borne forty years ago.

54 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

There is silence and sadness in Allerley Tower ;
The taper is glimmering with murky snot,
The raven croak- croaking with rusty throat,
And the cricket click-clicking at midnight hour ;
And the woman mope-moping by the bed,
Still nodding and nodding her drowsy head.

" Now bring me, old nurse, from that escritoire,

A packet tied up with a ribbon of blue ;"

Ah ! well, though now faded, that ribbon he knew,

Which his fingers had bound forty years before.

He shuddered to look, yet afraid to wait,

Lest Death might render his vision too late.

That ribbon he drew in a calm despair :
Behold now revealed to his wondering eyes
A face of all beautiful harmonies,
Set fair among ringlets of golden hair ;
With eyes so blue and a smile of heaven,
Which haply some angel to her had given.

Beside that miniature lay a scroll,

As written by him forty years before :

He read every word of it o'er and o'er,

And every word of it flashed through his soul,

In a flood of that bright and awakened light

Which slumbers and sleeps through a long, long night.

THE SCROLL.

" I loved my love early, the young Lady May ;
I saw her bloom rarely in youth's rosy day ;

THE LEGEND OF ALLERLEY HALL. 55

But her eye looked afar to some orb that was shining,
As if for that sphere her spirit was pining.

" Faint in the light of day seemed what was near her ;
Visions far, far away, clearer and clearer ;
Still, as flesh wears away spirits that bear it,
Eyeing yon milky way, sigh to be near it.

" Lady May, she is dying — she hears some one whisper,
Near where she's lying, ' Come away, sister ' —
Draw down each silky lid — draw them clown over
Eyes whose last light on earth shone on her lover.

"My lost Lady May in yon vault now is sleeping ;
Her sisters who go to pray come away weeping ;
And while I yet linger here, some one elates me,
Whispering into my ear, ' Yonder she waits thee.' "

And thus they had waited until this last day,
But the hour of their meeting was coming apace ;
And as he still gazed on that beautiful face,
His spirit so weary passed gently away ;
And the nurse would unfold those fingers so cold,
Which still of that picture retained the hold.

There's the silence of death in Allerley Tower,
The taper gone out with its murky smoke,
The raven has finished her croak-croak,
The cricket is silent at midnight hour ;
The last of the Allerley lords lies there,
And Allerley goes to a distant heir.

Ob TALES OF THE BORDERS.

In yon tomb where was laid his young Lady May,

Lord William sleeps now by the side of her bier ;

And the Allerley lords and ladies lie near,

But nearest of neighbours they nothing can say :

No " Good morrow, my lord," when the day is begun,

No " My lady, good night," when the day it is done.

THE LEUEND OF THE LADY KATHARINE. 57

IV.
THE LEGEND OF THE LADY KATHARINE.

'Twas at a time now long past gone,

And well gone if 'twill stay,
When our good land seemed made alone

For lords and ladies gay ;
When brown bread was the poor man's fare,

For which he toiled and swet,
When men were used as nowt or deer,
And heads were only worth the wear

When crowned with coronet.

There was a right good noble knight,

Sir Bullstrode was his name* —
A name which he acquired by fight,

And with it meikle fame.
Upon his burnished shield he bore

A head of bull caboshed
(For so they speak in herald lore),
And for his crest he aptly wore

Two bones of marrow crossed.

* A knight called Bullstrode, as having got his name in the
way set forth, is mentioned by Guillim ; but whether he is the
same as he who figures in the Scotch legend I do not know.

58 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

For he had slain in tournay set

Full many a blazoned fool ;
Nor would he deem his praise complete

Till he had slain a bull.
He threw the gauntlet at the brute,

"Which was received with scorn,
For Taurus straight the gauntlet took,
Then in the air the bauble shook,

And tossed it on his horn.

To fight they went with might and main,

And fought a good long hour ;
The knight's long lance was broke in twain-

Sir Bull had now the power ;
The ladies laughed, the barons too,

As they Sir Bull admired !
But where fair ladies are to view,
"Who may declare what knight may do,

By noble emprise fired ?

The knight he paused amid the claque,

And threw a look of scorn :
Sir Bull has Bullstrode on his back,

"Who held by either horn ;
And round the ring, and round the ring,

Rushed bull in wild affray,
Stamping, roaring, bellowing, —
And, stumbling, gave his neck a wring,

And Bullstrode won the day.

THE LEGEND OF THE LADY KATHARINE. 59

This valiant knight, by love inspired,

Next sued fair Katharine,
The daughter of Sir Ravensbeard,

A man of ancient line ;
And he had known the reason good

Sir Bullstrode got his name,
And wished — if Kate could be subdued — -
To mix his blue and blazoned blood

With one of such a fame.

ii.

But when the knights are thus employed,

The lady is in yon glen,
There seated by the river side

With one, the flower of men —
George Allan — a rich yeoman's heir,

Who leased her father's land.
Yet, though beloved by all the fair,
Young Allan might not surely dare

To claim this envied hand.

Yet hearts will work, and hearts will steal

What high commands deny ;
And beauty is a thing to feel,

Self-chosen by the eye :
Nor would fair Katharine had gi'en

A touch of Allan's hand
For all the honours she could gain
From duke or earl, lord or thane,

Or knight in all the land.

GO TALES OF THE BORDERS. .

She knew the price she had to pay

For this her secret love ;
But where's a will there is a way,

And Kate she would it prove.
The will we know, the way's obscure,

Deep in her soul confined ;
What quick invention might secure,
With loAre for the inspiring power,

Was in that maiden's mind.

" Now, Allan," she said, with a silent laugh,

In eyes both quaint and keen,
" Thou must not fear, for here I swear

By Coz. Saint Catharine,
'Twas easier for this doughty knight

To hold these horns he dared,
Than take for wife by a father's right,
Against the spurn of a maiden's spite,

The daughter of Eavensbeard."

"No, no, fair lady," George Allan said —

With tears his eyes were full —
" 'Tis easier to force the will of a maid,

Than hold by the horns a bull."
" Yes ! yes ! of the maids who say a prayer,

Like sisters of orders grey ;
But Kate admits no craven fear,
And she can do what they cannot dare,

For she's quicker of parts than they."

THE LEGEND OF THE LADY KATHARINE. Gl

III.

It's up in yon chamber well bcdight

Of the castle of Invercloyd,
A maiden sits with a grim sir knight

Seated on either side.
" I come to thee by a father's right,

To issue my last command,
That thou concede to this gallant knight,
What his noble nature will requite,

The guerdon of thy hand."

" And here, upon my bended knee,"

Sir Bullstrode blandly said,
" I pray thee, in knightly courtesie,

The grace thy sire hath pled."
" Oh yes ! a guerdon let it remain,

I give thee free consent ;
But I have a mind, and will maintain,
This knight shall only my favour gain

In knightly tournament."

" What meaneth the wench ?•" the father cried,

With a fire-flaught in his eye,
" What other knight would'st thou invite

Sir Bullstrode to defy ?
Is he a lover ? I grant no parle,

For I am resolved to know,
And wish, by my sword, no better a quarrel ;
And be he a ceorl, or be he an earl,

He goes to shades below."

62 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" No lover is lie, my father dear,

My champion who shall be ;
A stranger knight shall for me fight,

And shall my fate decree."
" Well done ! well done !" cried Sir Bullstrode,

" That goeth with my gree ;
May the carrion crow be then abroad,
All hungry to feed upon carrion food,

That day he fights with me."

" But let this contract," said the maid,

" Be written on parchment skin,
And signed, and sealed, and witnessed,

That surety I may find."
Again the father knit his brow,

Yet could not he complain,
Because Sir Bullstrode wished it so,
That all the world might come to know

His honour he could maintain.

IV.

It's up in yon chamber tapestried,

Sits the Lady Katharine ;
She smiled at a woman's art applied

Her own true love to win.
And lo ! who comes in a tearful way,

But her pretty tire-woman,
" Hey ! hey ! what now ? good lack-a-day !
Such cheeks so pale, and lips like clay ;

What ails maid Lilian ?"

THE LEGEND OF THE LADY KATHARINE. 60

" Oh it is, it is, young mistress mine,

All about this valiant knight,
Who came to me all drunk with wine,

At the dead hour of the night.
He seized me struggling to get free,

And swore by the goat of Jove,
He would me fee, if I would be,
La ! my lady ! I fear to tell it to thee,

His left-hand lady-love.'1''

" Ho ! ho ! my maid, a pretty scene !

A brute of noble parts !
But 'tis easier to turn a bull by each horn,

Than rule two women's hearts.
No harems have Ave in western land,

Where a woman's soul is free,
To rule weak man by her high command,
And rouse by a wave of her wizard wand

The fire of his chivalrie."

v.

Lo ! round the lists, and round the lists,

Bedecked with pennons gay,
Environed there with ladies fair,

Sir Bullstrode held his way.
High mounted on a gallant steed,

And armed a-cap-a-pie,
His lance well graced by a pennon red,
A white plume nodded o'er his head,

With ribbons at his knee.

64 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" Why mounts not Kate the dais seat?"

The father loudly cried.
" She hath not finished her robing yet,"

A lady quick replied.
And now a shout rang all aboiit,

Ho ! ho ! there comes apace,
A Cataphract* of noble mien,
With armour bright as silver sheen,

And eke of gentle grace.

He bore for his escochion

Dan Cupid with his dart,
And for his crest there was impressed

A well-skewered bleeding heart ;
His yellow streamer on his spear,

Flew fluttering in the wind,
And thrice he waved it in the air,
As if to fan the ladies there,

And thrice his head inclined.

" "Who's he, who's he ?" cried Eavensbeard ;

But no one there could say.
" Knowest thou him ? " cried some who heard ;

But each one answered Nay.
" I am Sir Peveril," said the knight,

" If you my name would learn,
And I will for fair Katharine fight,
A lady's love, and a lady's right,

And a lady's choice to earn."

* A kuiglit completely equipped ; a word in common use in
the times of chivalry.

THE LEGEND OF THE LADY KATHARINE. 65

The gauntlet thrown upon the ground,

Sir Bullstrode laughed with joy:
"■Short work," said he, " I'll make of thee —

Methinks a beardless boy."
Nor sooner said than in he sprang

And aimed a mortal blow,
The crenel upon the buckler rang,
And having achieved an echoing clang,

It made no more ado.

The stranger knight wheeled quick as light,

And charging with gratitude,
Gave him good thank on his left flank,

And lo ! a stream of blood !
Shall he this knight, so dread in fight,

Cede to this beardless foe,
And feel in his pain, returned again,
That vaunt of his so empty and vain,

That vaunt of the carrion crow?

Stung by the wound, not less by shame,

He gathered all his force,
And sprang again, with desperate aim,

His enemy to unhorse ;
But he who watched the pointed lance

A dexterous movement made,
And saw his foe, as he missed the blow,
Rock in his selle both to and fro,

And vault o'er his horse's head.
VOL. XXIV. E

66 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Sore fainting from the loss of blood,

He lay upon the ground,
Nor e'er a leech within his reach

Can stop that fatal wound.
And there with many an honour full,

That brave and doughty knight,
Sir Bullstrode, who once strode the bull,
And killed (himself one) many a fool,

Has closed his eyes in night.

VI.

And now within the ballion court

There sits Sir Ravensbeard :
" Who shall me say what popinjay

Hath earned this proud reward ? "
And there stands Katharine all confessed

In maiden dignity ;
" 'Twas I, in 'fence of life sore pressed,
'Twas I, at honour's high behest,

This bad man made to die.

" For hear me, sire, restrain your ire,

This knight you so admired,
A plan had laid to ruin my maid,

While he for my love aspired.
I claim the contract by his hand,

Whereto thou'rt guarantee,
And this young Allan is the man,
And he alone of all Scotland,

Thy Katharine's lord shall be."

THE BALLAD OF AILIE FAA. 67

THE BALLAD OF AILIE FAA.

Sir Robert lias left his castle ha',

The castle of fair Holmylee,
And gone to meet his Ailie Faa,

Where no one might be there to see.
He has sounded shrill his bugle horn,

But not for either horse or hound ;
And "when the echoes away were borne,

lie listened for a well-known sound.

He hears a rustling among the leaves,

Some pattering feet are drawing near ;
Like autumn's breathings amono; the sheaves,

So sweet at eventide to hear :
His Ailie Faa, who is sweeter far

Than the white rose hanging upon the tree,
"Who is fairer than the fairies are

That dance in moonlight on the lea.

Oh ! there are some flowers, as if in love,
Unto the oak their arms incline ;

And tho' the tree may rotten prove,
They still the closer around it twine :

68 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

So has it been until this hour,
And so in coming time 'twill be,

Wherever young love may hang a flower,
"Twill think it aye ane trusty tree.

He has led her into a summer bower,

For he was fond and she was fain,
And there with all of a lover's power

He whispered that old and fatal strain,
Which those who sing it and those who hear

Have never sung and never heard,
But they have shed the bitter tear

For every soft delusive word.

He pointed to yon castle ha',

And all its holts so green and fair ;
And would not she, poor Ailie Faa,

Move some day as a mistress there ?
As the parched lea receives the rains,

Her ears drank up the sweet melodic ;
A gipsy's blood flowed in her veins,

A gipsy's sold flashed in her eye.

Oh ! it's time will come and time will e;o.

That which has been will be ao,ain ;
This strange world's ways go to and fro,

This moment joy, the next is pain.
A sough has thro' the hamlet spread,

To Ailie's ear the tidings came,
That Holmylee will shortly wed

A lady fair of noble name.

THE BALLAD OF AILIE FAA. 69

II.

In yon lone cot adown the Lynne

A -widowed mother may think it long
Since there Avere lightsome words within,

Since she has heard blithe Ailie's song.
A gloomy shade sits on Ailie's brow,

At times her eyes flash sudden fires,
The same she had noticed long ago,

Deep flashing in her gipsy sire's.

When the wind at even was low and loun,

And the moon paced on in her majesty
Thro' lazy clouds, and threw adown

Her silvery light o'er turret and tree,
Then Ailie sought the green alcove,

That place of fond lovers' lone retreat,
Where she for the boon of gentle love,

Had changed the meed of a deadly hate.

She sat upon " the red Lynne stone,"

Where she between the trees might see,
By yon pale moon that shone thereon,

The goodly turrets of Holmylee.
And as she felt the throbbing pains,

And as she heaved the bursting sigh,
A gipsy's blood burned in her veins,

A gipsy's soul flashed in her eye.

If small the body that thus was moved,
So like the form that fairies wear,

70 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

It was that slenderuess he loved,
So tiny a thing he might not fear.

But there is an insect skims the air,

Bedecked with azure and green and gold,

Whose sting is a deadlier thing by far
Than dagger of yon baron bold.

in.

She sat upon the red Lynne stone,

The midnight sky was overcast,
The winds are out with a sullen moan,

The angry Lynne is rolling past.
What then ? there was no lack of light,

Full fifteen windows blazing shone
Up on the castle on the height,

While Ailie Faa sat there alone.

For there is dancing and deray

In the ancient castle of Holmylee,
And barons bold and ladies gay

Are holding high-jinks revelry.
Sir Robert has that day been wed,

'Midst sounding trumpets of eclat,
And one that night will grace his bed

Of nobler birth than Ailie Faa.

Revenge will claim its high command,
And Ailie is on her feet erect,

She passes nervously her hand
Between her jupe and jerkinet.

THE BALLAD OF AILIE FAA. 71

There lies a charm for woman's wrong,
Concealed where beats the bursting heart,

Which, ere an hour hath come and gone,
Will play somewhere a fatal part.

IV.

Up in the hall of Holmylee

Still sound the revel, the dance, and song,
And through the open doors and free

There pours the gay and stately throng ;
But of all the knights and barons there,

The bridegroom still the foremost stood,
And she the fairest of the fair,

The bride who was of noble blood.

It was when feet were tripping

The mazes of the dance,
It was when lips were sipping

The choicest wines of France,
A wild scream rose within the hall,

"Which pierced the roofen tree,
And in the midst was seen to fall

The Baron of Holmylee.

" To whom belongs this small stilette,

By whom our host is slain ?"
Between a jupe and jerkinet

That weapon long had lain.
Each on his sword his hand did lay,

This way and that they ran ;
But she who did the deed is away,

Ho ! catch her if you can.

72 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

VI.

THE LEGEND OF THE FAIR EMERGILDE.

i.

Thou little god of nieikle sway,

Who rul'st from pole to pole,
And up beyond yon milky way,

Where wondrous planets roll :
Oh ! tell me how a power divine,

That tames the creatures wild,
Whose touch benign makes all men kin,

Coidd slay sweet Emergilde ?

It's up the street, and down the street,

And up the street again,
And all the day, and all the way,

She looks at noble men ;
But him she seeks she cannot find

In all that moving train ;
No one can please that anxious gaze,

And own to " Ballenden."

From the high castle on the knowe,

Adown the Canongate,
And from the palace in the howe,

Up to the castle yett,
A hizzy here, a cadie there,

She stops with modest mien ;

THE LEGEND OF THE FAIR EMERGILDE. 73

All she can say lour words convey :
" I seek for Ballenden."

Nor more of our Scotch tongue she knew,

For she's of foreign kin,
And all her speech can only reach

" I seek for Ballenden."
No Ballenden she yet could find,

No one aught of him knew ;
She sought at night dark Toddrick's Wynd,

Next morn to search anew.

u.

And who is she, this fair ladye,

To whom our land is strange ?
Why all alone, to all unknown,

Within this city's range ?
Her face was of the bonnie nut-brown

Our Scotch folk love to view,
When 'neath it shows the red, red rose,

Like sunlight shining through.

Her tunic was of the mazerine,

Of scarlet her roquelaire,
And o'er her back, in ringlets black,

Fell down her raven hair.
Her eyes, so like the falling stems,

Seen on an August night,
Had surely won from eastern sun

Some rayons of his light.

74 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And still she tried, and still she plied,

Her task so sad and vain,
The words still four — thev were no more-

" I seek for Ballenden."
No Ballenden could she yet find,

No one aught of him knew,
And still at night down Toddrick's Wynd,

Next morn to search anew.

in.

In Euphan Barnet's lowly room,

Adown that darksome wynd,
A ladye fair is lying there,

In illness sair declined ;
Her cheeks now like the lily pale,

The roses waned away,
Her eyes so bright have lost their light.

Her lips are like the clay.

On her fair breast a missal rests,

Illumed with various dyes,
In which were given far views of heaven

In old transparencies.
There hangs the everlasting cross

Of emerald and of gold,
That cross of Christ so often kissed

When she her beads had told.

Those things are all forgotten now,
Far other thoughts remain ;

THE LEGEND OE THE EA1H EMEI1GILDE. YO

And as she dreams she ever renes,

" I seek for Ballenden."
Oh Ballenden ! oh Ballenden !

Whate'er, where'er thou be,
That ladye fair is dying there,

And all for love of thee.

IV.

In the old howf of the Canongate

There is a little lair,
And on it grows a pure white rose,

By love implanted there ;
And o'er it hangs a youthful man,

With a cloud upon his brow,
And sair he moans, and sair he groans,

For her who sleeps below.

No noble lord nor banneret,

Nor courtly knight is he,
No more than a simple advocate,

Who pleadeth for his fee.
He holds a letter in his hand,

On which bleared eyes are bent,
It came afar from Almanzar,

The Duke of Bonavent —

A noble duke whom he had seen

In his castle by the sea,
"When for one night he claimed the right

Of his high courtesie ;

76 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And that letter said, " Kind sir, I write

In sorrow, sooth to say,
That my dear child, fair Emergilde,

Hath from us flown away ;

" And all the trace that I can find

Is this, and nothing more,
She took to sea at Tripoli

For Scotland's distant shore.
It is a feat of strange conceit

That fills us with alarms :
Oh seek about, and find her out,

And send her to our arms."

v.

And who is he this letter reads

With tears the words atween ?
Yea ! even he she had sought to see,

The sair-sought Ballenden.
Yet little little had he thought,

When away in that far countrie,
That a look she had got of a humble Scot

Would ever remembered be.

But tho' he had deemed himself forgot

By one so far away,
Her image had still, against his will,

Him haunted night and day.
And when he laid him on his bed,

And sair inclined to sleep,
That face would still, against his will,

Its holy vigil keep.

THE LEGEND OF THE FAIR EMERGILDE. 77

Oh gentle youth, thou little thought,

When away in our north countrie,
That up and clown, thro' all the town,

That ladye sought for thee.
And little little did thou wot

What in Euphan's room was seen,
Where, as she died, she whispering sighed,

"I die for Balleuden."*

* The reader will remember the romantic story of the English
A'Becket ; but it would seem our Scottish advocate was even
more highly favoured. Nor is the romance in such cases limited
to the ladies. I may refer to the pathetic story of Geoffrey Eudel,
a gentleman of Provence, and a troubadour, who, having heard
from the knights returned from the Holy Land of the hospitality
of a certain countess of Tripoli, whose grace and beauty equalled
her virtue, fell deeply in love with her without ever having seen
her. In 1162 he quitted the court of England and embarked
for the Holy Land. On his voyage he was attacked by a severe
illness, and had lost the power of speech when lie arrived at
the port of Tripoli. The countess, being informed that a cele-
brated poet was dying of love for her on board a vessel, visited
him on shipboard, took him by the hand, and attempted to
cheer him. Eudel recovered his speech sufficiently to thank the
countess for her humanity, and to declare his passion, when his
expressions of gratitude were silenced by the convulsions of
death. He was buried at Tripoli, beneath a tomb of porphyry
which the countess raised to his memory. His verses "On
Distant Love" were well known. They began thus :

Angry and sad shall be my way

If I behold not her afar,
And yet I know not when that day

Shall rise, for still she dwells afar.
God, who has formed this fair array

Of worlds, and placed my love afar,
Strengthen my heart with hope, I pray,

Of seeino; her I love afar.

78 TxiLES OF THE BORDERS.

VII

THE ROMAUNT OF THE CASTLE OF WEIR.

The baron has gone to the hunting green,

All by the ancient Castle of Weir,

With his gnest, Sir Hubert, of Norman kin,

And a maiden, his only daughter dear —

The Ladye Tomasine, famed around

For beauty as well as for courtesie,

Wherever might sensible heads be found,

Or ears to listen, or eyes to see.

Nor merely skin-deep was she fair:

She had a spirit both true and leal,

As all about the Castle of Weir

Were many to know, and many to tell.

Right well she knew what it was to feel

Grim poverty in declining day,

With a purse to ope, and a hand to deal,

And tears to bless what she gave away ;

Yet she was blithe and she was gay.

And now she has gone to the hunting green,

All on this bright and sunshiny day,

To fly her favourite peregrine,

With her hunting coat of the baudvkin,

Down which there flowed her raven hair,

THE ROMATJNT OF THE CASTLE OF "WEIR, j

And her kirtle of the red sendal fine,
With an eagle's plume in her heading gear.

ii.

If the knight had not a hawk on his wrist,
He had kestrel eyes both cunning and keen,
And the quarry of which he was in quest
Was the heart of the lovely Tomasine ;
But the ladye thought him a kestrel kite,
With a grovelling eye to the farmer's coop,
And wanted the bold and daring flight
That mounts to the sun to make a swoop.

The Baron of Weir points to the sky,

" Ho ! ho ! a proud heron upon the wing !

Unhood, my Tomasine dear, untie !

Off with the jesses — away him fling !"

" Up ! up ! my Guy," cried the laughing maid,

As with nimble fingers she him unjessed,

'; Up ! up ! and away ! and earn thy bread,

Then back to thy mistress to be caressed."

Up sprang the bird with a joyful cry,

And eyed his quarry, yet far away,

Still up and up in the dark blue sky,

That he might aim a swoop on his prey ;

Then down as the lightning bolt of Jove

On the heron, who, giving a scream of fear,

Shoots away from his enemy over above,

And makes for the rushing Water of Weir.

80 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

III.

The Water of Weir is rushing down,
Foaming and furious, muddy and brown,
From the heights where the laughing Naiads dwell,
And cascades leap from the craggy fell,
Where the mountain streamlets brattle and brawl,
'Midst the mountain maidens' echoing call,
Through pools where the water-kelpies wait
For the rider who dares the roaring spate.
Rain-fed, proud, turgid, and swollen,
Now foaming wild, now sombre and sullen ;
Dragging the rushes from banks and braes,
Tearing the drooping branches of trees,
Rolling them down by scallop and scaur,
Involving all in a watery war —
Turned, and whirled, and swept along,
Down to the sea to be buried and gone.

The peregrine, fixed on the wader's back,

Is carried along in her devious track,

As with a weak and a wailing scream

The victim crosses the raging stream.

" I will lose, I will lose my gay peregrine!"

Cried shrilly the Ladye Tomasine :

She will hurry across the bridge of wood,

With its rail of wattle which long hath stood ;

Her nimble feet are upon the plank

That will bear her over from bank to bank ;

She has crossed it times a thousandfold :

Time brings youth and Time makes old ;

THE EOMAUNT OF THE CASTLE OF WEIR. 81

The wattles have rotted while she was growing,
The wind is up and the waters rowing,
And to keep her feet she must use her hand.
"Comeback! comeback!" was the baron's command,
Too late ! — go wattles — a piercing scream !
And the maid falls into the roaring stream !
Round and round, in eddying whirl,
Who shall save the perishing girl?
Round and round, and down and away,
Nothing to grasp, and nothing to stay.
The baron stands fixed and wrings his hands,
And looks to Sir Hubert, who trembling stands.
Sir Hubert ! one moment now is thine —
The next ! and a power no less than divine
Can save this maid of so many charms
From the grasp of Death's enfolding arms.
Spring ! spring ! Sir Hubert, the moment is thine
To save a life, and a love to win.
No ! no ! the dastard kestrel kite
Aye hugs the earth in his stealthy flight.
Hope gone ! the pool at the otter's cave
Will prove the Ladye Tomasine's grave.
Ho ! ho ! see yonder comes rushing clown
A lithe young hind, though a simple clown —
Off bonnet and shoes, and coat and vest,
A plunge ! and he holds her round the waist !
Three strokes of his arm, with his beautiful prize
All safe, although faint, on the bank she lies !
A cottager's wife came running down,
" Take care of the ladye," said the clown.
VOL. XXIV. F

82 TALES OF THE BOEDERS.

He lias donned his clothes, and away he has gone,
His name unuttered, his home unknown.

IV.

Up in the ancient Castle of Weir
Sat the baron, the knight, and the fair Tomasine ;
And the baron he looked at his daughter dear,
While the salt tears bleared his aged eyne ;
And then to the steward, with hat in hand :
" Make known unto all, from Tweed to Tyne,
A hundred rose nobles I'll give to the man
Who saved the life of my Tomasine."
Sir Hubert cried out, in an envious vein,
" Who is he that will vouch for the lurdan loon ?
There's no one to say he would know him again,
And another may claim the golden boon."
Then' said the ladye, " My eyes were closed,
And I never did see this wondrous man ;
And the cottar woman she hath deposed
He was gone ere his features she could scan."
" Ho !" cried the baron, " I watched him then,
As I stood on the opposite bank afeared ;
Of a hundred men I would ken him again,
Though he were to doff his dun-brown beard."

A year has passed at the Castle of Weir,
Yet no one has claimed the golden don ;
Most wonderful thing to tell or to hear !
Was he of flesh and blood and bone ?
Though golden nobles might not him wile,
Was there not something more benign ?

THE ROMAUNT OF THE CASTLE OF WEIR. 83

Was not for him a maiden's smile ?
Was not that maiden Tomasine ?

v.

The ladye sat within, her summer bower

Alone, deep musing, in the still greenwood ;

Sadly and slowly passed the evening hour,

Sad and sorrowful was her weary mood,

For she had seen, beneath a shadowing tree,

All fast asleep a beauteous rural swain,

Whom she had often sighed again to see,

But never yet had chanced to see again ; —

So beautiful that, if the time had been

In a long mythic age now past and gone,

She might have deemed that she had haply seen

The all-divine Latona's fair-haired son

Come down upon our earth to pass a day

Among the daughters fair of earth-born men,

And had put on a suit of sober grey,

To appear unto them as a rural swain.

With features all so sweet in harmony,

You might have feigned they breathed a music mild,

With lire so peachy, fit to charm the eye,

And lips right sure to conquer when they smiled,

All seen through locks of lustrous auburn hair,

Which wanton fairies had so gaily thrown

To cover o'er a face so wondrous fair,

Lest Dian might reclaim him as her own.

In the still moonlit hour there steals along,
And falls upon her roused and listening ear

84 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The notes of some night- wandering minstrel's song,

And oh ! so SAveet and sad it was to hear.

You might have deemed it came from teylin sweet,

Touched by some gentle fairy's cunning hand,

To tell us of those joys that we shall meet

In some far distant and far happier land ;

And oft at night, as time still passed away,

That hopeless song throughout the greenwood came,

And oft she heard repeated in the lay

The well-known sound of her own maiden name ;

And often did she wish, and often sighed,

That bashful minstrel for once more to see,

To know if he were him she had espied

All fast asleep beneath the greenwood tree.

VI.

Alace ! and alace ! for that false pride

In the hearts of those of high degree,

And that gentle love should be decried

By its noblest champion, Chivalrie.

If the baron shall hear a whispered word

Of that fond lover's sweet minstrelsie,

That love-lorn heart and his angry sword

May some night better acquainted be.

Woe ! woe ! to the viper's envenomed tongue

That obeys the hest of a coward's heart,

Who tries to avenge his fancied wrong

By getting another to act his part.

Sir Hubert has lisped in the baron's ear,

When drinking wine at the evening hour,

THE R03IAUNT OF THE CASTLE OF WEIR. 85

That a minstrel clown met his daughter dear

At night in her lonely greenwood bower.

" Hush ! hush ! Sir Hubert, thy words are fires ;

Elves are about us that hear and see,

Who may tell to the ghost of my noble sires

Of a damned blot on our pedigree."

And the baron frowned with darkened brow,

And by the bones of his fathers swore

That from that night this minstrel theou,

To his daughter would warble his love no more.

VII.

That night the minstrel sang in softer flow,

Waxing and waning soft and softer still,

Like autumn's night winds breathing loun and low,

Or evening murmur of the wimpling rill ;

But there was heard that night no farewell strain,

As in foretime there ever used to be —

A stop ! and then no more was heard again

That bashful lover's hapless minstrelsie.

Next morn the maid, with purpose to enjoy

The forest flowers and wild birds' early song,

Unto the greenwood went ; and to employ

Her weary musing as she went along,

Love's magic memory from its depths upbrought

The notes that ever still so sweetly hung

About her heart ; and as she gaily thought,

She sung them o'er as she had heard them sung.

Onward she moved : her dreamy, listless eye

Had leant upon a fragrant wild-rose bed,

86 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And, glancing farther, what does she descry ?
Stretched stiff and bloody, his sad spirit fled,
Yea, him whom when asleep she once had seen,
And had so often wished again to see,
Now dead and cold 'mong the leaves so green,
And all beneath the well-known greenwood tree.

" Good day, my ladye," then some one said —
It was Sir Hubert there close behind ;
" He will sing no more, or I am belied,
For the reason, I wot, that he Avanteth wind."
Up came the baron in angry vein ;
He casts his eye on the body there ;
He scans the features again and again
With a look of doubt and shudder of fear ;
His hands he wrings with a groan of pain,
He rolls his eyeballs with gesture wild —
" Great God! by a villain's counsel I've slain
The youth who saved my darling child !"

Among yon hoary elms that o'er him grow
A harp is hung to catch the evening gale,
That sings to him in accents soft and low,
And soothes the maiden with its sorrowful wail,
Who, as she sits within her greenwood bower,
And listens to the teylin's solemn strain,
Bethinks her, in her tears, of every hour
That gentle youth had sung to her in vain.

THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND. 87

VIIT.
THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND.

Of Scotland's cities, still the rarest

Is ancient Edinburgh town ;
And of her ladies, still the fairest

There yon see walk up and down :
Be they gay, or be they gayless,

There they beck and there they bow,
From the Castle to the Palace,

In farthingale and furbelow.

Says Lady Jane to Lady Janet,

" Thy gown, I vow, is stiff and grand ;
Though there were feint a body in it,

Still I trow that it would stand."
And Lady Janet makes rejoinder :

" Thy boddice, madam, is sae tend,
The bonny back may crack asunder,

But, by my faith, it winna bend."

But few knew one both fairer, kinder,
The fair maid of St. Mary's Wynd ;

Among the great you will not find her,
For she was of the humbler, kind.

88 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

For her minnie spinning, plodding,
She "wore no ribbons to her shune,

No mob-cap on her head nid-nodding,
But aye the linsey-woolsey gown.

No Lady Jane in silks and laces,

How fair soever she might be,
Could match the face — the nature's graces

Of this poor, humble Marjorie :
Her eyes they were baith mirk and merry,

Her lire was as the lily fair,
Her lips were redder than the cherry,

And flaxen was her glossy hair.

Ye bucks who wear the coats silk-braided,

With satin ribbons at your knee,
And cambric ruffles starched and plaited,

With cocked bonnets all ajee,
Who walk with mounted canes at even,

Up and down so jauntilie,
Ye would have given a blink of heaven

For one sweet smile from Marjorie.

But Marjory's care was aye her minnie,

And day by day she sat and span ;
Nor did she think it aught but sin aye,

To bear the stare of gentleman :
She doated on her own dear Willie,

For dear to her fond heart was he,
Who, though his sire was poor, yet still he

Was far above the low degree.

THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND. 89

It was aye said his father's father

Did claim some Spanish pedigree,
Which many -well believed, the rather

That he was not of our countrie :
His skin was brown as nut of hazel,

His eye was black as Scottish sloe,
And all so bright that it would dazzle

The eye that looked that eye into.

There came into his head a notion,

"Which wrought and wrought within his brain,
That he would cross th' Atlantic Ocean,

And seek the land of Spanish Main ;
And there amass a routh of treasure,

And then come back with bosom leal
To his own Marjory, and release her

From rock and reel and spinning wheel.

Up spake the minnie — it did not please her

That he should "gae sae far frae hame :"
" Thou'lt reap less in yon Abiezer

Than thou wilt glean in this Ephraim ;
For there's a proverb faileth never :

A lintie safe within the hand,
Though lean and lank, is better ever

Than is a fat finch on the wand."

Then Marjory, with eye so tearful,

Whispered in dark Willie's ear,
" Thou wilt not go and leave me careful,

Friendless, lanely, starving here ;

90 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

My minnie God hath gien a warning,
And I can do nae mair than spin,

And slowly, slowly comes the earning
That with my wheel I daily win."

" Oh fear not, Marjory dear — content ye,

Blackfriar John hath to me sworn,
That man of God will kindly tent ye

Until that I again return ;
And he has promised fair to write me

Of how ye live and prosper twain,
And I will faithfully requite ye

With my true love to you again."

ii.

Dark Willie took his sad departure,

And left at home his Marjory dear
To doubt and fear from every quarter,

Weep — weeping sadly on the pier ;
And o'er the sea, all dangers scorning,

And o'er the sea he boldly sailed,
Until upon the fortieth morning

The promised land at length he hailed.

Now ! thou one of the fateful sisters
That spins for man the silver thread,

Spin one of gold that glints and glisters
For one who stands in meikle need ;

Spin it quick and spin it finely,

Till Willie's golden fortune's made,

THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND. 91

And send him back to Marjory kindly,
Who spins at home for daily bread.

There was a rich old Spanish sefior,

Who bore dark Willie's Spanish name,
And came to feel the kindly tenor

Of plighted friendship's sacred claim :
He gave his right hand to dark Willie,

With shares of a great companie,
Which sent forth goods far o'er the billow,

In ships that sailed on every sea.

Don Pedro had an only daughter,

The Donna Clara, passing fair,
Who, when her sire took his departure,

Would be her father's only heir :
Her eyes, so like two sterns of even,

Shining the murky clouds among,
And black her ringlets as the raven,

That o'er her marble shoulders lump-.

Oh Willie ! Willie ! have thou care, man !

And give unto thine heart a stay,
For there are witcheries working there, man,

May steal that heart of thine away.
No need ! to him blue eyes are glowing,

To him most beautiful of all ;
No need ! for flaxen hair is flowing:

To keep his loving heart in thrall.

92 TALES OF THE BORDEIIS.

III.

A year had passed, and he had written

Of loving letters more than one,
The while gold pieces still remitting

All to holy Blackfriar John ;
Yet still no answer had he gotten ;

And as the days still passed away,
He fell to musing, and deep thought on

What had caused the strange delay.

What now to him those golden pieces

That he so fastly now could earn ?
Ah, love like his gives no releases,

However Clara's eyes might yearn ;
He wandered hither, wandered thither,

By sad forebodings nightly tossed ;
He wandered now, he wandered ever,

In mournful musing sadly lost.

But time would tell : there came a letter

That filled his soul with dire dismay,
And told him his dark fears' abettor,

His Marjory's health had flown away :
Even as the clay her cheek was paling,

Her azure eyes were waxing dim,
Her hair unkemp't, and loose, and trailing,

And all for hopeless love of him.

Sad harbinger of things to harrow,
Another came, ah ! soon a day,

THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND. 93

To tell him his dear winsome marrow
From this sad world had passed away.

No more for him those eyes so merry,
That were to him so sweet to see !

No more those lips red as the cherry,
That were to him so sweet to pree !

IV.

Alas ! there are of things — we see them

Without the aid of wizard's spell ;
But there are other things — we dree them,

No art of wizard can foretell :
Strange thing the heart where love has power,

So tossed with joy or racked with pain !
Dark Willie from that fatal hour

Seemed fated ne'er to smile again.

In vain now Clara, sembling gladness,

Plies the magic of her wile,
To draw him off from his great sadness,

And cheat him of a lovino; smile :
The more her sympathy she tenders,

The more he will by art defy
All beauty which but contrast renders

With his own dear lost Marjory.

v.

Now Time's big silent, solemn billow
Rolls quietly on from year to year ;

Don Pedro lies on his green pillow,
With love-lorn Clara sleeping near.

94 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

But, ere he. died, he did declare it

His pleasure when his days were told,

And Clara dead, with none to share it,
Don William should heir all his gold.

Gift vain, oh vain ! would wealth restore him

His long-lost Marjory to his arms ?
Nay, would it wake and bring before him

One only of her envied charms ?
No, it might cause another courtship,

A love he could not now control :
Great Mammon lured him to his worship,

And lorded in his inmost sold.

What though ten years away had stolen ?

'Twas not to him all weary time,
"Who every day was pleased to roll in

The tempting Mammon's golden shrine.
But when he laid him on his pillow,

His fancy sought the farthest east,
And conjured up some lonely willow

That waved o'er her he loved the best.

Change still — a passion changed to pity !

No other solace would he have —
A wish to see his native city,

And sit and weep o'er Marjory's grave.
To see that house, yea, buy the sheiling

In that old wynd of St. Marie,
A hermit there to live and dwell in,

Then sleep beside his Marjorie.

THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND. 95

VI.

Blow soft, ye winds, and tender-hearted

This hermit waft to yonder shore,
From which for sordid gold he parted

Ten weary years and one before.
Ho ! there's the pier where last he left her,

That dear, loved one, to weep alone,
And for that love of gold bereft her

Of all the pleasures she could own.

He's now within the ancient borouah !

He sought the well-known White Horse Inn,
And there he laid him down in sorrow,

Some strengthening confidence to win ;
Then up the street, with none to greet him,

He held his sad and sorrowing way,
When lo ! who should be there to meet him

But Friar John ? — who slunk away.

Strange thing ! but lo ! the sacred sheiling
In that old wynd of St. Marie —

The Avindow where with mirthful feeling-
He tap't the sign to Marjorie.

He sought the lobby dark and narrow,
Groped gently for the well-known door,

Where he might hear of his winsome marrow,
Who died there many years before.

He drew the latch, and quietly entered :
There some one spinning merrilie !

96 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

A faltering question then he ventured :
" My name, kind sir, is Marjorie."

" Great God !" he cried, in voice all trembling,
And sank upon a crazy chair,

And tried to trace a strange resembling
In her -who sat beside him there.

A maiden she still young and buxom,

Nor change but what ten years may brin°-,
Her hair still of the glossy flaxen,

Her eyes still blue as halcyon's wing.
He traced the lines, he knew each feature

Of all her still unfaded charms ;
And now this long lost, worshipped creature

Is locked fast in his loving arms.

" Look up ! look up ! thy fear controlling,

It is thy Willie's voice that calls : "
She oped her eyes — now wildly rolling

All o'er his face the lustrous balls—
" It is, it is — oh, powers most holy !

And I had heard that thou wert dead ;
And here, in spite of melancholy,

I still spin for my daily bread."

" Twas Friar John wrote me a letter,
He said he saw thee on thy bier ;

And sore I mourned with tears, oh bitter !
For one I ever loved so dear."

" Oh, wae befa' that wicked friar,
Who sairly tried my love to gain ;

THE ROM AUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND. 97

Wae, wae befa' that wicked liar,

Wha brought on us sae meikle pain."

Then Willie said, with tears encumbered,

" Cheer up, cheer up, dear Marjorie,
For I have gold in sums unnumbered,

And it shall all belong to thee."
"And art thou true, and still unmarried?

And is thy bodie not a seim ?
And is it true my eai's have carried,

Or is it a' a lying dream ? "

" All, all is true, my dearest hinny,

"What thou'rt to me I am to thee,
Our years on earth may still be many,

And quickly we shall wedded be."
"A a, weel ! ah, weel!" and sighing, sobbing,

She on his breast her head hath lain ;
And as he felt her bosom throbbing,

He kissed her ower and ower again.

And he has bought a noble mansion,

And stocked it with all things genteel
Of costly price — nor need we mention

The rock and reel and spinning-wheel ;
And he has bought a noble carriage,

With servants in gay liverie,
I trow there was an unco marriage

In the ancient wynd of Saint Marie.

VOL. XXIV. G

98 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

IX

THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE.*

(Another Version.)

Though Robert was heir to broad Kildearn,

He had often with gipsies roved,
And from gipsies he came a name to earn,

Which was dear to the maid he loved.
To ladies fair he was Robert St. Clair,

When he met them in companie ;
To a certain one, and to her alone,

He was only Robin-a-Ree.f

Through Kildearn's woods they were wont to rove,

And they knew well the trysting tree ;
The green sward was their bed of love,

And the green leaves their canopie.
But the love of the virgin heart is shy,

And hangs between hope and fear ;
It is fed by the light of a lover's eye,

And it trusts thro' the willing ear.

* See the strange song of the same name in the Scottish
Galtovidean Encyclopedia, from which I borrow some of the
maledictory epithets. Grotesque they may be, but they are
justified by the vocabulary of our old witch-sibyls used in curses
and incantations, as we find in books of diablerie.

t Kingly, or royal, in the gipsy tongue.

THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE. 99

" My Mary ! I swear by yon Solway tide,

Which is true to the queen of night,
That thou shalt be my chosen bride;

When I come to my lawful right :
My father is now an aged man,

And but few years more can see ;
And when he dies, old Kildearn's land

Belongs to Robin-a-Ree."

" Oh Robin, oh Robin," and Mary sighed,

" Aye faithfu' to you I hae been,
As true as ever yon Solway tide

Is true to yon silvery queen.
And faithfu' and true I will ever prove

Till that happy day shall be,
When I will be in honoured love

The wife o' Robin-a-Ree."

Green be thy leaves, thou " tree of troth,"

And thy rowan berries red,
Where he has sworn that holy oath,

If he stand to what he has said.
But black, and blasted may thou be,

And thy berries a yellow green,
If he prove false to Mary Lee,

Who so faithful to him has been.

For a woman's art and a woman's wile

A man may well often slight,
At the worst they are but nature's guile

To procure what is nature's right.

100 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

But a woman's wrath, when once inflamed
By a sense of fond love betrayed,

No cunning device by cunning framed
Has ever that passion laid.

II.

Passions will range and passions will change,

And they leave no mortal in peace,
There is nothing in man that to us seems strange

That to passion you may not trace.
The heart that will breathe the warmest love

Is the first oft to cease its glow,
The fairest flower in the forest grove

Is often the first to dow.

A woman's eye is aye quick to see

The love of a lover decay :
And why from the trusty trysting tree

Does Robin now stay away ?
There are other trees in the wood as green,

With as smooth a sward below,
Where lovers may lie in the balmy e'en,

And their love to each other show.

'Twas when the moon in an autumn niofht
Threw shadows throughout the wood,

She heard some sounds ; and with footsteps light,
Where no one could see, she stood.

She listened, and with an anxious ear,
To know who these there might be :

THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE. 101

A youth -was there with his mistress dear,
And the youth was Robin-a-Ree.

Silent and gloomy she wandered home,

And went to her bed apart,
No softening tear to her eye woidd come,

No sigh from her aching heart.
The balmy milk of a woman's breast

Waxed curdled green and sour,
And Mary Lee was by all confessed

As changed from that fatal hour.

At times, when the moon gave little light,

She sat by the Solway side,
And thought,' as she sat, of that happy night

When he swore by the Solway tide.
Far sweeter to her the roaring wind,

Than when it was solemn and low,
For the waters he swore by seemed to her mind

As resenting that broken vow.

'■-

Still darker and darker the cloud on her brow,

Yet paler her tearless cheek ;
But no one her sorrow would ever know,

Nor word would she ever speak.
'Tis the story old, old, so often told,

To be told while time shall be,
Fair Catherine, the heiress of Ravenswold,

Is the wife of Robin-a-Ree.

102 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

III.
It was on an angry winter night,

When Mary sat in her gloom,
There came to her door an ill-doing wight —

Kildearn's drunken groom :
He placed in her hand a gold-filled purse,

And spoke of love's sacred flame;
And well she knew the unholy source

Whence the man and the money came.

" Awa and awa, thou crawling worm,

On whom thy horse will tread
Awa and awa, and tell Kildearn,

I accept his noble meed."
She placed the purse in a cabinet old,

And locked it right carefullie,
" Lie there, lie there, thou ill-won gold,

Till needed thou shalt be."

IV.

The years roll on, nor Robin-a-Ree

Can their onward progress stay,
The years roll on, and children three,

Have blessed his bridal day.
And Mary Lee is there to see,

As she sat in her lonely home,
Two of Kildearn's children three,

Borne away to Kildearn's tomb.

But none of these years work change on her
As she seeks the lone Greenwood,

THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE. 103

She sees a man lying bleeding there,

While his horse beside him stood.
He called for help, Where help there was none,

Tho' Mary was standing near,
Who spoke in a solemn eldritch tone,

Words strange to the human ear :

" The hairy adder I dinna like,

When I the fell creature meet,
Neither like I the moon-baying tyke,

Nor the Meg-o'-moniefeet.
I canna thole the yellow-warned ask,

Sae fearful a thing to see ;
But mair than a', and ower them a',

I hate fause Robin-a-Ree."

v.

Time puts in the sack that behind him hangs

Of things both old and new,
And every hour brings stranger things

Than those we have bidden adieu.
The last one of those children three,

Young Hector, Kildearn's pride,
Has gone, in his childish mirth and glee,

To play by the Solway tide.

That tide by which his father swore

As true to the silvery queen —
That tide is breaking with sullen roar,

And Hector no more is seen.

104 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

They may search, they may drag — the search is vain,

No Hector they'll ever find ;
A lugger is yonder, away to the main,

Borne on an eastern wind.

And there is a woman who stands in the bay,

And she holds out both her hands,
As if she would wave that lugger away

To some of the distant lands.
And if you will trace her to her hold,

Where a purse of gold was laid,
You will find the drawer, but not the gold,

For the purse and gold are fled.

VI.

Time flies, but sin breeds in-and-in,

And a father's grief is stern ;
Robin is dead, and a distant kin

Now calls himself Kildearn.
The moon's pale light falls on yonder tomb,

By which sits a woman grey,
And sings in the blast a revengeful doom,

In a woman's weird way.

" Chirk ! whutthroats in yon auld taff dyke,

Hoot ! grey owl in yon shaw,
Howl out ! ye auld moon-baying tyke,

Ye winds mair keenly blaw,
Till ye rouse to the rage o' a wintry storm

The waves of the Solway sea,

THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE. 105

And wauken the brawnit connach worm
On the grave o' Robin-a-Ree."

VII.

More years passed on. llo ! near by the cove

Is a ship with a pirate crew,
All bound in honour and fear and love,

To their captain, Hector Drew ;
Who looked through his glass at old Kildearn,

As thoughts through his memory ran,
And fain of that house he would something learn ,

But he is an outlawed man.

Nor venture could he to come upon land,

Except under cloud of night,
And he and all his pirate band

Lie hidden there out of sight ;
That he might plunder Kildearn House

Of its gold and its jewelrie,
Then away, and away, again to cruise

Where rovers aye love to be.

But there is one who stands on the shore,

Who knew that pirate hoy,
Whose captain she bribed many years before

To steal away Kildearn's boy.
She has sent the bloodhounds to the wood,

They have seized them every loon,
And sent them to answer for deeds of blood,

To Edwin's old castled toun.

106 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The Admiral High of old Scotland

Has them tried for deeds so dark,
And they are decreed by his high command

To be hanged within high-water mark.
On the sands of Leith, as St. Giles struck two,

And within the hem of the sea,
There Captain Drew and all his crew

Were hanged for piracie.

And so it is true that a woman's wile

A man may with safety slight,
At worst it may be but nature's guile

To procure what is nature's right.
But a woman's wrath, if once inflamed

By a sense of fond love betrayed,1
No cunning device by cunning framed

Has ever that passion laid.

THE BALLAD OF AGE AND YOUTH. 107

X.

THE BALLAD OF AGE AND YOUTH.

[ left yon stately castle on the height}

The ancient halls of lordly Kavenslee,
Wherein was met, in grandeur all bedight,

Of knights and dames a gallant companie ;
For I was in a misanthropic mood,

And deemed that gay galaverie false and vain,
And wished to lie or loiter in some wood,

And give my fancy her unbridled rein.

I left them all in flush of pleasure's sport,

Some knights with damoiselles gone forth to woo,
Some listing gleemen in the ballion court,

Some deep in ombre, some at lanterloo,
Some gone a-hawking with the merlyon,

Some at their noon-meat sipping Spanish wine,
Some conning old romances on the lawn,

And all to meet in hall at hour of dine.

11.

Down in Dalmossie dell I sought a nook
Beneath a thick and widely-spreading tree,

108 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And there I sat to con my little book,
My book of old black-letter grammarie.

All stillness in that deep and lonely dell
Save hum of bumble-bee on nimble wing,

Or zephyr sporting round the wild blue bell,
While fancy feigned some tiny tinkle-ring.

Lo ! come from yonder sheiling by the burn

An aged pair whom Time claimed as his own —
Their clothes all brown, and sere and sadly worn,

But brushed and clean, and tentily put on.
I noted well the signs of their great eild,

Their shrunken limbs, their locks of snowy hair,
The wobbling walk, the bowing, bending bield,

The wrinkled cheeks, and looks of dule and care.

I thought on hapless man — with changing face,

Each day more furrowed as he wears along.
He looks into the glass to cry Alace !

Alace for that spring time that's past and gone !
He looks askance, and sees young eyes that lour

On him, so comely once, unsightly grown :
The faded roses make a scented bower,

But aged man seems spurned by man alone.

Yet happy he who, changing with advance,
Has bright and golden hopes beyond the sun ;

He can give back their saucy, pitying glance,
Who set such wondrous price their youth upon.

Their night will come in turn, yea, comes apace,
Without, mayhap, the hope of brighter day,

THE BALLAD OF AGE AND YOUTH. 109

When age-worn looks will don their native grace,
And feel no more this world's despised decay.

III.

That aged pair sat down upon the green,

While each the other helped to softest seat,
I watched their ways, myself by them unseen,

And heard their quivering words, so kindly sweet,
As still of golden clays when they were young,

Of youth's green summer time they spoke and wept,
And soft in wailing song there came along

These words, which I in memory long have kept :

THE SONG OF AGE.*

"The trees they are high, John, the leaves they are green,
The days are awa that you and I have seen ;
The days are awa that we have seen ;

* Some readers may recognise in the old woman's song por-
tions of an ancient ditty that used to be chanted in a wailing
cadence in several parts of Scotland. I suspect the song as a
whole is lost — the more to be regretted for its sweet simplicity
and melodious wail (so far as judged in the fragments), which
in a modern song would be viewed as weakness or affectation.
Indeed, the modes of thought and feeling that belong to what
is called advanced civilisation are impatient of these things
except as rude relies of yet untutored minds ; and the pleasure
with which they are accepted has in it perhaps a grain of pity
for those that didn't know better than produce them. Yet, as
regards mere poetical feeling at least, the nearer the fountain-
head the purer the water.

110 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And oh ! for youth's bonnie green summer again,

Summer again, summer again,

And oh ! for youth's bonnie green summer again.

" There was joy at our marriage — a dance on the green,
They a' roosed the light of my bonnie blue een,
My bonnie blue een, where tears may now be seen ;
And oh ! that we were to be married again,
Married again, married again,
And oh ! that we were to be married again.

" The grass it is wet, John, the wind it is keen,

Our claes they are worn, and our shune they are thin ;

Our shune they are thin, and the waters come in ;

And oh ! for youth's bonnie green summer again,

Summer again, summer again,

And oh ! for youth's bonnie green summer again.

" There was joy in our youth, John, at wish's command,

We danced and we sang, and we ilka gate ran,

But now dule and sorrow's on ilka hand ;

And oh ! for youth's bonnie green summer again,

Summer again, summer again,

And oh ! for youth's bonnie green summer again.

"There's graves in yon howf, John, and hillocks o' green,
Where our bairns lie sleeping that left us alane,
And they're waiting for us till we gae to creep in ;
And alas ! for youth's bonnie green summer again,
Summer again, summer again,
And alas ! for youth's bonnie green summer again." •

THE BALLAD OF AGE AND YOUTH. Ill

When she had crooned her chant, I heard him say,

With sobbing voice and deep heart-heaving sigh,
" Dry up thae tears, my Jean, for things away,

Time's but a watch-tick in eternity ;
We darena sing of earth, but lift our prayer

To Him whose promises are never vain,
That we may dwell in yonder Eden fair,

And see youth's summer blooming green again."

Then rose a prayer to Bethel's Lord and King

That He would lead them through this vale of woe,
And to the promised land his children bring,

Where Babel's streams in living waters flow.
They left : again all silence in the dell

Save hum of bumble-bee on nimble wing,
Or zephyr sporting round the wild blue bell,

While fancy feigned some tiny tinkle-ring.

IV.

And is not youth, thought T, a vulgar thing,

When lording over Wisdom's ancient reign ?
What may avail the brilliancy of spring

If autumn yields no hoards of garnered grain ?
Experience is the daughter of old Time,

Mother of Wisdom, last and noblest born,
Who comes as Faith to help our waning prime,

To cheer the night of age and light the morn,

I sought at eve the castle on the height,
The ancient halls of lordly Ravenslee.

112 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Oh ! contrast great ! gay scene of youth's delight —
The spinette, galliard, mirth's galaverie !

I thought upon the couple in the wood,

And how that singing, dancing, laughing train

Would one day sigh in Time's avenging mood,
" Alas ! for youth's green summer time again."

THE LEGEND OF CRAIGULLAX. 113

XI.
THE LEGEND OF CRAIGULLAN *

Yonder the halls of old Craigullan !

To weird doom for ever true ;
The moaning winds are sad and sullen,

The screech-owl hoots too-hoo ! too hoo !
The lazy burn-clock drones around,

The wing-mouse flaps the choking air,
The croaking frog hops on the ground,

For weird fate is working there.

Each wing had once a goodly tower

Of stately beild, both broad and high ;
In every tower a lady's bower,

Bedecked with silken tapestry ;
In every bower a lovely maid,

Her youth and beauty all in vain ;
And with each maid a keeper staid

To watch the wanderings of her brain.

'Twas said that those who went that way
Would hear some shrill and piercing wail

* This legend has been referred to several Scotch families —
one in Fife in particular, the name of which it would be im-
prudent to mention.'

VOL. XXIV. H

114 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Come from these towers, and die away

As borne upon the passing gale ;
Yet none could say from whom it came,

Far less divine the reason why ;
And Superstition, with her dream,

Could only whisper mystery —
Unholy spirits haunting nigh.

And screaming in the midnight hour,
Presage of vengeance from on high

For deeds done in Craigullan's tower.

If Superstition has her dream,

She also has her waking hour ;
Nor ever man, howe'er supreme,

Can free him from her mystic power.
And it was told, in whispering way,

That once Craigullan led his hounds
Out forth upon a Sabbath day

Within the church bells' sacred sounds ;
And as he rode, by fury fired,

A woman, pregnant, overthrown
Beneath his horse's hoofs, expired,

And, dying, shrieked this malison :
From this day forth, till time shall cease,

May madness haunt Craigullan's race !

The words struck on a sceptic's ear :

Would woman's curse his pleasure stay ?

He blew his horn both loud and clear,
And with his hounds he hied ,away.

THE LEGEND OF CRAIG ULLAN. 115

He conned no more the weird reve

Which all conspired to prove untrue,
For he had healthy daughters five,

Who up in maiden beauty grew —
Clorinda, Isobel, and Jane —

Such was the order of their birth —
And Florabel and Clementine,

All lovely, gay, and full of mirth.

But man is blind, with all his power,

And gropes through life his darksome way :

Nor ever thinks the evil hour

May come within the brightest day.

As custom went, a noble throne:

Hath filled Craigullan's ancient hall,
Amidst th' inspiring dance and song,

Clorinda is admired of all.
The sun with his enlivening light

Brings out the viper and the rose,
And joy that cheers will oft excite

Dark Mania from her long repose.
Amidst the dance and music there —

The dance which she so proudly led —
A maniac shriek has rent the air —

Clorinda falls, her reason fled.

In vain shall passing time essay
To soothe the dire domestic pain ;

116 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Fair Isobel becomes the prey

Of that same demon of the brain.

When autumn winds were sighing low,
When birds were singing on the tree,

Amidst their song she met the foe,
And sank beneath the fell decree.

Nor yet the sibyl leaf all read,

Dark Nemesis is grim and sullen ;

She bends again her vengeful head-
Woe ! woe ! to old Craigullan.

The next by fatal count of Time,
The next by her foreboding fears —

Jane falls, like those in early prime-
She falls amidst a mother's tears.

Nor finished yet the weird spell,

Wrought out by some high powers divine.
The victim next is Florabel,

The fairest of Craigullan's line.
The shadow fell upon her bloom,

Grew darker as the period neared,
As if the terror of her doom

Wrought out the issue which it feared.

If Superstition has her dreams,
Proud reason has her mystic day ;

And who shall harmonize the themes
In this world's dark and dreary way ?

If Clementine is yet forgot,
Is the relief to her a gain ?

THE LEGEND OF CRAIGULLAN. 117

She fears the demon in each thought,

In every fancy of the brain.
If once a cheerful thought shall rise,

The dreaded enemy is near ;
If once her heaving bosom sighs,

The vengeful demon will appear.
In vain she seeks the greenwood grove,

In vain she hears the merlin sing,
In vain she seeks her flower alcove,

In vain for her the roses spring.
If holy peace she tries to seek,

She hears Clorinda's maniac song,
Or Florabel's ecstatic shriek,

Sounding the stilly woods among.

What though Sir Walter seeks her bower,

And pleads his suit on bended knee
With all a lover's magic power,

That she his lady-love shall be ?
He does not know her secret pain ;

She dare not whisper in his ear ;
She dare not trust that she is sane ;

She loves him, but she loves with fear.

This is her madness. Who shall know

If she with reason, they without,
Which have the greater load of woe ?

Her sisters have not sense to doubt.
This is the world's madness too :

We seek for truth, and seek in vain.

118 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

While madly we the false pursue,
Who shall decide that he is sane ?

And still the halls of old Craigullan
To weird doom are ever true ;

The moaning winds are sad and sullen,
The grey owl hoots too-hoo ! too-hoo !

THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS. 119

XII.
THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS.

"Intruder, thou shalt hear my tale," the solitary
said,

While far adown beneath our feet the fiery levin played ;

The thunder-clouds our carpet were — we gazed upon
the storm,

Which swept along the mountain sides in many a fear-
ful form.

I sat beside the lonely man, on Cheviot's cloudless

height ;
Above our heads was glory, but beneath more glorious

night ;
For the sun was shining over us, but lightnings flashed

below,
Like the felt and burning darkness of unutterable woe.

" I love, in such a place as this," the desolate began,
"To gaze upon the tempests wild that separate me

from man ;
To muse upon the passing things that agitate the

world —
View myself as by a whirlwind to hopeless ruin hurled.

120 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" My heart was avaricious once, like yours the slave of
feeling —

Perish such hearts ! vile dens of crime ! man's selfish-
ness concealing ;

For self ! damned self s creation's lord ! — man's idol and
his god !

'Twas torn from me, a blasted, bruised, a cast off, worth-
less load.

" Some say there's wildness in my eyes, and others deem

me crazed,
They, trembling, turn and shun my path — for which let

Heaven be praised !
They say my words are blasphemy — they marvel at my

fate,
"When 'tis my happiness to know they pity not, but hate.

" My father fell from peace and wealth the day that I

was born —
My mother died, and he became his fellow-gambler's

scorn ;
I know not where he lived or died — I never heard his

name —
An orphan in a workhouse, I was thought a child of

shame.

" Some/nV>irfby blood had lodged me there, and bought

my keeper too,
Who pledged his oath he would conceal what of my tale

he knew.

THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS. 121

Death came to him — he called on me the secret to un-
fold,
But died while he was utterincr the little I have told.

:< My soul was proud, nor brooked restraint — was proud,

and I was young ;
And with an eager joyancy I heard his flattering tongue
Proclaim me not of beggars born — yea, as he speaking

died,
I — greedy — mad to know the rest — stood cursing by

his side.

" I looked upon the homely garb that told my dwelling-
place —

It hung upon me heavily — a token of disgrace !

I fled the house — I went to sea — was by a wretch im-
pressed,

The stamp of whose brutality is printed on my breast.

" Like vilest slave he fettered me, my flesh the irons

tore —
Scourged, mocked, and worse than buried me upon a

lifeless shore,
Where human foot had never trod — upon a barren rock,
Whose caves ne'er echoed to a sound save billows as

they broke.

" 'Twas midnight ; but the morning came. I looked

upon the sea,
And a melancholy wilderness its waters were to me ;

122 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The heavens were black as yonder cloud that rolls be-
neath our feet,

"While neither land nor living thing my eager eyes
could meet.

" I naked sat upon the rock ; I trembled — strove to pray ;
Thrice did I see a distant sail, and thrice they bore away.
My brain with hunger maddening, as the steed the battle

braves,
Headlong I plunged from the bare rock and buffeted

the waves.

"Methought I saw a vessel near, and bitter were my
screams,

But they died within me echoless as voices in our dreams;

For the winds were howling round me, and the suffocat-
ing gush

Of briny horrors rioted, the cry of death to crush.

a

My senses fled. I lifelessly upon the ocean slept ;
And when to consciousness I woke, a form before me
wept.

Her face was beautiful as night ; but by her side there

stood
A group, whose savage glances were more dismal than

the flood.

" They stood around exultingly ; they snatched me from

the wave —
Stole me from death — to torture me, to sell me as a

slave.

THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS. 123

She who stood o'er me weeping was a partner of my

chains.
We were sold, and separation bled my heart with deeper

pains.

" I knew not what her birth had been, but loved her

with a love
Which nor our tyrant's cruelty nor mockery could move.
I saw her offered to a Moor — another purchased me ;
But, Heavens ! my arms once fetterless, ere midnight I

was free !

" Memory, with eager eye, had marked her master's

hated door —
I grasped a sabre, reached the house, and slew the

opposing Moor.
I bore her rapidly away ; a boat was on the beach —
We put to sea — saw morning dawn 'yond our pursuers'

reach

" I gazed upon her silently — I saw her sink to sleep,
As darkness gathered over us upon the cheerless deep ;
I saw her in her slumber start — unconsciously she

spoke —
Oh death ! — she called upon his name who left me on

the rock !

" Then there was madness in my breast and fury in my

brain —
She never heard that name from me, yet uttered it

again !

124 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

I started forth and grasped her hand — ' Are we pur-
sued?' she cried —
I trembled in my agony, and speechless o'er her sighed.

" I ventured not to speak of love in such an awful hour,
For hunger glistened in our eyes, and grated to devour
The very rags that covered us ! My pangs I cannot tell,
But in that little hour I felt the eternity of hell.

" For the transport of its tortures did in that hour sur-
round

Two beings on the bosom of a shoreless ocean found ;

As we gazed upon each other, with a dismal longing
look,

And jealousy, but not from love, our tortured bosoms
shook.

" I -need but add that we were saved, and by a vessel

borne
Again toward our native land to be asunder torn.
The maiden of my love was rich — was rich — and I was

poor ;
A soulless menial shut on me her wealthy guardian's

door.

" She knew it not, nor would I tell — tell ! by the host

of heaven,
My tongue became the sepulchre of sound ! — my heart

was riven.
I fled society and hope ; the prison of my mind
A world of inexpressible and guilty thoughts confined.

THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS. 125

" She was not wed — my hope returned ; ambition fired

my soul,
Sweeping round me like a fury, while the beacon and

the goal
Of desire, ever turbulent and sleepless, was to have
The hand that mine had rescued from the fetters of a

slave.

" I was an outcast on the earth, but braved my hapless

lot;
And while I groaned impatiently, weak mortals heard

it not.
A host of drear, unholy dreams did round my pillow

haunt,
While my days spent in loneliness were darkened o'er

with want.

" At length blind fortune favoured me — my breast to

joy awoke ;
And then he who had left me on the isolated rock,
I met within a distant land ; nor need I further tell,
But that we met as equals there, and my antagonist fell.

" Awhile I brooded on his death ; and gloomily it
brought

A desolateness round me, stamping guilt on every
thought.

I trembling found how bloodily my vengeance was ap-
peased,

At what vile price my bosom was of jealousy released.

126 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" For still the breathing of his name by her I lov'd
had runs

O

In remembrance, like the latest sound that falleth from

the tontrae
Of those best loved and cherished, when upon the bed

of death •

They bequeath to us their injuries to visit in our wrath.

" Bixt soon these griefs evanished, like a passing sum-
mer storm,

And a gush of hope like sunshine flashed around me,
to deform

The image of repentance, while the darkness of remorse

Retreated from its presence with a blacker Avith'ring
curse.

"I hurried home in eagerness — the leaden moments fled;
My burning tale of love was told — was told — and we

were wed.
A tumult of delightfulness had rapt my soul in flame,
But on that day — my wedding day — a mourning letter

came.

" Joy died on ev'ry countenance — she, trembling, broke
the seal —

Screamed — glanced on me ! and lifeless fell, unable to
reveal

The horrid tale of death that told her new-made hus-
band's guilt —

The hand which she that day had wed, her brother's
blood had spilt.

THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS. 127

" That brother in his mother's right another name did

bear :
'Twas him I slew — all shrank from me in horror and

in fear ;
They seized me in my bridal dress — my bride still

senseless lay —
I spoke not while they pinioned me and hurried me

away.

" They lodged me in a criminal cell, by iron gratings

barred,
And there the third day heavily a funeral bell I heard.
A sable crowd my prison passed — they gazed on it with

gloom :
It was my bride — my beautiful — they followed to the

tomb !

" I Avas acquitted ; but what more had I with life to do ?
I cursed my fate — my heart — the world — and from its

creatures flew.
Intruder, thou hast heard my tale of wretchedness and

guilt—
Go, mingle with a viler world, and tell it if thou wilt,"

128 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

XIII.

THE BALLAD OF RUMBOLLOW.

The clouds are flying, the trees are sighing,
The birds are hopping from bough to bough ;
The winds are blowing, the snowflakes throwing
O'er the green earth below, below ;
The storm is coming while I am roaming
The thick dark forest all through, all through ;
The air is nipping, my clothes are dripping,
All in the forest of Rumbollow.*

On a felled tree lying a woman sits sighing,
Rocking a child both to and fro ;
Her gown it is torn, her shoes they are worn — ■
She looks like a creature of woe, of Avoe ;
Her eyes are glowing, her hair is flowing,
She's all over white Avith the snow, the snow ;
She rocks the child with a gesture wild,
All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The child is crying, and she is trying
To lull it asleep — balow ! balow !

* The old song called "Rumbollow Fair" is said by Pin-
kerton to hare been lost. I have beard a refrain, " All in tbe
Forest of Rumbollow," but whether this has any relation to tbe
old song I do not know. I fear I am altogether responsible for
this rhapsodical effusion.

THE BALLAD OF RUMBOLLOW. 129

And while she is singing, the snowflakes are winging

And whirling in eddies all through, all through.

I listed the rening and wondered the meaning :

Was it the tale of her woe, her woe —

A truthful crooning or a maniac mooning —

All in the forest of Rumbollow ?

THE SOXG OF THE BETH Win.

" Balow ! balow ! my bonnie bairn —
Nae father to care for you ;
As your mother has sinned so shall she earn,
And to her the world is hard and stern,
"Who has loved and lived to rue,

Balow !
Who has loved and lived to rue.

" On Rumbollow green my love lies slain,
As he cam' frae Rumbollow Fair ;
His bodie lies deep amang rushes green,
Where corbies pike at his bonnie blue ecn,
And taeds sleep in his hair,

Balow !
And taeds sleep in his hair.

"The grey owl sits on yon willow tree,
Whose branches o'er him weep,
And sends its scream far o'er the lea,
Where night winds whisper mournfullie,
And through the rashes sweep,

Balow !
And through the rashes sweep.

VOL. XXIV. I

130 TALES OF THE BOHDERS.

" When first I met wi' Hab o' the Howe
I had scarce twice nine years seen,
And he swore by our Ladye o' Bumbollow
I had set a' his heart in a holy lowe
Wi' the fire o' my twa black een,

Balow !
Wi' the fire o' my twa black een.

" Of a' the fair maidens on Rumbollow green

There was nane sae fair as me,

Wi' my kilted kirtle o' mazarine,

And buckles as bright as the siller sheen,

And my coatie o' cramosie,

Balow !
And my coatie o' cramosie.

" I was proud that he stood tall men abune,
Sae stalwart, sae bald and free ;
But he cozened my heart and left me midline .
Wi' tatters for claes and bachels for shune,
And a sin-wean on my knee,

Balow !
And a sin-wean on my knee.

"Last night, when the mune was in the wane,

And the winds were moaning low,

I wrandered by his dead bodie alane,

And looked at the hole in his white hause bane,

And the gash on his bonnie brow,

Balow !
And the gash on his bonnie brow.

THE BALLAD OF RUMBOLLOW. 131

" Did I wail to the mune, and tear my hair,
And weep o'er his bodie ? Na !
I leugh at the fause ane wha left me to care,
And fought for Bess Cummock at Rumbollow Fair,
And there lies dead, ha ! ha !

Balow !
And there lies dead, ha ! ha !"

She is up and going, no look bestowing

Through the dark forest, tra-la ! tra-la !

The roundelay still sounds away,

The wail and the wild ha, ha, ha, ha !

Some wretched maiden with grief o'erladen,

Victim of man, ever so, ever so.

The world needs mending and some God-sendiner,

All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The mill is yonder where she may wander ;
The wheels they merrily row, they row ;
The lade is gushing, the water's rushing
On to the ocean below, below.
The song is ending, or scattered and blending
In the wild winds as they blow, they blow ;
She moves still faster with Avilder gesture,
All in the forest of Rumbollow.

It is no seeming, hark ! comes a screaming
The moaning forest all through, all through ;
The miller is running, no danger shunning,
The foaming waters down flow, down flow :

132 TALES OF THE BOKDERS.

Too late his braving, there is no saving —
Down the mill lade they go, they go,
Mother and child 'midst the waters wild,
All in the forest of Rumbollow !

THE BURNING OF 31KS. JAMPHRAT. loo

XIV.

THE LEGEND OF THE BURNING OF
MISTRESS JAMPHRAY.

i.
Fkom the dark old times that have gone before,
We have got in our day some little relief;
We don't think of doing what they did of yore,
To saw a man through for a point of belief;
We do not believe in old women's dreams,
And devils and ghosts we can do without ;
Nor do •we now set an old woman in flames,
But rather endeavour to put them out.

She has ta'en her lang staff in her shaky hand,
And gaen up the stair of Will Mudie's land ;
She has looked in the face of Will Mudie's wean,
And the wean it was dead that very same e'en.
Next day she has gane to the Nethergate,
And looked ower the top of Rob Rorison's yett,
Where she and his wife having s;ot into branales,
Rob's grey mare Bess that night took the strangles.
It was clear when she went to Broughty Ferry,
She sailed in an egg-shell in place of a wherry ;
And when she had pass'd by the tower of Claypots,
John Fainveather's gelding was seized with the bots,
And his black horse Billy was seized the same even,
Not by the bots, but the " spanking spavin."

134 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And as she went on to Monifieth,

She met an auld man with the wind in his teeth —

" Are yon the witch o' Bonnie Dundee ? "

" You may ask the wind, and then yon will see ! "

And, such was the wickedness of her spite,

The man took the toothache that very night.

With John Thow's wife she Avas at drawing of daggers,

And twenty of John's sheep took the staggers.

"With old Joe Baxter she long had striven, —

Joe set his sponge, but it never would leaven ;

And as for Gib Jenkinson's cow that gaed yeld,

It was very well known that Crummie was spelled.

When Luckie Macrobie's sweet milk wouldna erne,

The reason was clear — she bewitched the concern.

True ! no man could swear that he ever saw

Her flee on a broomstick over North Berwick Law ;

But as for the fact, where was she that night

When the heavens were blue with the levin-light ?

The broom wasna seen ahint the door ;

It had better to do than to sweep the floor.

Then, sure there was something far worse than a frolic,

When the half of Dundee was seized with the cholic.

True ! nobody knew that she gaed to the howf

For dead men's fat to bring home in her loof,

To brew from the mixture of henbane and savin,

Her hell-broth for those who were thirsting for heaven.

For the sexton, John Cant, could be prudent and still —

He knew she would send him good grist to his mill.

Ere good Provost Syme was ta'en by a tremor,

It was known that the provost had called her a limmer ;

THE BURNING OF MRS. JAMPHRAY. 135

And when Bailie Nicholson broke his heugh-bane,

Had she not been seen that day in the lane ?

It was certain, because Cummer Gibbieson swore

That the bairn she had with the whummel-bore

Leapt quick in her womb one day the witch passed her,

And she was the cause of the bairn's disaster.

When the ferry-boat sank in crossing the Tay,

She was on the Craig pier the very same day.

It was vain to conceal it, and vain to deny it,

She kept in her house an auld he-pyet :

That bird was the devil, and she fed him each day

With the brimstone she bought from Luckie Glenday.

In truth, the old pyet was daintily treated,

Because her black soul was impignorated.

And these were the reasons — enough, I trow —

Why she should be set in a lunting lowe.

11.

The barrels are brought from Noraway,

Well seasoned with plenty of Noraway pitch ;'

All dried and split for that jubilee day,

The day of the holocaust of a witch.

The prickers are chosen — hang-daddy and brother — -

And fixed were the fees of their work of love ;

To prick an old Avoman who was a mother,

And felt still the yearnings of motherly love ;

For she had a son, a noble young fellow,

Who sailed in a ship of his own the sea,

And who was away on the distant billow

For a cargo of wine to this bonnie Dundee.

136 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Some said she was bonnie when she was a lassie,
Ah ! fair the young blossom upon the young tree ;
But winter will come, and summer will pass aye,
And youth is not always to you or to me.
A true loving daughter, with God to fear,
A dutiful wife, and a mother dear ;
With a heart to feel and a bosom to sigh,
She had tears to weep, she had tears to dry.

in.
All was joyful — all delectation,
In creatures who prayed to their Maker each morn,
That there was to be a grand incremation
Of a poor fellow-creature, old, weary, and worn.
All pity is drowned in a wild devotion,
A grim savage joy within every breast ;
The streets are all in a buzzing commotion,
Expectant of this worse than cannibal feast.
From the provost down to the gaberlunzie,
From fat Mess John to half-fed Bill,
From hoary grand-dad to larking loonie,
From silken-clad dame to scullion Nell ;
The oldest, the youngest, the richest, the poorest,
The milky-breasted, the barren, the yeld,
The hardest, the softest, the blithest, the dourest,
Are all by the same wild passion impelled.
If her skin it is wrinkled — all, God forefend her !
The wild lapping flame will soon make it shrink ;
If her eyes are dim and rheumy and tender,
The adder-tongued flames will soon make her wink.

THE BURNING OF MRS. JAMPHRAY. 137

If brown now her breasts — once globes of beauty !
The roasting will char them into a black heap ;
If trembling her limbs, the prickers' loved duty
Will be to compel her to dance and to leap.
The harlequin Man has doffed his jacket,
No pity to feel — he has none to give ;
The Bible has said it, and so thou must take it,
" Thou shalt not allow a witch to live,"

IV.

On the long red sands of old Dundee,

Out at the hem of the ebbing sea,

They have fixed a long pole deep in the sand,

And around it have piled with deftly hand

The rosined staves of the X'oraway wood,

Four feet high and four feet broad,

To burn, amidst flames of burning pitch,

So rare a chimera yclept a witch —

Born of a fancy wild and camstary,

Like ghost or ghoul, brownie or fairy.

The prickers are there, each with long-pronged fork,

Yearning and yape for their hellish work,

And the priests and friars, black, white, or grey,

All ready to preach the black devil away.

Yea, devils are there, more than they opine,

Even one under every gabardine;

And there is a crowd of every degree :

The urchins, all laughing with mirth and glee ;

And pipers and jangleurs might there be seen,

And cummers and mummers in red and green,

138 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

All cheery and merry and void of care,
As if they were going to Rumbollow Fair.

v.

Ho ! yonder comes from the emptying town

A crowd of five thousand all rushing down ;

They hurry, they scurry, they buzz, they brize,

And all to see this witch in a blaze.

Deep in the midst of the jubilant throng

A harmless woman is hurried along, —

She is weary, and wheezing for lack of breath,

And o'er all her face is the pallor of death ;

And she says, as they push her, in grim despair,

" Ye needna hurry yoursel's sae sair —

Nae sport there will be till I am there."*

VI.

They have doffed her clothes till all but stark ;
They have tied her with ropes in her cutty sark ;
They have torn the snood from her silvery hair,
And her locks they fall on her shoulders bare,
Or stream in the cold and piercing breeze
Blowing muggy and moist from the eastern seas.
Hush ! silence is over all that crowd,
Then an echoing shout both long and loud ;
The fagots flare up with a lurid glare —
In the middle shines bright that white figure there,
Like those sad spirits of endless woe
'Midst eternal fires in the shades below !

* These words are the old tradition which has been handed
down in Dundee for generations.

THE BURNING OF MRS. JAMPHRAY. 139

There lances and glances each long-pronged fork,*
As through the wild flames it is quick at work,
Till the red blood squirts and seethes and sings,
As through the red flame each squirtlet springs,
The flames lap round her like forked levin ;
The priests send up their prayers to heaven ;
But what these prayers are to do when there,
It is likely they could not themselves declare
Yet all this while, in her agony,
She made no murmur, she uttered no cry,
As if she would show by a silent ban
Her scorn of the great wise creature Man.
Lo ! the pole breaks over with creaking crash,
The body falls down in the flaming mass ;
Up a cloud of sparks with a flesh-burnt smell
Rises and swirls like vomit of hell.

VII.

There's a ship in the Tay on the rising tide —

She has come that day from a distant land ;

The captain stands there the helm beside,

A telescope holding in his left hand.

"What, ho ! my lads," he loudly exclaims,

" Yonder's a fire on the hem of the sea —

It is some good ship that is there in flames :

Good faith ! and it blazes right merrily."

And there is a boat comes from the pier,

And it comes and comes still nigher and nigher —

* There is in the records of the town the account of the ex-
penses attending the execution, and the sums in Scots money
paid for the tar barrels, and for prickers' fees, etc.

140 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

"What is the ship that is burning there ?"

"No ship, sir, it is that is yonder on fire,

But a pile of burning barrels of pitch,

On •which all, amidst a deafening cheer,

They are burning an old woman for a "\vitch ;

And the woman she is thy mother dear."

Then Captain Jamphray silent stood,

And a sad and sorrowful man was he ;

He turned the helm in a gloomy mood —

" Farewell for ever to Bonnie Dundee."

And away and away to the Spanish Main,

Where he turned a jolly buccaneer ;

And he has ta'en " Yeaman," his mother's name —

A name which he held for ever dear.

via.

"When twenty long years had come and gone,
He was laden with Spanish golden prey ;
And he yearned and sighed for his native home,
Then turned his prow for the rolling Tay ;
And he has bought all, for a handsome fee, ',
On its bonnie banks where the trees are tall —
The lordly lands of old Murie,*
"Where he built for himself a noble hall ;
And lona, lono; down till a recent time,
There dwelt the Yeaman's honoured line.

* This tradition lias always been in the Yeaman family, and
very likely to be true, for the reason that an origin not gratify-
ing to the pride of an old house would not have been accepted
on the dubious authority of hearsay.

the ballad or ballogie's daughters. 141

XV.
THE BALLAD OF BALLOGIE'S DAUGHTERS.

Thehe were four fair maids in Ballogie Hall,

Not all so sweet as honey ;
But Lillyfair was the flower of them all —
So gentle, so kind, and so bonnie.

And why was it that Ballogie's dame

"Was so fond of her Lillyfair ?
It was not by reason she bore her name,

Nor yet for her love and care.

It was that she long had cherished a dream

Of a face which she once held dear.
Ere yet she had bent to Ballogie's claim,

"Whom she married through force and fear.

That image unsought — all by fancy wrought —

Had been fixed upon Lillyfair,
And to her had gi'en her bonnie blue een,

As well as her golden hair.

Yet the dame was true to her bridal vow,

Though sairly she would mourn,
As she wandered in moods through Ballooie woods.

And down by Ballogie Burn.

142 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And why did these three sisters all
Hate their kind sister so sair ?

When gallants came to Ballogie Hall
They sought aye Lillyfair.

But Ballogie swore by the heavens so hie,

And eke by the Holy Rood,
There was not in all Lillyfair's bodie

Ane drap of Ballogie's blood.

And he whispered words into Sibyl's ear,
"Which sweetly unto her came,

That he wouldna care tho' Lillyfair
"Were dooked in Ballogie dam.

And Sibyl she whispered to Christobel,
And she into Mildred's ear ;

But what that was no tongue might tell,
For there was none to hear.

"What makes ye laugh?" cries Lillyfair,

As she comes tripping ben ;
" Oh do come tell, dear Christobel,

For I am fidging fain."

" Oh this is the night, my sister dear,
When the wind is low and loun,

That we are to go in a merry row
To see the eclipse of the moon.

" And thou'lt go with us, Lillyfair,
And see this goodly show —

THE BALLAD OF BALLOGIE's DAUGHTERS. 143

The moon in the meer reflected clear,
"With the shadow upon her brow."

" Oh yes, I will go," Lillyfair rejoined ;

And glad in her heart was she,
For seldom befox'e had her sisters deigned

To give her their companie.

'Twas the hour o' twell by Ballogie's bell,
When each Avith her mantle and hood,

They all sallied out in a merry rout,
Away through the still greenwood.

Shine out, shine out, thou silvery maid,

And light them to the place ;
But long ere all this play be played,

In sorrow thou'lt hide thy face.

No shadow of this earth ever can

A murkier darkness throw,
Than what from the sin of cruel man

May be cast on thy silvery brow.

The greenwood through, the greenwood through,

Ho ! there is Ballogie's meer ;
And deep within its breast they view

The moon's face shining clear.

'&

And down they bent, and forward leant—
Loud laughed the sisters three,

As Lillyfair threw back her hair,
Yet could no shadow see.

144 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

But is not this an old, old dream —
Some nightmare of the brain ?

A splash ! and, oh ! a Avild, wild scream,
And all is still again.

This was the eclipse which the sisters meant
When they would the maid beguile ;

For sin has the greater a relish in't
When lurking beneath a, smile.

And now the pale-faced moon serene
Shines down on the waters clear,

Where deep, deep among the seggs so green,
Lies Ballogie's Lillyfair.

On Ballogie's dam there sails a swan

With wings of snowy white,
But never is. seen by the eye of man

Save in the pale moonlight.

And the miller he looks with upright hair

Upon that weird-like thing,
And as he peers he thinks he hears

It sing as swans can sing.

THE LEGEND OF DOWIELEE. 145

XVI.
THE LEGEND OF DOWIELEE.

There still is shown at Dowieli e,
Within the ancient corbeiled tower,
A chamber once right fair to see,
And called the Ladye Olive's bower.
Eight o'er the old carved mantelpiece
A portrait hung in frame of gold,
O'er which was spread by strange caprice;
A pall of crape in double fold ;
And it was said, as still they say,
'Twas spread by good Sir Gregory,
And that when it was ta'en away,
The Ladye Olive thou might'st se •.
With eyne of blue so softly bright,
Like those we feign in fairie dreams,
Where love shines like that lambent light
That in the opal softly swims.
But they could carry maddening fires,
As when they inspired Sir Evan's breast,
And roused therein those wild desires
That stole from Dowielee his rest.
And led to that, oh, fatal night !
When, less beguiling than beguiled,
VOL. XXIV. K

146 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

She fled, and left in her maddened flight
The good Sir Gregory and her child.

ii.

The castle menials hear in bed

Their master's foot-fall overhead —

All in the silent midnight hour,

All under unrest's chafing power,

On and on upon the floor,

On and on both back and fore —

Bereaved, betrayed, disgraced, forlorn,

His brain on fire, his bosom torn

By fancy's images — sad lumber

Of man's proud spirit — care and cumber

Waxing brighter as they keep

From the vexed soul the frightened sleep.

in.

By balustrade and corridor
That lead him to his lady's bower,
He stands before that crape-draped frame-
Its hidden face of beauteous shame —
And holds aloft in his shaking hand
The glimmering lamp, nor can withstand
The fierce desire to feed his eye
With that fair-painted treachery.
He lifts the crape, he peers below —
The fire of wrath upon his brow ;
He lets it fall — he lifts again,
To feed on the pleasure of his pain,

THE LEGEND OF DOWIELEE. 147

And gazes without stint or measure
To gloat on the pain that is his pleasure ;
He turns the picture upon its face,
And reads the curse of his broken peace.
He turns the picture round again,
Then away to toss in his bed of pain.

IV.

Some moral thrusts can stab the heart,
And love bestowed returned in hate
Ma}- play with some a deadlier part
Than strokes that seem of sterner fate.
In yonder vavdt down by the aisle
Thou'lt read the good Sir Gregory's name —
His death the sequel of the tale
Inscribed upon that pictured frame.
Yet not forgot while rustic swain
Atunes his throat to melodie,
And warbles forth the soft refrain,
" Alace ! alace ! for Dowielee."

v.

Her father dead, Burde Olive fair — ■
Her mother's image — grows apace,
x\nd oft she throws in pensive care
A glance upon that crape-veiled face :
She wonders what may be beneath,
But fears to lift the veil to know ;
Her father with his latest breath
Forbade it, on the pain of woe,

148 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Till she to eighteen years had grown,

With woman's wisdom duly fraught,

When she might take that picture down

And learn the lesson which it taught.

Yet as she sat within the bower

That bore a mother's sacred name,

She felt the heart's divining power

And guessed the face within the frame -—

Her mother's ! who they said was dead :

And hence the crape — appropriate sign.

But why debarred the simple meed

To look upon her face divine,

And as she looked revive again

Those lines that had been once impressed

By love upon her infant brain,

And never thence to be defaced ?

Not ever fairest painted theme,

Or triumph of the gravers art,

Could match the image of her dream

Enshrined within a daughter's heart —

So gently kind, so sweetly fair :

They were the features she assigned

To creatures of yon upper air

When they look down on humankind ;

And oft she sighed that morn would shine

When that dark crape she could remove,

And she would feast those eydent eyne

On those that taught her first to love ;

And oft she scanned her own sweet face,

Reflected to her anxious view,

THE LEGEND OF DOAVIELEE. 149

To see if therein she could trace
Those lineaments — the first she knew.

vr.

On Time's swift wing the years have passed :

The morn has come, the hour is now,

"When she -would feast her heart at last

By looking on that sacred brow !

She took the picture from the nail,

She held it in her trembling hands,

She lifted up the envious veil, —

And there confessed the mother stands.

The charm is wrought! that painted gleam

Brought up the lines impressed of yore,

As flash of the bright morning beam

On twilight things seen long before.

Her mother seemed from death returned ;

She kissed the lips, the cheeks, the chin ;

She sobbed, she sighed, she laughed — she mourned

To think it was a painted sign ;

And then at last she turned it round,

As if she feared her sire's decree,

And there, in written words, she found

The dreaded curse of Dowielee :

THE CURSE.

" Than Olive who more beautiful

In all that nature could bestow V

Than Olive who more dutiful

"When first she pledged that holy vow ?

150 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

What is she now, by sin entoiled ?
Dark spirits of }'on woods declare,
Where I in anguish Avander wild,
The victim of a dark despair.

" Thank Heaven, I leave no son my heir,
Who might another Olive see,
And think her as his mother fair —
Fair, but yet a mystery —
With heart so like some alcove deep,
Where nightingales may sing their song,
And roses blow, and — serpents creep,
To sting him as I have been stung.

" The secrets of the living rock,
Deep hid from man's divining rod,
A spark may open, and the shock
Bring forth an ingot or a toad :
The secret that is kept for years,
One stroke of fate yields to the sight ;
And if the toad a jewel wears,
That jewel may have lost its light.

" Begone ye hopes of tender ties,
Of smiling home with wife and child,
Of all love's tender sympathies,
That once a rugged soul beguiled !
In vain may Beauty deck her 'crown,
And winning Goodness try her plan,
I trust no more — the guile of One
Hath changed me to a savage man.

TIIE LEGEND OF DOWIELEE. 151

" If in this world I smile again,
'Twill be to see the charming eye
Like hers — the smile — each effort plain,
And think I can them all defy.
You tell me these are Nature's ways,
But Nature tells me to beware ;
And while each angler smiling plays,
So shall I play to shun the snare.

" Mocked by the glamour of the eye,
I dread all things surpassing fair ;
The sweetest flower but makes me sigh
To think there may be poison there.
Were I inclined to change my part,
And seek again domestic peace,
I'd seek for beauties in the heart,
Though seen through a revolting face.

" By the heart-pulses of my love,
By all the things once dear to me,
By every tree within the grove,
By every bird upon the tree,
By every tint upon its wing,
By every note of melodie
That close by Her I've heard it sing,
Cursed be the dame of Dowielee."

VII.

Burde Olive sat at the evening hour
Within her mothers painted bower :

152 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

It was a ruthless winter night,

When beasts and birds cowered with affright

From brattling winds that, roving free,

Moaned in the woods of Dowielee.

A wanderer knelt beside her chair,

And spoke these words of tearful prayer :

THE ArPEAL.

" When Justice sought the skies above,
She left on earth her sister, Love,
And heaven-born Mercy staid behind
On purpose to console mankind.
The silly sheep that left one day
The Avinter's beild and went astray,
Did not, when weary, worn, and old,
Seek all in vain the shepherd's fold !
And He, the Shepherd without sin,
Felt for the contrite Magdalene,
And gave her hope — her sin forgiven —
That she wovdd join the fold in heaven :
And shall my Olive while on earth
Forgive not her who gave her birth V
Oh ! turn on mo a smiling face,
Forgiving eyes — a look of grace."

But Olive turned her face away —
Her father's spirit whispered Nay —
His hastened death, his curse forbade :
She trembled and was sore afraid ;
Yet father's daughter, meek and mild,
Was she not, too, the mother's child ?

THE LEGEND OF DOWIELEE. 153

Then he was gone, and she was here :
Her eye acknowledges the tear
Of brooding nature all confessed —
She falls upon the wanderers breast !
No more the veil obscures the frame—
The curse is taken from the name.

154 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

XVII.

THE BALLAD OF MAID MARION.

Maid Marion laid her down to sleep,
Maid Marion could do nought but weep,
For thinking of that happy time
When she was in her early prime,
When in her glass she looked so fair
With lily-lire and golden hair.

Full many a year had rolled away,
Since he left her that weary day,
When, poor in love and rich in gear,
She cast him off without a tear ;
When, poor in gear, tho' rich in love,
He left her o'er the sea to rove.

His ship was never heard of more,
And she must now his death deplore.
Now, poor in gear and rich in love,
She saw him looking from above,
With mild reproof in his dark eyes,
And still that love she dared despise.

" Oh that that day had never been — ■
That I that day had never seen !
Wae fa' the gowd that took its flight,
Wae fa' the love I feel this night,

THE BALLAD OF MAID MARION. 155

Wae fa' the pride that made me mad,
And this regret that makes me sad."

And still she turned and aye she mourned,

And aye the briny tear it burned :

A spendthrift father in the grave,

A mother buried with the lave,

And he, her Willie, also gone,

And she left weeping here alone.

And still she tried to fall asleep,
But aye the thoughts their revels keep :
Hark, "one" knurrs from the ancient clock,
Long yet ere crowing of the cock —
That sound which sends to their repose
The ghosts that mourn their hitman woes.

A faint beam from the waning moon
Can scarcely more than show the gloom ;
All is so still and silent round,
The foot of ghost might raise a sound.
Hush ! there's a rustling near the bed —
She heard the curtain draAvn aside.

With trembling fear she turned to see
Amid the gloom who there might be,
And thought she yet could dimly trace
The outlines of that well-known face
Of him, now dead, who loved her dear,
And she had scorned through pride of gear.

156 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" Oh Marion dear !" the words came plain;

" Maid Marion, dear," it said again ;

"Remember you of that avdd time

I tried sae sair thy love to win,

And for that I was lowly born

Thou treated my true love with scorn?"

"Ah, Willie,. Willie! I do thee fear,
It is thine angry ghost I hear;
I saw thee looking from on high,
I saw red anger in thine eye ;
Come thou my cruel heart to chide.
Or claim me for thy heavenly bride?-'

"Xo, Marion dear!" the shade replied,
" I dinna come thy heart to chide.
A spendthrift father left thee poor,
But Heaven has added to my store.
Thou hast been punished for thy pride,
And I am come to claim my bride."

" Oh fearful shade ! the cock will craw ;

It's mair than time thou Avert awa.

Gae back into the ocean deep

Where thou and thy companions sleep."

But still the angry spirit said,

" I ccme to claim thee for my bride."

Sore, sore she wept, and shook with dread,
" I've meikle sin upon my head,

THE BALLAD OF MAID MARION. 157

And, oli ! I am unfit to dee,
And go to Leaven thy bride to be.
Leave me ! oh leave me ! flit away,
And give me peace to weep and pray."

Now something touched Maid Marion's arm,
She felt the touch both kind and warm ;
The spirit took her by the hand,
She felt the touch both kind and bland.
The spirit kissed Maid Marion's mou',
Oh ! how it thrilled her body through.

The spirit laughed in that odd way
Which spirits do when they are gay ;
For there are spirits good and bad —
The good are aye a merry squad.
No body-pains their hearts to vex,
No worldly cares their minds perplex.

" Nae ghaist am I, Maid Marion dear,
My soul's well cased in fleshly gear ;
I have a heart still warm and free,
Enough of gowd for thee and me ;
And if thou wilt give up thy scorn,
Trow-la ! I'll marry thee the morn."

158 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

XVIII.

THE BALLAD OF ROSEALLAN CASTLE.

Yonder Roseallan's Castle old !

"Which time has changed to iron grey,
"Whose high crenelles, o'ergrown with mould,

Are crumbling silently away.
Soft comes the thought that, years before,

Now hid by time's obscuring pall,
Some tiny foot had tript the floor,

Some silver voice had filled the hall.

There was a time in long past years —

It seems to me an age of dreams —
My grandam filled my itching ears

With all Roseallan's storied themes :
Of how Sir Baldwin dearly loved

The last of all Roseallan's maids ;
And how in moonlight nights they roved

Among Roseallan's sylvan shades.

But there was one with envious eyes,
Deep set in visage pale and wan,

Resolved, whoe'er should win the prize,
Sir Baldwin should not be the man.

THE BALLAD OP ROSEALLAN CASTLE. 150

He took his aim — too deadly straight,

Yet not unseen by Annabel,
Who sprang before her favoured knight,

And died for him she loved so well.

How she who thus so bravely died

Was last of all her honoured name,
The only hope that fate supplied

To keep alive her house's fame.
And then the screeching bird of night

Would mope upon the crumbling walls,
And chirking whutthroats claim the right

To gambol in the ancient halls.

In yonder vault, deep down below,

Half choked with hoary eglantine,
Sleep side by side in lengthened row

The proud Roseallan's noble line.
The hairy wing-mouse flutters there,

The owl mopes as in days of yore,
Strange eldritch sounds salute the ear,

Unholy things crawl on the floor.

How oft alone at midnight hour

I stand within that silent tomb,
What time the moon with Availing power

Is struggling through increasing gloom,
On one sole bier his tears would fall,

For her his groans come evermore,
Whose silver voice once filled the hall,

Whose feet once lightly tript the floor.

160 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

XIX.
THE BALLAD OF THE TOUBNAY.

In the castle of Kildrennie,

Up in her chamber high,
There sat the fair Burde Annie,

And -with her County Guy —
Come lately from the east,

As far as Palestine,
Where he had sent to his long rest

Many a bold Saracen.

Sir Guy his burning love hath told,

And a favour he hath won,
For lo ! a ring of virgin gold

Shines there his linger on.
And they have pledged the solemn yea,

Each on the banded knee,
That on the coming Beltane day

They two shall wedded be.

Burde Annie viewed, to hide her tears,

The red sun setting still,
And lo ! behold two cavaliers

Came riding up the hill :
The one he was Sir Hudibras,

Come of a noble clan ;

THE BALLAD OF THE TOURNAY. 161

The other no less noble was —
The brave Sir Gallachan.

The first bore on his shield outspread

Two bones in cross moline,
And for his crest ane bluidy head,

Erased from Saracen.
The other carried, nobler far,

All in a field of gold,
A flaming bolt of Jupiter,

For crest ane tiger bold.

And up they rode, and up they rode,

Till they came to the lawn
Which spread before the castle broad,

And there they made a stand ;
And there they spied Burde Annie

Up in her chamber high,
But for the breadth of her bodie

They coidd not see Sir Guy.

Burde Annie waved her lily hand,

And threw a kiss a-down —
For Hudibras or Gallachan

Was meant the priceless boon ?
For sure it was a priceless boon,

When neither could espy
That when she threw that kiss a-down

She winkit to Sir Guy.
VOL. XXIV. L

182 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

" That kiss divine, I trow, is mine,"

Cried doughty Hudibras ;
" I am the man," cried Gallachan,

" And sure thou art ane ass."
Such words to hear were ill to bear

By any valiant knight ;
And each drew forth his sword o' weir,

And stood prepared for fight.

They starlit, they partit,

Then on each other sprang ;
They lungit, they plungit,

Till all the welkin rang.
They ogglit, they gogglit,

Amidst the dread deray ;
They chirnit, they girnit,

Like bluidy beasts of prey.

They rattlit, they brattlit,

Each cuirass upon ;
They hackit, they thwackit,

Each other's morion.
They reelit, they wheelit,

And quick came round again ;
They burstit, they thrustit,

With all their might and main.

They smeekit, they reekit,

Like to ane smouldering kiln ;

THE BALLAD OF THE TOUKNAY. 163

They peghit, they sighit,

Each other's blood to spill.
They tram pit, they stampif,

Like animals run wud ;
They flarit, they glarit,

With eyne yred with bluid.

At length, to end the bluidy deeds,

They raised their falchions keen,
And down upon each other's heads

They clove them to the chin.
But 'tis not true, as I've heard tell,

And I do not believe
That when these doughty lovers fell,

One laughed within her sleeve.

But I have also heard it said,

And I again it say,
And I would like to see the head

With tongue in't to say nay —
That as these pates lay on the ground

(As there they yet may lie),
One eye in each cloved hea\l teas found

Fixed on that chamber high.

lGi TALES OF THE BORDERS.

XX.

THE BALLAD OF GOLDEN COUNSEL.

Come Mary and Martha, Jeanie and Jenny,
And sit down and listen, baith ane and a',
To me, wha may very weel be your grannie,
And aiblins may ken ae thing or twa.

This world is no so sweet and so bonnie
As yon in your young hearts may suppose ;
There's aloes in it as wecl as honor,
And aye some prickles on ilka rose.

Yonno; lasses I think are something like fillies
Let ont in a field to idle and eat.
To graze by the gowans and drink by the willow?,
And never to dream of a bridle a bit.

It's no what ye eat, it's no what you drink, dears,
It's no your bonnets, or ribbons, or skirt-,
The trinkets ye wear, or the siller ye clink, dears-
There's something, I wean, far nearer your hearts.

Your thoughts are mair of him you will marry,
What the colour may be of his hair,
Whether aye cheery, or sometimes chary,
What his complexion, or dark or fair.

THE BALLAD OF GOLDEN COUNSEL. 1G5

But men they are gucle, and men they are ill, dears,
You may get the leal or the lazy loon ;
A lover is aft like a gilded pill, dears,
The bitter comes after it's gulped doom

I fear ye hae little of power to choose him,
The husband is settled for you abune ;
But you've power in holy bands to noose him
Before ye let him talc1 off Ids sliune.

For a maid who is silly and stoops to folly,
And finds ower late that she is betrayed,
I ken nae cure for her melancholy
But a coffin — and let it be quickly made.

A braw lover cam' to my minnie's shieling
When I was as young as you now may be,
Sae saft, like a loon wha's bent on stealing,
And he tirled and whispered secretlie.

" Oh let me in this ae night, Jenny,
And I will for ever thy true love be ;
Oh let me in this ae night, hinny,
And I will come back and marry thee !"

" Gae back and awa, for this my will is,

My mither lies gleg wi' half-closed ee,

And bids me beware of faithless billies,

Who will steal my heart and awa frae me flee."

166 TALES OF THE BORDEES.

<; For mercy's sake ! this ae night, Jenny,
Oh let me scong frae the -wind and rain,
And holy vows I will plight thee, hinny,
That thou wilt be for ever mine ain."

I opened the door so saft and sleeky,
For fear my mither should hear the din,
And he has ta'en aff his shune so creaky,
And I've led him into my cosy ben.

Our speckled cock crew loud and early,
The day was dawing o'er forest green,
And I let him out as wily and warily
As ever I let him in yestreen.

" Now, fare thee well, my winsome Jenny,
For I am a baron of high degree ;
Now, fare thee well for ever, my hinny,
For the wife of a baron thou ne'er canst be."

*

With a ha ! ha ! ha ! and a tra-la-lalla,
He stroked the red beard on his chin,
With a ha ! ha ! ha ! and a tra-la-lalla,
And I have never seen him again.

* The reader may here recollect the fine ballad of Burger,
" Dcr Eitter mid sein Liebchen ;" and the verse—
Drauf ritt der Eitter hop sa ! sa !
Und strich sein Bartchen trallala ;
Sein Leibchen sah ihn reiten
Und horte noch von weiten
Sein Lachen ha ! ha ! ha !

THE BALLAD OF GOLDEN COUNSEL. 167

[The maidens thought the humour gala,
And, laughing, they chorused to the strain,
" With a ha ! ha ! ha ! and a tra-la-lalla,
And you have never seen him again."]

Now, dears ! if your lovers you would not lose them,
Tak' counsel — it is not an hour ower sune :
Be sure that in holy bands ye noose them
Before you let them tak'' off their shune.

[The maidens thought they would amuse them,
And, laughing, they chorused to the tune,
" Oh yes, we in holy bands will noose them
Before ice let them tak' aff their shune." J

168 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

XXI.
THE BALLAD OF MATRIMONY.

" Come, now tell me, Clarabella,

How that wondrous thing befell,
Why you took that sorry fellow,

Leaving me who loved you well ?
It was, good faith ! a sad miscarriage,

And cost me many a pang of pain ;
Indeed, when I heard of your marriage,

I vowed I ne'er would love again."

" Well, I don't mind, since you're pathetic,

And so the reason you shall hear :
Th' affair was one of arithmetic —

A matter of so much a year.
His father left five thousand good

Of pounds per annum, as you know,
And you possessed, I \mderstood,

Of yearly thousands only two."

" Well, why did I, who knew of Cupid,

Display so much stupid-ity
As not to know — the thing was lucid —

From Cupid comes Cupid-ityV"
" But not too late," cried Clarabella :

" My husband dear has gone to heaven ;

TILE BALLAD OF MATRIMONY. 1C9

He left the five to me, good fellow !

And five and two, you know, make seven."

I laughed and bowed to Clarabella,

And quickly homewards bent my way,
And there became a rustic fellow,

And donned a suit of hodden-grey.
And then I hired me to a farmer,

Concealing every sign of pelf,
One Hodge, who had a pretty charmer,

Who might love me for myself.

I laid bold siege to fair Lucinda,

And tho' she loved another swain
(I had observed them through the window),

I was resolved her love to grain
Then I would be a lucky fellow,

Assured one loved me for my merit,
And not, like widowed Clarabella,

For the lucre I inherit.

At length I boldly purposed marriage,

And found Lucinda at my call,
And soon thereafter in my carriage

I drove my wife to Border Hall.
"Well! she wondered at the mansion,

And all the grandeur that was there,
The servants bowing all attention

To the lady of their squire.

I had a call from Clarabella,

Who said my choice was very good ;

170 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

But though her speech was calm and mellow,
I thought her in an envious mood.

Indeed I had some small suspicion
She had avenged a woman's grudge,

And had conveyed my true condition
To the ears of Farmer Hodge.

Sometime thence I met Bill Hedger,

Who knew me spite of my changed dress,
" Squoire," said he, " I think I'd wager

There is a something thee doan't guess :
Lucinda's father knew by letter

Thee wert a squoire in low disguise,
And she, altho' she hiked me better,

Agreed to take the richer prize."

THE SONG OF ROSALIE. 171

XXII.
THE SONG OF ROSALIE.

Row on ! row on ! to flowing Tay,

Thou Dighty, who art dear to me;
For here upon thy flowery brae

I parted last frae Rosalie.
Pier hair, so rich in gowden hue,

Ilk plait was like a gowden string,
Her eyne were like the bonnie blue

That shines upon the halcyon's wing.

There is a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,

And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and silent tomb.

Thou speckled thrush, with tuneful throat,

Who sing'st within yon greenwood dell ;
Sing on, for every trembling note

Brings back the voice I loved so well.
Thou little pansy, raise thy head,

And turn thine azure eye to me,
And so remind me of the dead,

My dearest, long lost Rosalie.

There is a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,

')

172 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and dreary tomb.

Thou lambkin on yon hillock's brow,

That sportest in thy gamesome mood,
Play on ! for thou remind'st me now

Of one as innocent and good ;
All emblems dear, for thoughts you bring

Of her who loved you all to see,
"When through the woods in early spring

Ilk bird seemed calling " Eosalie."

But there's a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,

And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and dreary tomb.

Far have I roamed for years and years,

As from my thoughts I fain would stray ;
But here once more 1 weep my tears

O'er her now mouldering in the clay.
Oh ! would that happy day were come

When death shall set my spirit free,
And I shall rise to yonder home,

And be again with Eosalie,

Where is no worm to gnaw the bud,

And none to blight the youthful bloom ;

Where spirits sing in joyful mood,

" Behold our triumph o'er the tomb !"

THE BALLAD OF THE WORLD'S VANITY. 173

XX I IT.
THE BALLAD OF THE WORLD'S VANITY,

i.
Mournfully maundering,

Life's last moments squandering,
Weary, weary, wandering,

Through this world of sin,
Hermit-shade ! I call thee;
Lead me to the valley —
That mysterious allev,

Where I may creep in.

"World of strange illusion !
Fancy -born delusion !
Reason-bred confusion !

Phantasmagoria !
Love, where shall I find thee ?
Faith, Iioav shall I bind thee ?
Truth, who has defined thee?

Changing every day.

Streets of hurry scurry !
Fields of fire and fury !
Homes of wear and worry !

Passing quickly by ;
Pleasure a wild snatching,
Dying in the catching,
Pain eternal watching

With relentless eye.

I 74 TALES OF THE BOEDEE8.

Sorrow, old Sin's daughter !
Screams of eldritch laughter !
Burning tears thereafter!

I've felt the vanity ;
Still the hope pursuing,
The pursuit ever rueing,
Possession still undoing

The hope's fond prophecy.

ii.

Sun ! I've seen thy grandeur,
Scenes of gorgeous splendour,
Visions passing wonder

In ocean, sea, and sky ;
Thunders o'er us pealing,
Earthquakes 'neath us reeling,
Fiery comets wheeling

Through all immensity.

Virtue ! man has crowned thee,
For beautiful he found thee ;
Yet millions have disowned thee,

And seek dark Vice's way ;
Hypocrisy, deep-hooded,
Injustice still obtruded,
Stern Cruelty, cold-blooded,

Make brother man their prey.

Kind Love's pure affection !
Pity's benediction !

THE BALLAD OF THE WORLD'S VANITY. 175

Charity's sweet action !

All blessed urbanities;
Alan on man still preying ;
Bleating lambkins slaying !
Devouring blood, and saying

All soft humanities.

ill.

Dreaming, doubting, moping,
Hopelessly still hoping,
Dimly, darkly groping

My being's mystery ;
This sobbing and this sighing,
This laughing and this crying,
This living and this dying —

Man's mortal history !

Why this wild contention ?
This mocking, cruel invention —
What the deep intention ?

AYho shall give replies ?
Demons wildly sporting,
God's beautiful distorting,
Or His own hand extorting

Sin-born penalties ?

IV.

Those with whom I started
Oceans wide have parted ;
Some are broken-hearted,
Some lie in the clay ;

176 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Those I once heard prattle,
For -whom I shook the rattle,
Engaged in life's vain battle,
Push me off the way.

The world's laugh it jeers me,
Their looks they seem to fear me,
I hear them whisper near me,

" Old man, why linger here ?"
She who loved me dearly,
Wandered with me cheerily.
Is now a phantom merely,

Seen through memory's tear.

Pale ghost, flitting yonder !
With drooping head you wander,
Deep in thought you ponder

Why I stay from thee ;
Cease those hands to beckon,
Vain, vain, may you reckon ;
Alas ! I cannot quicken

Death's desired decree.

Weary, weary wandering,
Life's last moments squandering,
Weary, weary wandering

Through this world of sin.
None can undeceive me,
None but One relieve me,
None but One receive me,

His peace to enter in.

THE SIEGE. 177

XXIV. THE SIEGE:

A DRAMATIC TALE.

Dramatis Persons. — Sir Alexander Setox, Governor
of Berwick ; Richard and Henry, his sons. Provost
Ramsay. Hugh Elliot, a traitor. King Edward.
Earl Percy. Matilda, wife of Seton ; etc.

Scexe I. — A Street — the Market-place.

Enter Sir Alexander Setox, Piciiard and Henry (his
sons), Provost Ramsay, Hugh Elliot, and others of
the People.

Provost Ramsay. — Blither Scotchmen ! it is my fixed
an' solemn opinion, that the King o' England has
entered into a hob/ alliance wi' the enemy o' mankind !
An' does he demand us to surrender ! — to gie up our
toun ! — our property ! — our lives ! — our liberty ! — to
Southern pagans, that hae entered into compact wi' the
powers o' the air ! Surrender ! No, Scotchmen !
While we breathe, we will breathe the breath o' Free-
dom 1 as it soughs down the Tweed, between the
heathery hills o' our ain auld country ! I am but
provost o' Berwick, Sir Alexander, an' ye are its gover-
nor ; an' in a time like this, the power o' defending or
surrendering the gates is yours ; but though ye gie up
VOL. XXIV. M

178 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

the keys this very hour, an' were every stane o' the
walls turned ane upon anither — here ! — the power to
defend this market-place is mine ! — and here will I
stand, while this hand can wield a sword, or a Scotch-
man is left to die by my side !

Sir Alex. — Fear not, good provost; I through life
have learned
To live with honour, or with honour fall.

Piichard. — And as the father dies, so shall his sons.
What sayest thou, Henry ?

Henry. — I would say but this —
(If one with a smooth chin may have a voice) —
When thou dost nobly fall, I'll but survive
To strike revenge — then follow thy example.

Provost Ramsay. — Bravely said, callants ! As sure as
death, I wish ye were my sons ! Do ye ken, Sir Alex-
ander, the only thing that grieves me in a day like-
this, is, that I hae naebody to die for the glory an'
honour o' auld Scotland but mysel? But, save us,
neebor Elliot ! ye look as douf an' as dowie-like as if
ye had been forced to mak yer breakfast o' yer coat-
sleeve.

Hugh Elliot. — In truth, methinks, this is no time for
smiles —
In every street, each corner of the town,
Struck by some unseen hand, the dead are strewed ;
From every house the children's wail is heard,
Screaming in vain for food ; and the poor mother,
Worn to a skeleton, sits groaning by !
My house, 'tis known, o'erlooks the battlements ;

THE SIEGE. 179

Tis not an hour gone that I left my couch,
Hastening to speed me hither, when a sound,
Fierce as the thunders, shook our firm-built walls :
The casements fell in atoms, and the bed,
Which I that moment left, rocked in confusion :
I turned to gaze on it, and I beheld ! — beheld
My wife's fair bosom torn — her heart laid bare I
And the red stream came oozing to my feet !
Is this a time for smiles?

Provost Ramsay, — Your wife ! Heaven preserve us !
Weel, after a', 1 hae reason to be thankful' I hae neither
wife nor bairns on a day like this !

Sir Alex. — Behold an envoy from the English camp,
Sent with proposals, or some crafty truce.

Hugh Elliot. — Let me entreat you, then, most noble sir,
Give him all courtesy ; and if his terms
Be such as we in honour may accept,
Refuse them not by saying, We will die.

Enter Eakl Percy and Attendants.

Percy. — Good morrow, my Scotch cousins !
My gracious sovereign, your right lawful master,
Hath, in his mercy, left you these conditions —
Now to throw wide your gates, and, if ye choose,
Go walk into the Tweed, and drown your treason ;
Or run, like scapegoats, to the wilderness,
Bearing your sins, and half a week's provision ;
Or, should these terms not meet your approbation,
Ere midnight we shall send some fleeter messenger.'.
So now, old Governor, my master's answer?

180 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Provost Ramsay. — The mischief's in your impudence !
But were I Sir Alexander, the only answer your master
should hae, would be your weel-bred tongue sent back
upon the end o' an arrow ; an' that wad be as fleet a mes-
senger, as ye talk about fleet messengers, as ony I ken o'.

Percy. — Peace, thou barbarian ! keep thy frog's
throat closed.
I say, old greybeard, hast thou found an answer ?

Sir Alex. — Had my Lord Percy found more fitting
phrase
To couch his haughty mandate, 1 perhaps
Had found some meet reply. Birt as it is,
Thou hast thine answer in this people's eyes.

Hugh Elliot. — Since we with life and honour may
depart,
Send not an answer that must seal our ruin,
Though it be hero -like to talk of death.

[Enter Lady Seton, listening.

Bethink thee well, Sir Governor : these men
Have wives with helpless infants at their breasts ;
What husband, think ye, would behold a child
Dashed from the bosom where his head had pillowed,
That his fair wife might fill a conqueror's arms !
These men have parents — feeble, helpless, old ;
Yea, men have daughters ! — they have maids that love

them —
Daughters and maidens chaste as the new moon —
"Will they behold them screaming on the streets,
And in the broad day be despoiled by violence ?

THE SIEGE. 181

Think of these tilings, my countrymen ! [Aside to Percy.
Now, my Lord Percy, you may read your answer.

Percy [aside]. — So thou art disaffected, good Sir
Orator :
Well, ply thy wits, and Edward will reward thee —
Though, for my part, I'd knight thee with a halter !

Sir Alex. — Is this thy counsel in the hour of peril,
Milk-hearted man ? To thee, and all like thee,
/ offer terms more generous still than Edward's :
Depart ye by the Scotch or English gate —
Both shall be opened. Lade your beasts of burden —
Take all you have — your food, your filthy gold,
Your wives, your children, parents, and yourselves !
Go to our Scottish king, and prate of courage !
Or go to Edward — Percy will conduct thee.

[Lady Seton advances 'forward.

Lady Seton. — Spoke like thyself, my husband !
Out on thee, slave ! [To Elliot.

Or shall I call thee traitor ? What didst thou,
On finishing thy funeral service, whisper
In my Lord Percy's ear ?

Elliot. — I whisper, lady ?

Lady Seton. — You whisper, smooth-tongued sir !

Percy [aside], — Zounds ! by the coronet of broad
Northumberland,
Could I exchange it for fair England's crown,
I'd have my bodyguard of woman's eyes,
And make the whole sex sharpshooters !

Provost Ramsay. — Wae's me ! friend Elliot, but you

182 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

have an unco dumfoundered-like look after that speech
o' yours in defence o' liberty, and infants, and fair-
bosoms, maiden screams, and grey hairs, and what not.

Sir Alex. — Percy, we hear no terms but death or
liberty. This is our answer.

Percy. — Well, cousins, be it so. The wilful dog —
As runs the proverb. Lady, fare-ye-well. [Exit.

Sir Alex. — On with me, friends — on to the southern
ramparts !

There, methinks, they meditate a breach. On, Scots-
men ! on —
For Freedom and for Scotland ! [Exeunt.

Scene II. — Town Ramparts.

Enter Sir Alexander, Richard, Henry,
Provost Ramsay, Hugh Elliot, and Populace.

Sir Alex. — To-day, my townsmen, I shall be your

leader ;
And though my arms may lack their wonted vigour,
Here are my pledges [pointing to his sons'] placed on

either side,
That seal a triumph youth could never reap.
To-day, my sons, beneath a father's eye,
Oh give such pride of feeling to his heart
As shall outshame the ardour of his youth,
And nerve his arm with power strong as his zeal !

[Exeunt all save Hugh Elliot.
Elliot. — Thanks to my destiny ! — the hour is come —

THE SIEGE. 183

The wished-for hour of vengeance on mine enemy ! — ■

Heavens ! there is neither nobleness nor virtue,

Nor any quality that beggars boast not,

But he and his smooth sons have swallowed up ;

And all the world must mouth their bravery ! —

I owe a debt to Scotland and to him,

And I'll repay it — I'll repay it now !

This letter will I shoot to Edward's camp ;

And now, ere midnight, I'm revenged — revenged !

[Lady Seton appears from the window of the cast''',
os Elliot is fixing a letter on an arrow.

Lady Seton [from the window~\. — Hold, traitor ! hold,
Or, by the powers above us, this very hour
Your body o'er these battlements shall hang
For your fair friends to shoot at !

[Elliot drops the "bow.
Elliot \_aside\. — Now fleet destruction seize the lynx-
eyed fiend —
Trapped in the moment that insured success !
Thank fate — my dagger's left ! — she has a son !

Lady Seton. — Go, worthless recreant, and in thickest
fight
Blot out thy guilty purpose : know thy life
Depends on this day's daring ; and its deeds
And wounds alone, won in the onset's brunt,
Secures my silence.

Elliot. — You wrong me, noble lady.
Lady Seton. — Away! I'll hear thee not, nor letmy ears
List to the accents of a traitor's tongue. [Exit Elliot.

184: TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Scene III. — An Apartment in King Edward's Tent.
Enter Edward and Percy.

Edward, — Well, my Lord Percy, thou hast made
good speed. .

What say these haughty burghers to our clemency?

Percy.— -In truth, your Grace, they are right haughty
burghers.
One wondrous civil gentleman proposed
To write his answer on your servant's tongue —
Using his sword as clerks might do a quill —
Then thrust it on an arrow for a post-boy !

Edward. — Such service he shall meet. What said
their governor ?

Percy. — Marry ! the old boy said I was no gentleman,
And bade me read my answer in the eyes
Of — Heaven defend me ! — such a squalid crew!
One looked like death run from his winding sheet ;
Another like an ague clothed in rags ;
A third had something of the human form,
But every bone was cursing at its fellow.
Now, though I vow that I could read my fate
In every damsel's eyes that kissed a moonbeam,
I've yet to learn the meaning of the words
Wrote on the eyeballs of his vellum-spectres.
But the old man is henpecked !

Edward. — Prythee, Lord Percy, lay thy fool's ton 'me

by,

And tell thy meaning plainly.

THE SIEGE. 185

Percy. — Nay, pardon me, }'cmr majesty ; I wot
Your servant is the fool his father made him,
And the most dutiful of all your subjects.

Edward. — We know it, Percy. But what of his wife 'i

Percy. — Why, if the men but possess half her spirit,
You might besiege these walls till you have counted
The grey hairs on the child that's born next June.

Edward. — And was this all ?

Percy. — Nay, there was one — a smooth-tongued oily
man —
A leader of the citizens ; and one
Who measures out dissension by the rood :
He is an orator, and made a speech
Against the governor : the people murmured ;
And one or two cried out, " Behold an Antony !"
But he's a traitor ; and I'd hang all traitors !

Edward. — Ha ! — then doth the devil, Disaffection,
With his fair first-born, Treason, smooth our path.
So we have friends within the citadel.
Sent they no other answer ?

Percy. — I did expect me to have brought the whole,
Like half-clothed beggars bending at my heels,
To crave your Grace's succour ; but, behold,
Ere I could bid them home for a clean shirt,
That they might meet your majesty like Christians,
Out stepped her ladyship, and with a speech
Roused up the whole to such a flood of feeling
That I did well 'scape drowning in the shout
Of Scotland and Seton ! — Seton and Scotland ! —
Then did she turn and ask me, "Are you answered?"

186 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

I said I was ! — and they did raise a cry
Of Death or Libert// !

Edward, — They shall have it — death in its fullest
meaning.
Haste, ply our cannon on the opening breach.
Forth ! — they attack the camp ! Now, drive them back,
Break through their gate and guards,
Till all be ours ! [Exeunt.

Scene IV. — The Ramparts.
Scots driven through the gates in confusion.

Sir Alex. — Woe to thee, Elliot! this defeat is thine
Where was the caution ye but preached this morn,
That ye should madly break our little band,
And rush on certain ruin ? Fie on thee, man !
That such an old head is so young a soldier !
Here, guard this breach, defend it to the last ;
Henry shall be thy comrade. On, my friends !
They cross the river, and the northern gate
Will be their next attack.

Elliot [aside"]. — " Woe to thee, Elliot ! this defeat is
thine!"
So says onr Governor ! 'Tis true ! — Hwas mine !
Though I have failed me in my firm, fixed purpose,
Once more he's thrown revenge within my grasp ;
And I will clutch it — clutch it firmly, too ;
I guard the breach ! and with his son to assist me !
The Fates grow kind ! The breach ! he said the
breach !

THE SIEGE. 187

And gave his son up to the power of Edward !

Henry. — Why stand ye musing there ? Here lies

your duty !
Elliot [aside']. — "lis true ! 'tis true ! my duty does lie

there I
Henry. — Follow me, Elliot. See — they scale the
walls !
A moment lost, and they have gained the battlement.

Shouting. — Percy and Followers leap upon the battlement.

Percy. — On ! followers, on ! — for Edward and for
England !

Henry. — Have at thee, Percy, and thy followers, too !
For Freedom and for Scotland ! On, Elliot ! on !
Wipe out the morning's shame.

Elliot [aside]. — Have at thee, boy, for insult and
revenge !

[Elliot strikes Henry's sword from his hand.

Henry. — Shame on thee, traitor ! are we thus be-
trayed ?

[Percy's Followers make Henry prisoner.

Elliot. — Thank Heaven ! thank Heaven ! — one then
is in their grasp !
A truce, Lord Percy. See thy prisoner safe,
Ere his mad father sound a rescue — off !
Thou wouldst not draw thy sword upon a friend ?

[Sir Alexander, Richard, Provost Ramsay,
and others, enter hurriedly.

188 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Sir Alex. — Thanks, Elliot ! thanks ! You have done
nobly ! — thanks !
Where is your comrade ? — speak — where is my son ?

Elliot. — "Would he had been less valiant — less brave !

Sir Alex. — What ! is he dead, my good, my gallant
boy?
Where is his body? show me — where? oh, where ?

Richard. — Where is my brother? tell me how he
fell ?

Elliot. — Could I with my best blood have saved the
youth,
Ye are all witnesses that I would have clone it.

Provost Ramsay.— Indeed, Mr. Elliot, if ye refer to
me, I'm witness to naething o' the kind ; for it is my
solemn opinion, a' the execution your sword did was as
feckless as a winnle-strae.

Sir Alex. — Where is my poor boy's body ?

Elliot. — I did not say he died.

Richard. — Not dead !

Sir Alex. — Not say he died ?

Elliot. — See yonder group now hurrying to the camp,
And shouting as they run. He is their prisoner !
[Aside] Feed ye, friends, on that.

Sir Alex. — Cold-blooded man ! thou never wert a
father.
The tyrant is ! he knows a father's heart ;
And he will play the butcher's part with mine !
Each day inflicting on me many deaths,
Knowing right well I am his twofold prisoner;
For on the son's head he'll repay, with interest,

THE SIEGE. 189

The wrongs the father did him !

"He is their prisoner," saidst thou? "Is their

prisoner ! "
Thou hast no sons ! — none ! — I forgive thee, Elliot !

Elliot. — Deeply I crave your pardon, noble sir ;
Pity for you, and love for Scotland, made me
That I was loath to speak the unwelcome tidings ;
Fearful that to attempt his rescue now,
Had so cut off our few remaining troops,
As seal immediate ruin.

Provost Ramsay [aside]. — Preserve us a' ! hear that.
Weel, to be sure, it's a true saying, " Satan never lets
his saunts be at a loss for an answer!"

Scene V. — Apartment in Edward's Tent.
Enter Edward and Percy.

Edward. — How fares it with these stubborn rebels
now ?
Do they still talk of death as of a bridal,
"While we protract the ceremony ?

Percy. — I learn, my liege, we've got two glorious
allies —
Two most right honourable gentlemen —
Aiding the smooth-tongued orator :
Disease and Famine have espoused our cause,
And the said traitor Elliot is their oracle.

Edward. — Touching this man, we have advice from
him,
In which he speaketh much concerns the wants

190 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And murmurings of the citizens : he, too,

Adds, they hold out expecting help from Douglas,

And recommendeth that we should demand

The other son of Seton as a hostage,

In virtue of a truce for fourteen days :

This is his snare. The sons once in his power,

Their father yields, or both hang up before him.

Percy. — Tis monstrous generous of our friendly Scot ;
And what return expects he for his service?

Edward. — On giving up the father's head — his place.

Percy. — I fear the lady will have his head first.
Did you but see her eyes !
I'd bet my coronet 'gainst our friar's cowl,
Man wink not treason in his bedchamber
But she detect it. Then her ears, again ;
'Sdeath ! she can hear the very sound of light
As it does steal, i' the morning, through her curtains.
Should our friend wear his head another week,
His neck, I'll swear, is not as other men's are.

Edward. — How fares it with the son, our silent
prisoner ?

Percy. — Poor soul, he leans his head against the wall,
And stands with his arms thus — across his breast —
Pale as a gravestone, gnashing at his teeth,
And looking on his guards just as his mother would !

Edward. — 'Tis now the hour that Elliot has proposed
To stir the townsmen up to mutiny.
Take our conditions, and whatder you please ;
Get but the son as hostage ! — get but that !
And both shall die a thief's death if he vield not ;

THE SIEGE. 191

He is a father, Percy — he's a father !
The town is ours, and at an easy purchase. [Exit.

Percy.- — And she's a mother, Edward ! she's a mother !
Ay ! and a mother ; I will pledge my earldom,
And be but plain Hal Percy all my life,
If she despise not gallows, death, and children,
And earn for thee a crown of shame, my master !
In sooth, I am ashamed to draw my sword,
Lest I should see my face in its bright blade ;
For sure my mother would not know her son,
As he goes blushing on his hangman's errand.

Scene VI. — A Street — the Market-place.
Enter Elliot and Populace.

Elliot. — You heard, my townsmen, how our gracious
governor
Did talk to us of honour — ! you all heard him !
Can any of you tell us what is honour ?
He drinks his wine, he feeds on beeves and capons ;
His table groans beneath a load of meats ;
His hounds, his hawks, are fed like Christian men !
He sleeps in a downy couch, o'erhung with purple ;
And these, all these are honourable doings !

lie talks of liberty !
Is it, then, liberty to be cooped up
Within these prison Avails, to starve from want,
That we may have the liberty — mark it, my friends ! —
The wondrous liberty to call him Governor?
Had ye the hearts or hands your fathers had,

192 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

You'd to the castle, take the keys by force,
And ope the gates to let your children live.
Here comes your provost — now appeal to him.

Enter Provost Ramsay. — The people demand bread.

Provost Ramsay. — Gie you food ! — your bairns dee
wi' hunger ! — and ye maun hae bread ! It is easy sav-
ing, Gie ye! but -where am I to get it? Do you think
there's naebody finds the grund o' their stamachs but
yersels ? I'm sure I hae been blind fastin' these four-
and-twenty hours ! But wad ye no suffer this, and ten
times mair for liberty, and for the glory and honour of
auld Scotland ?

Elliot [to the people^. — He, too, can cant of liberty
and honour !

Provost Ramsay. — I say, Mr. Hypocrite ! it is my
fixed and solemn opinion that ye are at the bottom o'
this murmuring". I ken ye're never at a loss for an
answer; and there is anither wee bit affair I wad just
thank ye to redd up. Do ye mind what a fine story ye
made in this very market-place the ither week, about
getting ower the bed — and your wife's bosom being torn
bare — and the blood gushing to your feet, and a' the
rest o't? Do ye mind o' that, sir? Do ye mind o'
that? I daresay, townsmen, ye've no forgot it? Now,
sir, it's no aboon ten minutes sine, that the poor crea-
ture— wha, according to your account, was dead and
buried — got loose frae her confinement, and cam fleeing
to me for protection, as a man and a magistrate, to save
her frae the cruelty o' you, you scoundrel. Now, what

THE SIEGE. 193

say ye to that, sir ? What say ye to that ? What do
you think o' your orator now, friends ?

Elliot. — 'Tis false, my friends —
'Tis but a wicked calumny devised
Against the only man who is your friend.

Provost Ramsay. — Saftly, neebor, saftly ! have a care
how ye gie the lee to what I say ; or, it is my solemn
opinion, this bit sword o' my faither's may stap you frae
gien it till anither.

Enter Sir Alexander and Richard.

Ye are weel come, Sir Alexander : here is Orator
Elliot been makin' a harangue to the townsfolk ; and
ane cries for bread, and anither for meal — that it is my
opinion I dinna ken what's to be done.

Sir Alex. — What would you have? what is it that
you wish ?
Would ye, for food, sweet friends, become all slaves ;
And for a meal, that ye might surfeit on it,
Give up your wives, your homes, and all that's dear,
To the brute arms of men, who hold it virtue
To heap their shame upon a fallen foe ?
Would ye, that ye might eat, yet not be satisfied,
Pick up the scanty crumbs around their camp,
After their cattle and their dogs have left them ;
Or would ye, for this favour, be content
To take up arms against your countrymen ! —
For this ! will fathers fight against their sons ? —
Sons 'gainst their fathers ? — brethren with each other ?
Those who would wish it may go o'er to Edward !

VOL. XXIV. ]sr

194 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

[Sound of French horns without.

Provost Ramsay. — Ay, here comes mair proposals —
the sorry proposal them ! I wish them and proposals
an' a' were in the middle o' the Tweed.

Enter Earl Percy and Attendants.

Percy. — Save ye, my band of heroes; by St. Cuthbert,
Your valorous deeds have wrought a miracle,
And turned my master's hatred into mercy ;
For, deeming it a sin that such brave fellows
Should die a beggar's vulgar death from want,
He cloth propose to drop hostilities,
And for two weeks you may command our friendship [
If in that time you gain no aid from Scotland,
Renounce the country, and be Edward master ;
But, should you gain assistance — Avhy, then, we
"Will raise the siege, and wish you all good-bye.

FJliot [to the people']. — Urge the acceptance, friends,
of these conditions.

Omnes. — We all accept these terms.

Sir Alex. — It is the people's wish ; and I agree.

Percy. — And you, in pledge of due performance, sir,
Do give up this j'our son into our hands,
In surety for your honour

Sir Alex. — What ! my son !
Give him up too — yield him into your power?
Have ye not one already ? — No ! no ! no !
I cannot, my Lord Percy ; no, I cannot
Part with him too, and leave their mother childless !

Provost Ramsay. — Wad ye no tak me as a substitute,

THE SIEGE. 195

Lord Percy? I'm a man o' property, and chief magistrate
beside; now, I should think, I'm the maist likely person.

Percy. — Good master magistrate and man of pro-
perty,
I like thy heart, but cannot take thy person.
Give up the youth, or here must end my truce !

Richard. — Fear not, my father. I will be their
hostage,
For Scotland's sake, and for my father's honour

Sir Alex. — My boy, my boy, and shall I lose you thus ?
What surety does cruel Edward give,
That, keeping faith, he will restore my sons
Back to my arms in safety ? Tell me, Percy ;
Gives he his honour as a man or kino; ?

Percy. — As both, I hold it.

Sir Alex. — And wilt thou pledge thine?

Percy. — This is my master's business, and not mine.

Sir Alex. — 'Tis an evasion, and I like it not.

Richard. — Farewell ! farewell, my father ! be the first
To teach these men the virtue of self-sacrifice.
Commend me to my mother. I will bear
Both of your best loves to our Henry.
Farewell ! Lead on, Lord Perc}'. [Exeunt.

Scene VII. — Apartment in Seton's House.

Enter Sir Alexander, Provost Ramsay, Hugh Elliot,

and others.

Sir Alex. — Would Heaven that all go well with my
dear boys 1

196 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

But there's that within me that does tear
My bosom with misgivings. The very sun
To me lianas out a si cm of ominous "loom!
A spirit seems to haunt me, and the weight
Of evil undefined, and yet unknown,
Doth, like a death's-hand, press upon my heart.

Provost Ramsay. — Hoot, I wad fain think that the
warst is past, and that there is nae danger o' onything
happenin' now. But do yc ken, sir, it is my fixed and
solemn opinion, that, before onything really is gaun to
happen to a body, or to ony o' their friends, like, there
is a kind o' something comes ower ane — a sort o' sough
about the heart there — an' ye dinna ken what for.

Sir Alex. — Have ye beheld how they arc raising
bastions,
Flanking fresh cannon, too, in front the town,
Gaining new reinforcements to their camp,
And watching all our outgoings? Do you think
This looks as Edward meant to keep his faith ?
I am betrayed, my friends — I am betrayed.
Fear marcheth quickly tc a father's breast —
My sons are lost ! are lost !

Provost Eamsay, — It's true that King Edward's pre-
parations, and his getting sic fcarfu' additions to his
army, doesna look week But what is a king but his
word mair than a man ?

Enter Servant.

Servant. — Lord Percy craves an audience with your
honour.

THE SIEGE, 197

Sir Alex. — Conduct him hither. Tis as I boded!

[Exit Servant — enter Percy.

You look grave, my lord.

Percy. — Faith, if I can look grave, to-day I should:
None of my mother's children, gossips said,
Were born with a sad face ; but I could wish
That I had never smiled, or that her maid
Had been my mother, rather than that I
Had been the bearer of this day's vile tidings.

Sir Alex. — 'Tis of my sons ! — what ! what of them,
Lord Percy ?
What of them ?

Percy. — Yes, 'tis of your sons I'd speak! —
They live — they're well ! — can you be calm to hear me ?
I would speak of your sons.

Sir Alex.— I feel !— I feel !
I understand yon, Percy ! you would speak of my sons ! —
Go, thrust thy head into a lion's den,
Murder its whelps, and say to it, Be calm !
Be calm ! and feel a dagger in thy heart !
'Twas kindly said ! — kind ! kind ! to say, Be calm !
I'm calm, Lord Percy ! what— what of my sons ?

Percy. — If I can tell thee, and avoid being choked —
Choked with my shame and loathing — I will tell thee !
But each particular word of this black mission
Is like a knife thrust in between my teeth.

Sir Alex. — Torture me not, my lord, but speak the
worst ;
My ears can hear — my heart can hold no more !

198 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Enter Lady Seton.

Percy. — Hear them in as few words as I can tell it :
Edward hath sworn, and he will keep his vow,
That if to-day ye yield not up the town,
Become his prisoners, break your faith with Scotland,
Ye with the morning dawn shall see your sons
Hung up before your windows. He hath sworn it ;
And, by my earldom — faith as a Christian —
Honour as a peer — he will perform it !

Lady Seton \_aside\. — Ruler of earth and heaven ! a
mother begs
Thy counsel — Thy protection ! Say I mother !
No voice again shall call me by that name —
Both ! both my boys !

Sir Alex. — Ha ! my Matilda !
Thou here ! Dry up thy tears, my love ! dry up thy

tears !
I cannot sacrifice both sons and mother !
Alas, my country ! I must sell thee dearly !
My faith — mine honour too! — take — take them, Percy !
I am a father, and my sons shall live ! —
Shall live! raid I shall die! [Unsheathing his sword.

Lady Seton. — Hold ! hold, my husband — save thy
life and honour !
Thou art a father — am not I a mother V
Knowest thou the measure of a mother's love ?
Think ye she yearns not for her own heart's blood ?
Yet I will live ! and thou shalt live, my husband !
We will not rob this Edward of his shame ;

THE SIEGE. 199

Write — I will dictate as my sons had done it —
I know their nature, for 'twas I who gave it.

Sir Alex. — Thou wait'st an answer, Percy — I will
give it. \Sils down to write.

No ; I cannot, Matilda.

Lady Seton. — Write thus :
"Edward may break his faith, but Seton cannot!
Edward may earn disgrace, but Seton honour !
His sons are in your power ! Do ! do as ye list !"

[//d starts up in agitation.

Sir Alex. — No, no ! it cannot be— say not my sons !
Lord Percy, let your tyrant take my life !
Torture me inchmeal ! — to the last I'll smile,
And bless him for his mercy ! — but spare, oh spare my
children !

Provost Bamsay. — Really, Sir Alexander, I dinna ken
hoo to advise you. To think o' gien up the toun to sic
a monster o' iniquity, is entirely out o' the question —
just impossible a'thegither ; and to think o' the twa
dear brave bairns sufferin', is just as impossible as to
flee in the air. I tell ye what, my lord — and it is my
opinion it is a very fair proposal (if naething but deaths
will satisfy your king) — I, for ane, will die in their stead
— their faither will for anither ; and is there ane
amang you, my toAvnsmen, that winna do the same, and
let your names be handed down as heroes to your
bairns' bairns, and the last generation ?

Percy. — Thou hast a noble heart, old honest Scots-
man; but I cannot accept your generous offer.

200 TALES OF THE BOFwDERS.

Lady Seton. — Mark tins, my husband ! — that we may
still be parents —
That we might have two sons to live and scorn us —
Sell country — honour — all — and live disgraced :
Think ye my sons would call a traitor father? —
They drew their life from me — from me they drew it ;
And think ye I would call a traitor husband ? —
What ! would ye have them live, that every slave,
In banquet or in battle, might exclaim,
" For you, ye hinds, your father sold his country ?"
Or, would you have them live, that no man's daughter
Would stoop so low as call your sons her husband ?
Would you behold them hooted, hissed at,
Oft, as they crossed the street, by every urchin ?
Would ye your sons — your noble sons — met this,
Rather than die for Scotland ? If ye do love them,
Love them as a man !

Sir Alex. — 'Tis done ! my country, thou hast made
me bankrupt !
And I am childless ! [Exeunt.

Scene VIII. — The river, and boat. Time midnight.
Enter one habited as a friar.

Friar. — 'Tis now thick midnight. All round me
sleep,
And not a star looks from the curtained heaven.
The very sentinels cease to pace their round,
And stand in calm security. I'll brave them.
What though the bridge be guarded, and the river

THE SIEGE. 201

Rush like a tiger ? — love has no such fears,
And Heaven is stronger than its waters !

\_A bell tolls slowly.

Ha ! that slow-tongued bell, that speaks of death,

Falls on my ears as would a solid substance,

Pressing my heart down ! Oh cruel speed !

Already they prepare their execution !

But they shall live, or I with them shall die !

Thou, who beholdest me, and lookest through

The darkness of Thy heavens upon Thy suppliant,

Let not a tyrant stain Thy earth with blood —

The blood of innocence ! Thou, who art mercy,

Spare a father's tears ! Thou, who art love,

Look on a mothers anguish ! Thou, who art justice,

Save ! oh, save their children ! Thou, who art power,

Strengthen my hands to-night. [Rises.

Now, may an angel's hand direct my skiff

Straight to their camp, till with one blow I strike

Their freedom and my country's !

[7/e leaps into the boat and pushes off.

Scene IX. — The English camp. A fire in the distance.
Enter Henry and Richard, fettered and guarded.

Henry. — Would it were morning, and the hour were
come,
For still my heart misgives me, lest our parents
Do, in fond weakness, save us by dishonour !

Richard. — Rather than purchase life at such a price,

202 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

And have my father sell his faith for me,

And sell his country, I would rather thou,

My brother in my birth and in my death,

Should be my executioner ! We know them better !

Henry. — Now I seem old and weary of this life,
So joy I in our death for Scotland's sake ;
For this death will so wed us to our country,
We shall be old in years to all posterity !
And it will place a blot on Edward's name,
That time may blacken, but can ne'er efface.

Richard. — My heart, too, beats as light as if to-
morrow
Had been, by young love, destined for my bridal ;
Yet oft a tear comes stealing down my cheek,
When I do think me of our mother, Henry!

Henry.- — Oh speak not of our parents ! or my heart
Will burst ere morning, and from the tyrant rob
His well-earned infamy.

Richard. — Oh ! I must speak of them :
They now will wander weeping in their chamber,
Or from their window through the darkness gaze,
And stretch their hands and sigh towards the camp ;
Then, when the red east breaks the night away —
Ah ! what a sight will meet their eyes, my brother !

Henry. — My brother ! oh my brother!

Enter Friar.

Guard. — Who would pass here ?

Friar. — A friend ! a friend ! — a messenger of mercy !

Guard. — Nay, wert thou mercy's self, you cannot pass.

THE SIEGE. 203

Friar. — Refuse ye, then, your prisoners their con-
fessor ?

Guard. — Approach not, or ye die !

Friar. — Would ye stretch forth your hand 'gains!
Heaven's anointed ?

Guard. — Ay ! 'gainst the Pope himself, if he should
thwart me.

Friar. — Mercy ye have not, neither shall ye find it.

[Springs forward and stabs him — approaches Richard
and Henuv, and unbinds their fetters.

Friar. — In chains as criminals ! Ye are free, but

speak not.
Bichard. — Here, holy father, let me kneel to thank

thee.
Henry. — And let me hear but my deliverer's name,
That my first prayer may waft it to the skies.

Friar. — Kneel not, nor thank me here. There's
need of neither ;
But be ye silent, for the ground has ears;
Nor let it hear your footsteps.

\_He approaches the fire; kindles
a torch and fires the camp.

Henry. — Behold, my brother, he has fired the camp !
Already see the flames ascend around him.

Friar. — Now ! now, my country ! here thou art
avenged !
Fly with me to the beach ! pursuit is vain !
Thou, Heaven, hast heard me ! thou art merciful ! [Exit.

204 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

Scene X. — Apartment in Seton's House.

Sir Alex. — Oh, what is honour to a father's heart ?
Can it extinguish nature — soothe its feelings —
Or make the small still voice of conscience dumb ?
My sons ! my sons ! Though ye should hold me guilt-
less, there's a tontme
Within me whispers, Fm your murderer !
Ah ! my Matilda ! hadst thou been less noble,
We both had been less wretched ! But do I,
To hide my sin, place't on the mother's heart ?
Though she did hide the mother from meiis eyes,
Now, crushed by woes, she cannot look on mine.
But, locked in secret, weeps her soul away,
That it may meet her children's ! I alone,
Widowed and childless, like a blasted oak
Reft of its root and branches, must be left
For every storm to howl at !

[Elliot enters with a dagger.

Ah, my sons !
Could anguish rend my heartstrings, I should not
Behold another sun rise on my misery !

Elliot [springing upon him~\. — By Heavens, mine
enemy,
I swear thou shalt not!

They struggle. Shouting without. Enter Friar and
Seton's Sons, Provost Ramsay. Friar springs forward.

Friar. — Down ! traitor, down ! [Stabs Elliot.

THE SIEGE. 205

Sir Alex. — My sons ! my sons !
Angels of mercy, do yon mock my sight !
My boys ! my boys !

Provost Ramsay. — Save ns a' ! save us a' ! — callants,
come to my arms too ! Here's an hour o' joy ! This,
in my solemn opinion, is what I ca' livin' a lifetime in
the twinklin' o' an ee. And what think ye, Sir Alex-
ander ! The English camp is a' in a bleeze, and there
they are fleeing awa helter-skelter, leaving everything
behind them.

Sir Alex. — What ! they fly too ! — thank Heaven !
thank Heaven !
My cup of joy o'erfiows, and floods my heart
More than my griefs !

JRichard.- — 'Tis true, my father —
To this, our unknown saviour, do we OAve
Our life and yours ! — 'twas he, too, seized the torch,
And bid the bonfire blaze to Scotland's freedom.

Sir Alex. — Forgive me, reverend stranger, if that T,
In the delirium of a parent's joy,
O'erlooked the hand that saved me :
Kneel, my sons,

And with your father, at this stranger's feet,
Pour out your thanks, and beg his blessing also.

[They kneel around the siqiposed friar, ivho casts off
the disguise, and is discovered to be their mother.

Lady Seton. — A mother, in her children's cause, fears
nothing,
And needs not thanks — ■

206 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

A. woman, in her country's cause,

Can dare what man dare! \_Th°y start up.

Sir Alex. — What ! my Matilda !

Richard. — My mother !

Henry. — Ha ! my mother !

Lady Seion. — Joy, joy, my sons ; your mother's done
her duty !
And joy, my husband, we have saved our honour.

Sir Alex. — Matilda, thou hast ta'en my heart anew,
And with it, too, my words !

Provost Ramsay. — The like o' this ! I may weel say,
what, in the universal globe, tempted me to be a
bachelor ! [Exeunt.

FAREWELL TO A PLACE ON THE BORDERS. 207

XXV.

FAREWELL TO A PLACE ON THE BORDERS.

Lochmaben ! I from thee must part,

Tis destined so to be ;
Thy lovely lochs, dear to my heart,

I never more may see.

The heaven of May is mirror'd clear

Within thy waters dee}) ;
So shall my sonl with loving care

Thine image ever keep.

I've seen Edina's rocky walls,

Her palaces and bowers ;
I've gazed on London's lofty halls,

And monumental towers.

In yon green isle towards the west,

I've roamed without control ;
And many a wild, romantic coast

Has charm'd my inmost soul.

But aye to me the sunniest rays
Have thrown their sweetest gleams

Where Bruce was born, and summer days
Inspired my youthful dreams.

203 TALES OF THE BORDERS.

The water lilies there shall rest,
And minnows round them play ;

The coot shall build her floating nest,
When I am far away.

But ah ! no more thy streams and glens
Shall bless my sight, Lochmaben ;

Farewell, farewell, lochs, woods, and fens
Farewell, farewell, Lochmaben !

GLOSSAET

AND

GENERAL INDEX.

VOL. XXIV.

GLOSSARY.

A

A', adj. all.

Abak, adv. behind.

Aeasit, part. pa. confounded ;
abashed.

Abbacy, s. an abbey.

Aree — to let abee, to let alone ; not
to meddle with.

Abeecii, Ariegh, adv. aloof ; "at
a shy distance;" keep aloof.

Arlk, Ablis, Ablins, Aiblins,
adv. perhaps; peradventure.

Abone, A row, Aboon, Abuse,
pr<p. above.

Aboot, prep, about.

Ae, adj. one; only; single.

Aff, adv. off ; away.

Affcast, s. a castaway.

Affcome, s. tho termination of
any business. "I gied him his
affcome" I gave him a down-
setting, or offset.

Afeird, part. pa. afraid.

Affiiand, adj. plain ; honest ;
blunt; without premeditation.

Affluff, adv. extempore.

Afore, prep, before.

Affput, s. pretence for delay.

Affputting, adj. trifling ; delay-
ing.

A it.-ide, s. offside.

Aft, adv. often.

Aften, adv. often.

Afterhend, adv. afterwards.

Agayne, prep, against.

Agait, adv. on the way or road.

Agee, adv. to one side; ajar; a
little open.

Agley, A-gly, adv. off the right
line; obliquely ; wrong.

Ahind, Aiiint, adv. behind.

Aik, s. the oak.

An. en, part. pa. ailing.

Ain, adj. own.

Ains, adv. once.

Aim, adv. early in tho morning.

An:, Aire, Ayr. s. an heir.

AiRMS, s. pi. arms.

Airn, s. iron.

Aimt, Aimth, s. point of the com-
pass.

Aislaik, adj. a polished sub-
stance.

Aits, s.pl. oats.

Aitkn, adj. on ten.

Aitii, s. an oath.

Aizle, s. a hot ember.

Alane, adj. alone.

A lang, adv. along.

Alu, Auld, adj. old.

Almous, AumeSj s.pl. alms.

Amaist, adv. almost.

A:.iang, jn'ep. among.

Ambry, s. a press or closet where
victuals arc kept for daily use.

An', conj. and.

Ane, adj. one.

Anent, prep, over against; op-
posite.

Aneth, prep, beneath.

212

GLOSSAEY.

Aneccii, adv. enough.

Aniest, adv. or prep, on tins side

of ; on the nearest side.
Anither, adj. another.
Ankerstock, s. a loaf made of rye,

sweetened with treacle.
Anse, adv. once.
Apert, adj. brisk ; bold ; free.
A pertly, adv. briskly; readily.
Apon, Apoun, prep. upon.
Apparelle, s. equipage; furniture

for warfare.
Appleringie, s. the plant called

southernwood.
Arch, adj. averse; reluctant.
To Argle -Bargee, Argie-Bar-

gie, v. a. to contend ; to bandy

backwards and forwards.
Ark, s. a large chest used for hold-
ing meal or corn.
Ark of a Mill, s. the place in which

the water-wheel moves.
To Aele, v. a. to give earnest of

any kind.
Arl.es, s. earnest of any kind.
Arly, adv. early.
Armyn, Armyng, s. armour ; arms.
Ai:t and Part, accessory to, or

abetting.
Asse, s. ashes, plural assis and aiss.
Asshole, s. place for receiving

ashes under the grate.
Aschet, s. a large plate, on which

meat is brought to table.
Ask, Awsk, s. an eft or water

newt ; a lizard.
Ask lent, Asclent, Asklixt,

adv. obliquely; asquint; on one

side.
To Assailyie, v. a. to attack, to

assail.
To Assolyie, v. a. to acquit.
Asteer, adv. in confusion ; in a

bustle.
A'Thegither, adv. altogether.
Atiiort, prep, through, athwart.
Atouh, Attoure, prep. over.
Attomie, s. a skeleton.
ATrELED, part. pa. aimed.
Atter-Cap, Attir-Cop, s. 1. a

spider ; 2. an ill-tempered per-

son ; one of a malignant or viru-
lent disposition.

Atweesh, prep, between ; betwixt.

Aucht, p>vet. pa. possessed.

Aucht, s. property ; possession ;
that which is exclusively one's
own. In aw my aucht, all I am
possessed of.

Aukwart, Awkwart, prep.
across ; athwart.

A cld-Cluity, s. the devil.

Auldest, adj. oldest ; elder.

Auld, adj. old; aged.

AULDFARRANT, AULDFARRAND,

adj. sagacious.
Auld-Mou'd, adj. sagacious in

discourse. Sometimes used as

crafty.
Aumus, s. an alms.
Ava, (ah. at all.
Awa, adv. away.
Awfu', adj. awful.
Awin, Awyn, adj. own. This is

the common pronoun in the

south of Scotland ; in other

parts, am.
Awnie, adj. bearded.
Awns, s. pi. the beards of corn or

barley.
Awsk, s. the newt or eft.
Awsome, adj. awful ; appalling.
To Ax, v. a. to ask.
Ax-Tree, s. an axle-tree.
Avont, prep, beyond.
Ay, adv. yes.

B

Babie, Bawp.ie, s. a halfpenny.

Baciile, Bauchle, s. an old shoe
or slipper.

Backlins, adv. backwards. To
gae backlins, to walk back-
wards, like a ropemaker.

Backspang, s. a trick, or legal
quirk ; advantage taken by one
over another.

To Back-Speir, v. a. to trace a
report as far back as possible ;
to cross-question.

GLOSS AH Y.

213

Back-Speirer, s. a cross-ex-
aminer.

Bade, pret. of bide.

Badkans, Bathrons, 5. a designa-
tion for a cat.

To Bae, v. n. to bleat like sheep.

To Bait, v. a. to beat.

Baff, s. a stroke or blow.

Baikie, s. the stake to which a
cow is fastened in the stall.

Bailie, 5. an alderman ; the de-
puty of a baron in a borough of
barony.

Baik, Bak, s. a boar.

Baikd, .s. a bard or poet.

Bairn, Barne, s. a child.

Bairnheid, s. childhood.

BAIRNLY, adj. childish.

Bairnlinkss, 5. childishness.

Bairns-Maid, s. a nursery-maid.

Bais, adj. having a deep or hollow
sound ; bass.

To Bayt, v. n. to feed.

Baisee, Baivie, s. a largo fire ; a
great blaze.

Bake, s. a biscuit.

Bakster, Baxster, s. a baker.

Bald, Bauld, adj. bold; intrepid.

Balderdash, s. foolish noisy non-
sense.

Balk, Burral, s. an elevated
ridge, raised by a plough.

Ballant, s. a ballad ; a song.

Balow, Baloo, s. a lullaby ; a
term used by nurses when
lulling children.

To Ban, Bann, v. a. to curse.

Bannin, pr. pa. swearing.

Bandkyn, s. a species of cloth, the
warp of which is thread of gold
and the woof silk, and adorned
with figures.

Bandster, Banster, s. one who
binds sheaves after the reapers
in the harvest field.

Bane, s. a bone.

Bane-FyeE, s. a bonfire.

To Bang, v. a. to change place
with impetuosity — as, to bang
vp, to start to our feet sud-
denly.

Bannock, s. a cake of bnrley or
pease meal baked on a girdle.

Bannock-Fluke, s. a turbot.

Bap, s. a thick cake, baked in an
oven, with yeast in it, and made
of flour, oat meal, or barley
meal, and sometimes a mixture
of two of them.

Bare, adj. lean; meagre; naked;
uncovered.

To Barken, v. n. to become hard ;
to clot.

Baula-Breikis, Burley-Beaks,
s. a game played in a corn-yard,
running round the stacks.

Barley, s. a term used by children
in games, when a truce, or a ces-
sation for the time, is demanded.

Barne. See Bairn.

Bassie, s. an old horse.

Bastoun, s. a heavy staff; a baton.

Baith, adj. both.

Batik, Bawtie, s. a name applied
to dogs, generally large ones,
without reference to sex.

Bats, s. pi. the bots, a disease in
horses.

To Batter, v. a. to paste.

Bauchle, Baciiel, s. an old shoe.

Baugii, adj. ungrateful to the
taste.

Bauk, Bawk, s. a cross beam in
the roof of a house.

Bauk, Bawk, s. a strip of land,
two or three feet wide, left uu-
ploughed.

Bacsy, adj. strong; big.

To Baw, v. a. to hush ; to lull in
the manner of nursing a child.

Baw, s. a ball.

Bawbee, a halfpenny.

Bawdekyn, .«. cloth of gold.

Baxter, s. a baker.

Bear, Bere, s. barley.

To Beck, v. to curtsey.

Bedral, s. a person who is bedrid.

Begrutten, part. pa. having the
face disfigured with weeping.

Beik, Bike, s. a hive of bees.

Beik, Beke, Beek, v. a. to bask,
as in the sun.

214

GLOSSARY.

Beild, Biei/d, s. shelter ; refuge.
TV. in, Bane, s. bono.
Birr, S. noise; cry; force.
Beke, Beik, Beek, v. a. to bask.
Beld, adj. bald ; without hair on

the head.
Bele, s. afire ; a blaze.
Belyve, adr. by and by.
To Bele the Cat, to contend
with a person of superior rank ;
to withstand him, either by ac-
tions or words, especially the
former.
Belly-thra, s. the colic.
To Belt, v. a. to gird ; to flog ;

to scourge.
Ben, adv. towards the inner apart-
ments of a house. A room is
generally called ben, and the
kitchen but.
Ben-end, s. the ben-endqfa house,

the inner end of it.
Ben, Bin, s. a mountain.
Bene, Bien, adj. wealthy, having

abundance.
Benk, Bink, s. a bench; a seat.
BENORTHjwvp.to the northward of.
Bensiiie, Bensht, s. a fairy's wife.
Bent, s. a coarse grass growing

on sand-hills.
Bere, Bear, s. barley.
Bern, s. a barn.

To Beseik, v. a. to beseech ; to en-
treat.
Besyne, Bysim, s. a bawd.
BESOUTH,prep. to the southward of.
Best-man, s. groomsman ; best-
maid, the bridesmaid.
Betweesh, prep, betwixt.
Beucii, a branch ; a bough.
Bevie, s. a great fire.
To Bewry, v. a. to pervert, to dis-
tort.
Bm, s. a piece of linen used to
keep the breast of a child clean
when feeding it.
Bick, s. a bitch; the female of the

canine species.
To Bicker, v. a. to fight with
stones as schoolboys; to run
off quickly.

Bicker, Biquour, s. a small
wooden dish, made in the form
of a washing-tub, the staves
being alternately black and
white.
To Bide, Byde, v. n. to wait for ;

to abide ; to endure ; to suffer.
To Big, v. a. to build.
Biggin, Byggyn, s. a building.
Biggit, part. pa. built.
Bike, Beik, Bink, s.a nest of wild

bees or wasps.
Bilget, adj. bulged ; swelling out.
Billie, Billy, s. a companion ; a

comrade.
Bindwoqd, s. ivy.
Bing, s. a heap ; a pile of wood.
Bink. See Bike.
Bird, Burd, s. a bird ; a damsel ;

a lady.
Birdie, s. a little bird.
Birk, s. a birch-tree.
To Birk, v. n. to give a tart or

sharp answer.
Birkin, adj. of or belonging to

birch-wood.
Birky, s. a lively young man ; a

mettlesome person.
Birl, v. n. to ply with driuk ; to
club money for the purpose of
purchasing drink.
Birn, v. a. to burn.
Birs, Birse, s. a bristle. His birse
is up, he is in a passion. 1L 's a
birsie man, he is liable to be irri-
tated easily.
To Birsle. v. a. to broil ; to roast.
Birssy, adj. having bristles ; hot-
tempered.
To Birze, Brize, v- a. to bruise ;

to drive or push.
Bisket, Brisket, s. the breast.
To BlSSV, BlZZ, v. 11. to make a
hissing sound, as hot iron
plunged into water.
Bissome, Byssym, s. an unworthy

female.
Bit, s. a vulgar term used for food.
lie takes the bit and the buffit »■/'/,
he takes the food and the blow
along with it.

G LOSSARY.

215

r.nxiT.L, Beetle, s. a wooden

mullet for beating clot!
To Blabber, v. n. to babble; to

speak indistinctly.
Blackaviced, a. dark - cora-

plexioned.
Black-Cock, s. the black grouse.
Black-Fishing, s. fishing for

salmon by torch light.
Black-Foot, s. a person who

makes matches, or goes between

a lover and his mistress.
Blad, s. a large piece of anything.
Blade, s. the leaf of a tree.
Bladoch, Bledoch, s. buttermilk.
Blae, Bla, adj. liyid; used when

the skin is discoloured with a

blow, or when chilled with cold.
Blaeberry, s. the bilberry,
Blaidry, s. nonsense ; folly; silly

talk.
Blain, s. a mark or blemish left

by a wound.
Blait, adj. bashful ; sheepish.
Blait - Mouit, adj. sheepish ;

ashamed to open one's mouth,

or speak. FeV no blait, you

are very forward or impudent —

used metaphorically.
Blaitie-Buji, «. a stupid, simple

fellow.
Blasii, s. a heavy fall of rain.
Blashy, adj. deluging, sweeping

away, as in a flood ; thin, poor,

as applied to broth or soup.
To Blast, v. n. to smoke. To tale

a blast, to take a smoke.
Blate, Blait, adj. bashful.
To Blather, v.n. to talknonsense;

to talk ridiculously.
Blatter, s. a rattling noise, such

as that made by a heavy shower

of rain or hail.
To Blaw, v. to blow.
Blear, s. to obscure the sight.
Blearo, s. dull of sight ; having

inflamed eyes.
Bleeze, v. n. milk is said to be

bleezed when it has become a

little sour.
Bleib, s. a pustule, a blister.

i. n;<, a. ;>/. the chicken-pox.

To Blenk, Blii ; to open the

: i i throw
dance oi •■■■■ gard.

Blenk, Blink, s. a gleam of light.

Blent, s. a glance as in the q
motions >>< the eye.

To Blether, >•. u- to stammer, or
ik indistinctly, or nonsen
cally.

Blix, adj. blind.

Blink. ' tice Blenk.

To Blikt, r. n. to burst out a-
crying or weeping.

Blob, Blab,s. 1. anything circular
and turned; 2. a blisti r.

BiABBiT,part. pa.blo&ted; blurred;
blotched.

Blubber, s. a bubble of air.

To Blubber, v. a. to cry, to v.

Blue-Gown, s. a pensioner. For-
merly all pensioners received a
blue gown on the king's birth-
day.

Bluid, s. blood.

Bluidy, ad;. bloody j bloodthirsty ;
covered with gore.

Bluiter, Blutter, v. n. to mako
a rumbling noise.

Bluntie, s. a stupid fellow; a
sniveller.

Boal, Bole, s- a small aperture or
press in a house for the reception
of small articles ; a small open-
ing in a wall for the admission
of light or air.

Bob, s. a curtsey.
To Bock, v. a. to make a noise
with the throat, as persons will
frequently do before vomiting.

Bod, Boddy, s. a person of diminu-
tive stature.

Boddum, s. bottom.

Bods, Bod, s. an offer made prior

to a bargain ; a proffer.
Boden, Budden, v. offered; prof-
fered.
Bodle, s. an old copper coin of
the value of two pennies Scots,
or third part of a penny English.
Bogill, Bogle, s. 1. a hobgoblin ;

216

GLOSSARY.

a spectre ; 2. a scarecrow ; any
made-up imitation of a spectre.

BOMBILL, BUMBILL, S. buzzing

noise.
Bombill-Bee, s. a drone.
Bonie, Bonye, Bohny, adj. beauti-
ful ; having a fine countenance.
Boniest, adj. the most beautiful.
Bool, s. an ironical name, as ap-
plied to an old man.
Boonjiost, adj. uppermost.
Boordley, s. strong; large ; broad;

having a manly appearance.
Bordel, s. a brothel.
Bos, Boss, Bois, adj. hollow.
But, But, coiij. but ; without any-
thing.
Botiie, Bootiie, s. a shop made

of boards.
Bothie, s. pi. a cottage; such a

one as is occupied generally for

the use of servants.
Bottings, Buttings, s. half boots,

or leathern spatterdashes.
Bouciit, Bought, Bucht, s. a

si nail pen used for milking ewes.
To Bought, Buciit, v. a. to enclose.
Bouk, Buik, s. the trunk of the

body; bulk.
BoUkit, adj. bulky, large. No

muclcle boukit, not of much size

or dimensions.
Boun, adj. prepared ; ready.
Bouk, s. the privav chamber of a

lady in ancient times.
Bourtree, Bountree, s. common

elder-tree.
Bow, s. a boll ; eight pecks.
J low, s. the arch of a bridge; a

i way ; a crooked path.
Bowie, s. a small cask or barrel; a

milk pail.
Bowsie, adj. crooked ; applied to

a crooked person, who is called

a bowsie.
Brace, s. the chimney-piece.
Bracken, Braiken, Brocken, s.

the fern.
To Brace, v. a. to break.
Bkackit, Bracket, Bruckit, adj.

speckled.

Brae, s. the side of a hill ; an

acclivity.
To Brag, v. a. 1. to defy; 2. to

reproach.
Braid, Brade, adj. wide ; broad.
Brandnew. See Brentnew.
Brander, s. a gridiron.
To Brander, v. n. to broil.
Brang, part. pa. brought.
Brakes, s. a swelling in the

glands of the neck.
Brat, s. a coarse apron.
Bratciiet, Bratciiart, s. an op-
probrious term, equivalent to

lohelp.
Braw, Bra, adj. fine ; gaily-
dressed.
Brawly, Bravely, adv. very

well.
Braws, s. fine clothes ; a person's

best suit.
Braxy, Bracks, s. a disease in

sheep.
Breadberry, s. pap, used as food

for children.
Break (of a hill,) s. a hollow cleft

in a hill.
Brechame, Brechem, s. the collar

of a horse.
Bree, Brie, Brew, Broo, s. broth ;

soup.
Bre, Bree, s. the eyebrow.
Breeks, Breiks, s. breeches.
Breer, Breard, s. the first blades

of grain which appear above

ground.
To Breek, v. n. to germinate.
Breid, s. breadth.
Brent, adj. high ; straight; upright.
Brentnew, quite new.
Brig, Breg, Bryg, s. a bridge.
To Brize, Birse, v. a. to bruise ;

to drive or push.
Brociian, s. oatmeal boiled to a

consistence thicker than gruel.
Brock, s. a badger.
Brooked, Brocket, adj. streaked

and spotted, as a brockit cow.
Brocklie, adj. brittle.
Brod, s. a flat piece of wood ; a

board.

QLOSSARY.

217

To Brog, v. a. to pierce.

Brogue, s. a coarse kind of shoo
made of horse leather with the
hair on, used by Highlanders.

Brok, s. refuse ; fragments.

Broo, s. broth.

Broonie, s. a spirit supposed to
haunt farm-houses, and which,
if treated well, performed the
duties of the servants while
they were sleeping.

Brose, s. a kind of lood made by
pouring hot water on oatmeal,
and mixing them together.
Kail-brose is made by substitut-
ing broth for water.

Bkowst, s. the quantity of malt
liquor brewed at one time.

Brugh, Burgh, s. a borough; a
circular encampment ; the hazy
circle round the moon.

Bkuse, Broose, Bruise, v. a. To
ride the bruise, to run a race on
horseback at country weddings.
Metaphorically — to contend ; to
si rive.

To Brush, v. a. to rush forth
with speed.

Bu, Boo, s. a sound often made
use of to excite terror in chil-
dren. Bu-man, the devil, or a
goblin ; an imaginary evil being ;
a phrase used to keep children
in subjection.

Bubbly, adj. snotty.

Bubblyjock, s. a turkey-cock.

Bucht, s. a fold; a bending; the
fold of a ribbon.

Buckie, Bucky,s. any spiral shell.

Buckie-Ingram, s. the soldier-
crab, Cancer bemardits, which
always inhabits the shells of
other animals.

To Buckle, v. a. to join together,
as in marriage.

Buckle-the-Beggars, s. a person
who marries others in a clan-
destine manner.

Bucktooth, s. a tooth jutting out
from the others.

Buff, s. a stroke ; nonsense.

Buffer, s. a foolish fellow.

Buffet, s. a blow.

Buffets, s. pi. swellings in tho
glands.

Bi itii:, adj. swelled ; blown up ;
puffed up.

Buik, s. the body; tho chest.

l'.LiiK, Buk, Bukk, s. a book.

Buirdly, Burih.y, adj. largo and
well-made ; stately.

To Bullkr, v. u. to make a noi.-e
like water rushing to and fro in
the cavity of a rock.

To Bullirag, v. a. to abuse ; to
tease; to rally in contempt; to
reproach.

Bulyiements, s. habiliments.

To Bum, v. n. to make a sound like
that of bees; the sound emitted
by a bagpipe

Bumbazed, adj. stupified.

Bumbee, s. the humble bee ; a wild
bee ; a drone.

Bum-Clock, s. the common flying
beetle.

Bun, Bunn, s. a cake commonly
used at New-Year time, com-
posed of flour, dried fruits, and
spices.

To Bung, v. n. to make tipsy.

Bunker, Bunkart, s. a low and
long chest, frequently placed in
front of a bed in cottages, and
used as a press, and also as a
seat.

Buntling, s. a bantling ; a bird.

Burd, s. a damsel; a lady.

Burdalane, s. used when a per-
son is left solitary, as a child
the inmate of a strange family.

Burde, Boord, s. a table ; a board.

Burian, s. a tumulus ; a mound of
earth.

Burlaw, Byrlaw, Birley, s. a
court consisting of country
neighbours who settle local
disputes, etc.

Burly, s. a crowd ; a brawl.

IH'rx, S. a small stream ; a rivulet.
Burnie, burny is used as the
diminutive of burn.

213

GLOSSARY.

Burr, Burrh, s. \
to have the bun* who pronounce
the letter r with a whi
sound, as the Northumbrians.

Bursin, Bursten, pari pa. burst ;
overpowered with fatigue.

To Busk, v. a. to dress ; to attire.

Lit, prep, without ; towards the
outer apartment of a house, or
kitchen.

Buter, Butter, s. the bittern.

Byganes, s. what is past ; used in
quarrels, as. Let byganes be by-
gones ; let what is past be past.

Byre, s. a cow-house.

By-ronis, s.^jZ.arrears : past debts.

Bysprint, part. pa. besprinkled.

Byssym, Bissom, s. au unworthy
female.

c

To Ca, v. a. to call ; to strike ; to

drive.
To Cab, v. a. to pilfer.
Cabback. Bee Kebbuck.
Caddis, s. lint for dressing a

Cadie, s. an errand-runner ; a car-
rier of parcels.

Caff, s. chaff.

. wanton.

Caigiely, adr. cheerfully; wan-
tonly.

Caik, s. a flat cake made of oat-
meal.

To Caikxe, v. a. to make a noise
like a hen.

Caird, s. a gipsy ; a travelling
tinker.

Caip. Cave. s. the highest part of
anything.

Cairn, s. a conical heap of stones.

Cadb-Weeds, s. moiu-ning weeds.

Cald. Cauld, s. cold.

Callan. Cai.lant, s. a stripling.

Caller, adj. cool ; refreshing.

C allot, s. a cap for a woman's
head.

Calm-Sough, to say little.

Calsay, Cawsay, s. a causeway
street ; that part of a street
which is bounded by the flags.
Cam, pret. can

a- Nosed, adj. hook-nosed.
Campy, a 7. bold; brave.
Camshauchel'd, part. adj.

torted.
CAMSTERrE, Camstairie, adj. un-
manageable ; perverse.
Cane, Kain, s. a duty paid by a
tenaut of land to the owners in
kind.
Cankert, adj. ill-tempered; ci
Cann, Cax, s. skill; knowlt

acquirements.
Canna, Cannae, cannot.
Cannie, Kannie, adj. cautions ;

prudent.
Caxnily, adv. prudently ; cau-
tiously.
Canty, adj. cheerful; lively.
C anted, s. the crown of the 1
Cantrap, s. an incantation ; a
spell ; mischief artfully per-
f rmed.
Cap, v. n. to crown ; to surmount.
Cap, Kap, s. a wooden bowl.
Capercailye, Capercaly eane,
s. the wood-grouse or cock of
the wood, Tetrao urogallus
(Linn.)
Capernoited, adj. peevish ; irrit-
able ; crabbed ; snappish.
Cardinal, s. a long cloak worn
by women, generally those of a
red colour, and commonly pro-
vided with a hood.
Car-Handed, adv. left-handed.
Carl, Cairle, Carll, s. an old

man.
Carlie, s. a diminutive man.
Carlix, s. an old woman.
Callixs-E'en, s. the last night of

the year.
Carlish, s. boorish; clownish.
Carritch, Caritch, s. the cate-
chism.
To Carp, v. a. to contend.
Cabse, Kerss, s. a low and fertile
tract of land adjacent to a river.

GLOSSARY.

219

Castock, Castack, s. tne stalk or
inner core of cabbage or greens.

To Cast- Out, v. n. to quarrel.

To Cast-Up, v. a. to upbraid ; to
throw in one's teeth.

Catchy, adj. ready to take advan-
tage of another.

CattIiE-Raik, s. a common on
which cattle are fed ; the feed-
ing range of cattle.

Catwittit, adj. harebrained ; un-
settled.

Caudron, s. a chaldron.

Cauld, s. cold.

Caui.drife, adj. susceptible of
cold.

Cauld-Steer, s. sour milk and
oatmeal stirred together.

Cause, conj. because.

Causey, Causay, 5. a street.

Caution, s. surety.

Cautioner, s. a surety.

CavIE, s. a hencoop.

To Ca', v. a. to drive.

To Cawk, v. a. to chalk.

Cawker, s. a dram ; a glass of any
spirits.

Certis. Cei'tis, ye're a fine ane !
you are indeed a good one —
(ironically.)

Chack, Check, s. a slight repast.

Chafts, s. the chops.

Chaft-Blade, s. jaw-bone.

To Chak, v. a. to check.

Chakil, s. the wrist.

Chalmer, s. a chamber.

To Champ, v. a. to mash ; to chop.

Chancy, adj. fortunate ; happy.

Channel, s. gravel.

Chap, s. a fellow.

To Chap, v. n. to strike with a
hammer or any other instru-
ment, or with a stone.

Ciiapin, s. a quart.

Chapman, s. a pedlar.

Chaud.melle', s. a sudden broil
or quarrel.

To Chaw, v. a. to gnaw ; to fret.

Cheek-Blade, s. cheek-bone.

Cheip, Chepe, v. n. to chirp, as
young birds do.

I hek, s. the cheek; the side of a
door.

Chess, s. the frame of wood for a
window.

Cheswell, s. a cheese- vat.

Cheveron, s. armour for the head
of a horse.

Chiel, Chield, s. a fellow; a
stripling.

Child, Chyld, s. a page; a ser-
vant.

Guilder, s. pi. children.

Ghtmi.ey. s. a grate ; a chimney.

Chimley-Brace, s. the mantel-
piece.

t !himley-Lug, s. the fireside.

To Chirk, Chork, v. n. to grind
the teeth in a noisy manner.

To Chirme, v. a. the soft warbling
of a bird.

To Chitter, v. n. to shiver.

Chouks, s. the glandular parts
under the jaw-bones.

Chows, s. small bits of coal.

Chuckie, 5. a hen.

Chuckie-Stane, s. a small j

Clack, s. the clapper of a mill.

Claes, Claise, s. pi. clot;

Clag, Clagg, 5. an incum-
brance.

Claggv, adj. adhesive ; unctu

Claik, v. n. to make a clacking
noise like a hen.

Claikgv, s. clergy.

Claith, Clayth, s. cloth.

To Claiver, Claver, v. a. to talk
idly.

Clam-Shell, s. a scallop shell.

Clamjamphry, s.pl. low acquaint-
ances ; not respectable.

Clamp, s. a heavy footstep.

Clap, s. a stroke.

Clap o' the Hass, the uvula of
the throat.

Clarts, s. pi. dirt ; smell.

Clarty, adj. dirty or foul.

To Clash, v. n. to talk idly.

To Clat, v. a. to rake anything
together.

Clat, s. a rake or hoe.

Clatch, s. thick mud.

220

GLOSSARY.

To Clatter, v. a. to tell tales ; to
tittle-tattle.

Claught, pret. laid hold of sud-
denly or eagerly.

To Claver, v. a. to talk in an idle
or nonsensical manner.

Clavek, s. clover.

To Claw, v. a. to scratch.

Cleckin, s. pi. a brood of birds.

Cleckin-Brod, s. a battledoor.

To Clked, v. a. to clothe.

Cleg, Gleg, s. a gad-fly ; a horse-

fly-

To Cleik, Cleek, v. a. to catch

with a hooked instrument.
Cleik, Cleek, 5. an iron hook.
Cleiky, adj. ready to take advan-
tage. _
Cleuch, Cleugh, s. a precipice;
a steep rocky ascent ; a strait
hollowbetween two steep banks.
To Clew, v. a. to stop a hole by

compressing.
Click-Clack, s. uninterrupted

talking.
Clink, s. a smart blow ; mono}-.
Clippie, s. very talkative ; gene-
rally applied to a female.
Clisii-Clasii, s. idle discourse.
Clisiimaclaver, s. idle nonsensi-
cal talk.
Clitter-Clatter, s. idle talk

carried from one to another.
To Clocher v. 11. to cougb.
To Clock, Clok, v. n. to chuck ;

to call chickens together.
Cloit, s. a clown ; a stupid fellow.
To Cloit, v. n. to fall heavily, or

suddenly.
Cloitery, s tripe ; dirty work.
Cloot, Clute, s. a hoof.
Close, s. a passage ; an entry.
To Clour, v. a. to dimple.
Clouse, s. a sluice.
To Clout, v. a. to patch ; to mend.
Clout, s. cuff ; a blow.
Cluf, Cluif, s. a hoof.
Clump, s. a heavy inactive fellow.
Clute, s. a hoof.

Coble, s. a small boat, such as is
used by fishermen.

Cockernonny, s. the hair of a
female gathered in a knot.

Cocklaird, s. a landowner who
cultivates all his own estate.

Cod, s. a pillow.

Coff, Coffe, v. a. to buy ; to pur-
chase.

Coft, pret. and part, of purchased
or bought.

Cog, Coag, Cogue, s. a wooden
basin.

To Cogle, v. a. to move anything
from side to side, as a boat in
the water.

Collie, Colley, s. a shepherd's
dog ; a lounger.

Colmeshangie, s. a squabble ; an
uproar.

Commontie, s. a common ; a com-
munity.
i To Compear, v. a. to appear.

Compliment, s. a present.

Conyng, s. knowledge.

Coodie, Cudie, s. a small tub.

Coof, Cufe, s. a dastardly silly
fellow.

Coorin, v. n. crest-fallen ; timid.

Corbie, Corby, s. a raven.

1 !obp, s. a corpse; a dead body.

Corrie, s. a hollow in a hill.

Cors, Corse, s. the market-place
or cross.

Cosh, s. neat ; quiet.

Cosie, Cozie, adj. warm ; snug ;
well-sheltered.

Cottar, Cottei:, s. a person who
inhabits a cottage.

To Coup, Cowp, v. a. to exchange ;
to deal ; to fall ; to upset.

Coupee, s. a dealer.

Couple, s. a rafter.

Cour, v. n. to stoop ; to crouch.

Gout, s. a young horse.

Couth, Couth y, adj. affable ;
facetious; affectionate; plea-
sant.

Cove, s. a cave.

Cow, Kow, s. a besom made of
broom.

Co we, v. n. to beat; to overcome.

To Cow v. a. to poll the head ; to

GLOSSARY.

221

, cut; to prune; to damp or I

' frighten.

Cowit, part, pi: docked closely;

cut ; having short hair.
Cowshot, Cushit, s. the ring-
dove.

To Crack, v. a. to talk.

Craft, s. a piece of ground ad-
joining a house.

Crag, Crage, Craig, s. the neck;
the throat.

Ckaig, s. a rock; a pi'ecipice.

To Craik, v. n. the cry of a hell
after laying.

Crancii, v. 11. the sound made by
an animal in eating bones or
other hard substances.

Crap, s. a crop, the produce of
the soil ; the craw of a fowl ;
the highest part of anything.

To Craw, s. to crow; to boast.

Craw, s. a crow.

Creek of day, dawn; the first ap-
pearance of morning.

Creepy, s. a low stool.

To Creep-in, v. n. to shrink.

Ceeil, Creel, s. an osier basket.

Creish, s. grease.

To Creisii-a-lufe, v. a. to give
money as a bribe or recom-
pense.

Crinch, s. a very small bit of any-
thing.

To Crinch, v. a. to grind with the
teeth.

To Crine, Croyne, Cryne, v. n.
to shrivel ; to shrink.

Crok, s. a dwarf.

Croney, s. a companion.

Crous, Crouse, adj. brisk ; brave ;
speeding courage.

Crowdie, s. meal and water in a
cold state, or sometimes meal
and milk, or cream.

Cruds, s. curds.

Cruels, s. the king's evil; scro-
fula.

Crummie, Crummock, s. a cow.

Crune, Croon, s. a moaning
sound.

Crusie, s. a lamp,"properly one

made of malleable iron, and
suspended by a handle or wire.

To Cry, v. a. to proclaim the
banns of marriage in church.

Crying, s. childbirth.

Cud, s. a club; a strong staff.

To Cuddle, v. a. to embrace.

Cuddie, s. an ass.

( ' r j jo, s. a simpleton.

Cuff-o'-tiie-neck, the back part
of the neck.

Cummai:, Kimmer, s. a young
woman.

Cuning, Cunnie, s. a rabbit.

To Curfuffle, v. a. to discompose.

To Curl, a game,! to throw en-
force a flat-bottomed stone
along the surface of ice.

Curling, s. a game in which
stones are pushed along ice.

Cuiipi.e, s. a crupper.

Curran, i'ii'.n, Kurn, s. a few;
indefinite number.

CURUNDDOCH, CURCUDDY, S. a

dance among children, in which
tiny sit down on their houghs,
and hop round, in different
directions.

Cusciiette, s. a ringdove.

Cute, Coot, s. the ankle.

Cutikins, s.p>l. spatterdashes.

Cutty, s. a wanton immoral
young woman.

Cutty, Cuttie, adj. short.

Cutty-stool,' s. a low stool ; the
stool of repentance.

D

To Dau, Daub, v. a. to peck, as
birds do with their bills.

Pad, Daddie, s. father.

To Dad, Daud, s. to beat.

To Daddle, Daidle, v. a. to
do anything slowly.

Daddlii:, s. a larger sort of bib.

Tii Daff, v. n. to sport ; to romp.

Daffin', s. gaiety; sportiDg; diver-
sion. •

222

GLOSSARY.

Daft, adj. delirious ; stupid.

Daft-like, adj. foolish-looking ;
silly-like.

Daft-days, the Christmas holi-
days.

Dag, s. a gentle shower.

To Dag, v. a. to rain gently.

Daigh, s. dough.

Daintith, s. a dainty.

Dainty, adj. pleasant; good-
humoured ; worthy ; excellent.

Daivered, adj. dull ; stupid ;
wanting apprehension.

Dai.l, s. a doll.

Dambkod, s. a draft-board.

To Dance, his or her lane, a phrase
used to signify sudden and great
rage, or joy at any news.

To Dander, v. n. to wander
slowly ; to roam.

Danders, s. pi. the hard refuse of
a smithy fire.

Dang, the j^rtt. of ding.

Darkxins, adv. in the dark;
hidden ; sly.

To Dase, Daise, v. a. to stupify ;
to benumb.

Daw, Da, s. a sluggard; appro-
priated to a female, a drab.

To Daw, v. n. to dawa.

Dawdie, s. a dirty slovenly female.

To Dawt, Daft, to fondle; to
caress ; pet ; to dote upon.

Dawtie, s. a favourite ; a darling.

Dawtit, part. pa. doted ; fondled ;
caressed.

Daywerk, Dawerk, s. a day's
work.

To Dee, v. re. to die.

Dean, Den, s. hollow with slop-
ing banks on both sides ; a
small valley.

To Deave, Deeve, v. n. to deafen.

Dede-Thraw, s. in the agonies
of death.

Deed-Dail, s. the board on which
the dead are laid before being
coffined.

'Deed. adj. indeed.

Deein', v. n. dying.

Deevil, s. the devil.

Deil, Deel, s. the devil.
Deil's-Buckie, s. a wicked imp.
Deis, s. the upper part of a hall,

where the floor was raised, and

a canopy erected over it, for

festivals, etc.
Delieret, adj. delirious.
To Dement, v. n. to deprive of

reason.
Demented, adj. insane ; unsettled

in mind ; crazy.
Den, s. a hollow in a hill or
'mountain.

To Depone, v. n. to testify on oath
To Devall, Devald, s. to cease ;

to intermit.
To Deve, v. n. to stupify with a

noise.
Defciiandoracii, Deuchan-

doris. s. a drink taken at the

door before departing.
Dicirr, Dycht, v. to wipe.
Didna, did not.
Dike, Dyke, s. a wall either of

mud or stones.
Ding, v. a. to beat; to drive.
Dinna, do not.
To Dinle, v. n. to tremble.
Dird, s. a stroke.
DlRDUM, s. an uproar.
Dirk, a dagger.
To Dirle, v. a. to tingle.
Dirl, s. a vibration.
Dirt, s. excrement.
Dirtin, adj. mean; shabby; con«

tempt ible.
Disna, Doesna, does not.
Disjasket, part. pa. having a de-
jected or downcast look.
To Disparage, v. n. to despise on

account of want of rank.
To Displenish, v. a. to disfur-

nish.
Div, v. a. do. I dir, I do.
Divet, Diffat, Divot, 5. a thin

oblong turf used for covering

cottages and mud walls.
Dizen, s. dozen.

Dochter, Doughtyr, s. daughter.
Docken, Doken, s. the dock ; an

herb.

GLOSSARY.

223

Doddy, Daddit, adj. destitute of
horns ; bald.

Doggit, adj. stubborn.

DoiN, v. n. doing.

Doitit, Doited, adj. stupid lack of
mental activity.

Doit, s. a small copper coin, long
in disuse.

Doit, .9. a fool ; a numskull.

Dominie, s. a schoolmaster; a
pedagogue ; a contemptuous
name for a clergyman.

Donnard, Donnart, adj. stupid.

Doock, Duck, s. a strong coarse
cloth used for sails, etc.

To Doodle, v. a. to dandle ; to
fondle.

Doof, s. a stupid silly fellow.

Dookit, s. a dovecot or pigeon-
house.

To Dook, Douk, v. 11. to bathe ; to
duck.

Dool, s. grief; sorrow.

Doox, Doun, s. down.

Doot, s. doubt.

Dokt, s. pet.

To Dort, v. n. to pet.

Dorty, adj. pettish.

Dottar, s. become stupid from
age.

Douce, Douse, s. sedate ; quiet.

Douf, 5. a stupid fellow.

Douf, Dole, s. destitute of cou-
rage.

Douked, v. n. bathed ; wetted.

Douxgeoux, s. the strongest or
chief tower belonging to a for-
tress.

Dorr, s. the buttocks; the bottom
of anything.

Dour, adj. stubborn ; inflexible ;
obstinate.

To Douse, v. a. to beat ; to mal-
treat.

Douse, adj. solid ; sedate.

Douss, s. a blow ; a stroke.
To Dover, v. 11. to slumber.

Dow, D00, s. a dove ; a pigeon.
To Dow, v. n. to fade ; to wither ;
to lose freshness.

Dowcate, Duket, s. a dovecot.

Downcome, adj. the act of de-
scending.
Dowy, Dowie, adj. dull; down-
cast ; sorrowful.
Dozend, Dosend, s. stupified ; be-
numbed.
To Drarle, Draible, v. a. to

slabber; to befoul.
Draff, s. the refuse of grain after

being distilled or brewed.
Dragox, s. a paper kite.
To Draigle, v. a. to bespatter.
Dramock, s. a mixture of meal

and water in a raw state.
Dkap, s. a drop.
Drave, s. a drove of cattle.
To Dreel, v. n. to move quickly.
Dregy, Dergy, s. the compota-

tions after a funeral.
Dreicii, Dreecii, adj. slow; tedi-
ous.
Dribble, s. a very small drop.
To Drouk, v. a. to drench.
Droic, s. a dwarf.
Drouth, s. drought; thirst.
Drumly, Drujui.ie, adj. troubled.
Drunt, s. to be in a sour, pettish

humour.
Dub, s. a small pool of water,
generally applied to those pro-
duced by rain.
Duo, s. a rag; a dish-clout.
Duddy, adj. nigged.
Duke, s. a duck.
Dule, s. grief.
To Dule, v. n. to grieve.
Dumbie, Dummie, s. a dumb per-
son.
To Dujifouxder, v. a. to stupify ;

to confuse ; to confound.
Dumpy, adj. short and thick.
Dux, s. a hill ; an eminence.
To Duxcir, v. a. to jog ; to push

with the elbow or fist.
Dunderhead, s. a blockhead.
To Dunt, v. a. to strike, so as to

produce a dull hollow sound.
Duinc, Dirk, s. a dagger.
Dust, s. a tumult.
Dwalm, Dwaum, s. a swoon ; a
sudden fit of sickness.

224

GLOSSARY.

D wining, s. a declining consump-
tion.
To Dwyne, s. to pine.

E

Earn, s. an eagle.

To Earn, Yearn, v. to coagulate.

Easing, s. pi. the eaves of a house.

Eastlin, adj. easterly.

Ebb, adj. shallow.

Ee, s. an eye.

Een, s. pi. the eyes.

Ee-Sweet, adj. agreeable or pleas-
ing to the sight.

Eerie, adj. dull ; lonely.

Efterhend, adv. afterwards.

Eident, adj. diligent; industrious.

Eik, Eke, adj. an addition.

To Eik, v. n. to add to anything.

Eizel, s. a hot ember.

Elbeck, Elbuck, .«. elbow.

Eld, adj. old.

Eleven-Hours, s. a luncheon.

Elders, s. pi. the members of the
kirk-session among Presby-
terians.

Els, adv. already.

Elsyn, Elsiiyn, s. an awl.

Elves, s. pi. fairies.

Elwand, Elnwand, s. a rod for
measuring, an ell in length.

Embro', s. Edinburgh.

Emerant, s. emerald.

Eneucii, Eneugh, s. enough.

Erd, Erde, Yerd, Yertii, s.

earth; soil or ground.
To Erd, Yerd, v. a. to inter.

Erddin, Yirdin, s. an earthquake.

Erlis, Earles, .«. earnest.

Ekse, s. Gaelic or Celtic, the lan-
guage of the Highlanders of
Scotland.

Ery, Eiry, Eerie, adj. affected

with fear.
Esk, .9. a newt or lizard.
To Ettil, v. n. to aim at.
To Even, v. a. to level.
Evendoun, adj. perpendicular.

Evirly, adv. continually ; con-
stantly.
Evinly, adj. equally.
To Excamb, v. a. to exchange.
To Expone, v. n. to explain.

F

Fa, Fae, s. foe.

Fa', s. fall.

Fail, Fale, Feal, s. a grassy turf;
a sod.

Fail-Dyke, s. a wall built of sods.

To Fairly, Ferley, v. n. to won-
der.

Fatrntickl'd, adj. freckled.

Fald, Fauld, s. a sheepfold.

Fame, Faim, s. foam.

Fand, pret. found ; felt.

Fard, adj. Weel-fard, well-fa-
voured ; well-lookiug.

Farle, s. the fourth part of a thin
cake of oat or other meal.

Farrand, F arrant, adj. seeming;
Auld-farrand, sagacious; Fair-
farrand, Weel-farrand, having
a goodly appearance.

To Fasch, Fash, v. a, to trouble.

FAscheous, adj. troublesome ;
difficult.

Faucht, pret. fought.

To Faw, Fa', v. a. to obtain.

Fay, s. faith.

Fe, Fee, *. wages.

Feale, adj. loyal ; faithful ; true.

To Feciit, v. a. 1. to fight ; 2. to
toil.

Feck, Fek,s.1. quantity; number;
2 the greater part.

Feckless, adj. weak.

To Fee, v. a. to hire.

Feent, not any ; not one.

Feeniciiin, adj. triflingly foppish.

Feeze, v. a. to twist.

Feigh, Feech, interj. fy!

To Feikle, Fickle, v. a. to puzzle.

To Fell, adj. to kill ; to murder.

To Fend, Fen, v. a. to shift.

Ferlie, Fairlie, s. a wonder.

GLOSSARY.

225

Fettf.l, Fettle, s. power; energy.

Feu, Few, s. a possession held <>n

payment of a certain yearly

rent, the same as a chief-rent

in England.

Feykie, adj. troublesome.

To Ficke, Fyke, v. h. to bo in a

restless state.
Fiddling, adj. trifling, although
apparently busy.

Fidgixg, v. re. itching.

To File, Fyle, v. a. to dirty or
sully.

Filibeg, s. a kilt or short petti-
coat, reaching a little way above
the knee-cap (patella), and
worn by the men in the High-
lands instead of breeches.

Fill, s. full.

Fillat, Fillet, s. the flank of an
animal.

Filler, s. a funnel.

To Find, Fin, v. a. to feel.

Fireflaucht, s. lightning.

Firlot, s. the fourth part of a
boll.

Firth, s. an estuary.

To Fissle, v. re. to rustle.

Fixfax, s. the tendon of the neck
of cattle or sheep.

To Fizz, v. re. to make a hissing
noise.

To Flaf, v. n. to flap.

Flat, s. a floor of a house.

Flee, s. a fly.

Fleein, v. a. flying.

To Fleg, v. ii. to affright, to
frighten.

To Fleisii, Fleitch, v. a. to
wheedle.

Frendris, Flinders, s. pi. splin-
ters.

Flipe, Flype, v. a. to turn a stock-
ing or glove inside out.

To Flisk, v. a. to skip ; to caper.

Flit, s. to transport.

To Flit, v. n. to remove from one
house to another.

Flourish, s. blossom.

Flunkie, s. a servant in livery.

Fluster, s. bustle ; confusion.

VOL. XXTV.

To Fluther, v. re. to be in a bustle.

Flyte, V. 11. to scold.

Fog, s. moss.

Foison, Fushioun, s. strength;
abilitj'.

Foisionless, adj. weak in intel-
lect ; weak in body.

Fok, s. pi. folk.

Fool, s. a fowl.

For, cotij. because.

FoRAT, adv. forward.

Forbearis, s.pl. ancestors.

Forby, adj besides.

Fore, pr<p. priority; to the fore;
still remaining.

FOREFOUCHT, F< iRFOUCHTEN, adj.

exhausted with lighting.

Forgane, Foregainst, prep, op-
posite.

To Forgather, v. re. to meet ac-
cidentally.

Forgie, v. a. to forgive.

FoRJESKET, p. pa. jaded ; fatigued.

Fornent, prep, opposite.

Forpet, s. the fourth part of a
peck.

Foruay, s. a predatory excursion.

To Forsta, v. a. to understand.

Foul, adj. wet, rainy.

Foumarte, s. a polecat.

Fourhours, s. tea; four o'clock
being the old hour at which
that meal was taken in early
times.

Foutre, s. a term expressive of
the greatest contempt.

Fow, Fu, Foo, s. full ; drunk.

Foy, s. an entertainment given by
or to a person before leaving
home, or where he has been
some time on a visit.

Fozy, adj. spongy ; porous, s

Fractious, adj. fretful; peevish.

Frae, prep. from.

Frend, Freen, Freend, s. a
relation.

Fresh, s. a slight flood after rain.

Frey, s. a tumult; a fray.

Fud, s. the tail of a hare or rabbit.

Fugie, s. a coward.

To Funk, v. a. to strike or kick

226

GLOSSARY.

behind, like a horse. In a /tail;
in. a bad humour.
Fur, Fore, s. a furrow.

G

To Ga, Gae, v. n. to go.
Gab, s. the mouth.
Gabby, adj. fluency of speech.
To Gab, v. n. to prate ; to mock.
Gabef.luxgie, Gaberlunzie, s. a
wallet that hangs by the loins,
such as is often used by beggars.
Gaed, Gaid, pret. went.
To Gaffaw, t. n. laugh loud.
Gaisllne, s. a gosling, a young-
goose.
Gaist, s. a ghost.
Gait, Gate, s. a way; a street.
Gait, s. a goat.
Gane, part. pa. gone.
To Gang, pret. to go ; to walk, in

opposition to riding.
G an gix. v. a. going.
To Gant, Gaunt, v. n. to yawn.
Gapus, s. a fool ; a silly fellow.
To Gar, v. a. to make; to ci

to force.
Garrin, v. a. making.
Garron, Gerrc >n, s. a small horse.
Gart, Gert, pret. qfma.de.
Gart, pret. q/'Gar.
Garten, s. a garter.
To Gash, v. n. to talk much and
confidently; pert, insolent talk-
ing.
Gasii-Gabbit, s. with a projecting

under-jaw.
Gate, s. road.

Gaucy, Gawsy, s. plump; jolly.
Gauckit, adj. stupid.
Gavel, Gawl, s. the gable of a

house.
To Gaw, v.n. to gall.
Gawd, s. a goad.
Gawkie, Gawky, s. a foolish

gaping person.
G aw kit, adj. foolish; giddy.
Gawk, pret. of going.

Gean, Geen, s. a wild cherry.
Gear, Gere, Geir, 5. goods.
Geat, Gett, s. a child.
Gebbie, s. the crop of a fowl.
Gee, pettish. To tak the gee, to

become unmanageable.
Gey, Gay, adj. tolerable ; pri : I y
much. A gey u-heen, a con-
siderable number.
Geily, Geylies, adj. pretty well.
GENTY,«t//.neat; genteel-looking ;

neatly formed.
Geordie, s. George.
Gers, Gyrs, s. grass.
Geykn, Geisin, Gizzen, v. a. to
become leaky for want of mois-
ture.
Gibble-Gabble, s. noisy confused

talk among a party.
Gibe,. v. n. to tease ; to taunt.
Gie, v. a. to give.
Gien, pret. of given.
Gif, Gyve, conj. if.
Giff-Gaff, s. mutual giving.
Gieeie, s. a page or attendant.
Gilliepagus, s. a fool ; a silly fel-
low.
Gii.py, s. a roguish boy or frolic-
some girl.
Gii.se, s. a young salmon.
Gimmee, s. a ewe two years old.
Gimp, Gymp, Jimp, adj. slim ; deli-
cate ; scanty.
G imply, J imply, adv. scarcely.
Gin, conj. if.

Gir, Gird, Gyp.d, s. a hoop.
Girdle, s. a circular plate of mal-
leable iron with a handle, for
toasting oaten bread, etc., over
a fire.
To Gien, s. to grin.
Gien, s. a snare for catching birds.
Gip.nall, Girnell,s. a large chest

for holding meal.
G ite, s. crazy.
Glatkit, adj. light; giddy.
Glamer, Glamour, s. gipsies were
formerly supposed capable of
casting a charm over the eyes
of persons, and thus making
them see objects differently

GLOS-ARY.

227

from what they really were.

Cast the [/'hi, iir ii'ir 7ier, caused

deception of sight.
Glar, Gla.uk, s. mud ; mire.
To Glaum, v. a. to grasp anything

greedily.
G laymoke,s a two-handed sword.
Gi.kd, s. the kite, a bird of the

hawk kind,
i (leek, v. a. to gibe.
Gleg, adj. quick of perception.
To Gleg, Glye, Glee, v. re. to

squint.
Glen, s. a hollow betwixt two hills.
To Glent, Glint, part. pa. to

glance.
Gleyd, adj. squint-eyed.
(ii.in-GABBiT, adj. glib-tongued.
Gliff, s. a sudden fright or alarm.
Glimmer, v. re. to wink; to blink ;

to twinkle.
Glisk, s. a transient view.
Gloamin, s. twilight.
Glock, s. a gulp.
To Gloum, Gloom, v. re, to frown.
To Glour, Glowr, v. n. to stare.
Glour, s. a broad stare.
Glu, s. a glove.
To Gludder, v. re. to work in a

dirty manner.
To Glunsh, v. n. to pout.
Golach, s. a beetle of any kind.

GOLDSPINK, GOUDSPINK, S. the

goldfinch.
Golk, Gowk, s. the cuckoo; a

stupid fellow.
Gomrell, .?. a stupid fellow; a

numskull.
Gool, Gule, adj. yellow.
Gore-, Gorbet, Gorbie, s. a young

bird.
Gormand, s. a glutton,
Gouf, s. a stroke ; a blow.
Goud, Gould, s. gold.
Goupin, Gowpin, s. the hollow of

the hand.
Gowan, s. the wild niou

daisy. Ewe-gowan, the con

wild daisy.
Gowany, adj. abounding with

daisies.

... ft the cuckoo.

Gowk's-Erk a \ i >. s. a foi »l's errand.

Gowl, s. a hull ..- I a two

hills.

To Gowl, v. re. to howl ; to yell.

Gowp, s. a mouthful.

To Gowp, v. a. to gulp.

Graip, s. a dung-fork.

To Green, Grew, v. n. to long for
anything.

To Greit, Greet, v. re. to weep.
rmG, s. weepi

Grieve, s. an oven

Grilse, s. a salmon not full grown.

GrippY, adj. disposed to defraud ;
to be quick at taking advan-
tage.

Grist, s. fee paid to a mill for
grinding any kind of grain.

Groats, s. oats with the husks
taken off.

Guoset, Grosart,s. a gooseberry.

To Groue, Growe, •:. n. to shiver.

Grousam, Gruesome, adj. fright-
ful, uncomely.

Grumphie, s. a vulgar name for
a sow. People are said to bo
Grumphie when in abad humour.

Grutten, part. pa. of cried.

Gryce, s. a pig.

Qud, Gude, Gueed, adj. good.
Frequently used for the name of
God, as Gude forgie me, God
forgive me.

Gud-Broder, Gud-Brotiier, s.
brother-in-law.

Gud-Dociiter, s. daughter-in-
law.

Gud-Sister, s. sister-in-law.

Gud-Syr, Gudsiier, s. a grand-
father.

Gud-Wife, s. 1. a wife ; 2. a land-
lady.

Gudgie, adj. short and stout.

Guff, s. a vapour ; a smell.

Guidman, Gudeman, s. a pro-
prietor of land; a farmer; a
band.
To Guller, v. n. to guggle.

Gully, s. a large knife.
Gumption, s. understanding.

228

GLOSSARY.

Guseiiorn, Guissern, s. the giz-
zard.

Gusty, adj. savoury.

Gutsy, adj. gluttonous.

To Gutter, v. n. to do anything
in a dirt}' manner.

Gutters, s. pi. mire ; mud; dirt.

G ittty, adj. gross ; thick — applied
both to persons and things.

Gyisard, Gysart, s. children who
go from door to door singing
during the Christmas time.
Masks are frequently used on
such occasions.

Gym, adj. neat and spruce.

To G s - -. a to disgui e.

Gyte, adj. foolish. To f/ttnrj gyte,
to act extravagantly or foolishly.

II

ITa\ s. a hall.

Haaflang, Haflin, adj. half-
grown.

Haar, s. a fog; a chill easterly
wind.

To Habber, v. n. to stir

Ha-Bible, s. a large family Bible.

Babble, s. a scrape ; a perplexity.

1 1 a< k, s. a chop in the hands or feet.

To Hae, v. to have.

Hae, v. n. to offer anything.

Haein, s. having.

Haena, have not.

Half-Merk-Marriage, a clan-
destine marriage. From the
price paid, viz. a merk.

Haffit, ;>. the side of the head.

To Hag, v. a. to hew wood.

Hagabag, s. coarse table-linen.

Hagbut, s. a kind of firearms
used soon after the discovery
of gunpowdei-.

Haggies, Haggis, s. a pudding
made of a lamb's maw, lungs,
heart, and liver, mixed with
suet, onions, salt, pepper, and
oatmeal, and boiled in the
stomach of a sheep.

IIailsome, adj. wholesome : health-
ful.

To Hain, Hane, v. a. to spare ;
to save.

Hair-Mould, s. the mould which
appears on bread. Hair-ryme,
hoar-frost.

Hairst, s. harvest.

IIairumskarum, adj. harebrained.

To Hald, v. a. to hold ; to cease.

Hale, Haill, adj. whole ; un-
broken.

Half-Marrow, s. a husband or
wife.

Hallacii'd, Hatxaket, adj.
crazy ; boisterous ; extremely
frolicsome.

Hallaxshaker, g. a sturdy beg-
gar; a person of shabby appear-
ance.

Hallan,Hallon, Halloxd, Hal-
LIN, s. a mud wall in cottages,
extending from the front back-
wards, to shelter the interior of
the house from the draft of the
door when open.

Hallowe'en, s. the evening before
Allhallows.

Hallokit, arf/.giddy; harebrained.

Hallock, s. a thoughtless, giddy
girl.

! I *xs, Hawse, s. the neck.

Haly, adj. holy.

Hame, Haiji, s. home.

Hamely, adj. familiar; friendly.

Handsel, s. the first money re-
ceived for goods; a gift on the
first Monday after New Year's
Day.

Handsel-Monday, s. the first
Monday of the new year.

Hank, s. a coil.

Hantle, s.a considerable number.

To Hap, v. a. to cover ; to conceal.

Hap-Step-an'-Loup, v. a. to hop,
step, and leap.

Harigalds, s. the pluck of an
animal.

Harn, s. coarse linen cloth made
from the tow-hards.

IIarnes, s. brains.

GLOSSARY.

229

Hash, s. a sloven.

Hassock, Hassick, s. a besom ;
a large rouud turf used as a
seat.

Hate, Hait, Haid, s. a whit ; an
atom ; the smallest bit of any-
thing. Fit at a haid hae I t1 the
house, I have not a particle of
anything in the house.

Hather, Heather, s. heath.

Haugh, Hawcii, Hauch, s. low-
lying flat ground.

To Ha up, r. n. to turn to the
right, applied to horses in the
yoke. He will neither lump nor
wind, he will neither turn to the
right nor left ; a stubborn man.

To Havers, v. n. to talk foolishly.

Havers, s. foolish, incoherent talk,
or idle talk.

Haveril, s. one who habitually
talks idly.

To Hawgh, v. 11. to force up
phlegm ; to hawk.

Hawk.it, adj. having a white face
— applied to cattle.

Hawkey, s. a cow with a white

face.

Hawse, .<?. the throat.

Heartsome, adj. merry; light-
hearted.

Hearty, adj. cheerful; liberal.

Heather-Bells, s. heath-bells.

IIecii, s. an exclamation.

Heck, s- a rack for cattle.

To Heckle, v. a. to dress flax ; to
examine with severity.

IIegii-Hey, Heigii-IIow, an in-
terjection expressive of languor
or fatigue.

Heil, IIeyle, s. health ; in health.

Heis, Heese, v. a. to lift up.

II emit, ,s. a rogue.

Hendek, adj past; bygone. Hen-
derend, the back end.

Hereaway, adv. in this quarter.

Hekisox, s- a hedgehog.

Herrie, v. a. to rob ; to pillage.

Herrie-Water, s. a net made
with meshes of a small size,
such as used by poachers.

Hesp, s. a clasp; a book.

Het, adj. hot.

Hi iii i . adj. hoi ; fiery.

Het-Pint, s. a hot bevi ragi
ried by persons to the house of
their friends ea rly in the to
ing of New Year's Day, com-
posed of ale, whisky, and .

1 1 i.i < ii, Heugh,s. a crag; aru.
sleep.

Heuck-Bane, s. the hackle-bone.

Hiddil, Hidlins, adv. secretly.

Hilliegelii.hu. adv. top y-1 urvy.

Hilt and Ha'ie, adj. the wdiole of
anything.

Hilter-Skilter, adv. in rapid
succession.

HlMSEL, part. pa. of himself.

To Hiud, v. a. to tend cattle or
sheep.

Hird, s. a shepherd ; one who
tends cattle.

To Hike, v. a. to let; to engage.

To Hirple, v. a. to walk in a
lame or waddling manner.

IIlRSELL, HlRSLE, V. 11. to 1110VC

forward resting on the hams.

Hissie, Hizzie, s. a housewife.

Hissieskip, Hussyfskap, s. the
business of housewifery.

Hit, pron. It.

Hitch, s. a quick motion by a jerk.

HoAM'D.HuMPH'DjjjcM'i. adj. lusty
tasted.

Hobble, s. a scrape, or state of
perplexity. ■

Hobbledehoy, s. a stripling.

Uncus, s. a stupid dull fellow.

Hodden-Grey, adj. cloth made of
wool in its natural condition,
and worn by the peasantry.

Hoddie, Hoodie, s. a carrion
crow ; also applied to the black-
headed or royster crow.

Hoesiiins, s. stockings without
feet.

Hog, s. a sheep before it has been
shorn of its first fleece.

Hoggees, s. coarse stockings
without feet, generally worn
over the shoes.

230

GLOSSARY.

Hogmanay, Hogmenay, s. the
last day of the year.

HoGEY-MOGRY, HUGGEEY-MUG-

geey, adj. slovenly.
Hoif, Houff,s. a haunt; a place of
concealment; burying-ground.
To Hoist, Host, Hoast, v. a. to

cough.
To Holk, Houk, Howk, v. a. to dig.
Holl, Howe, s. a hollow or deep

placa ; ooncave.
Holm, Howx, s. the low level
ground on the bank of a river.
Hoolie, adj. slowly ; mode;.

■. Hap, s. a dance.
Horse-Oouper, s. a horse-dealer.
Hostelee, s. an innkeeper.
Hostilar, Hostillarie, s. an inn.
To Hotch, v. n. to move the body

by sudden jerks.
Hotch-Potcii, s. broth made of
lamb cut into small pieces, ac-
companied with greens, carrots,
turnips, green-peas.
How, a hollow.
Howdy, s. a midwife.
Howsomevee, adv. howsoever.
Hour, s. hope.
Howtowdy, s. a hen that has

never laid eggs.
Hubbilschow, g. a tumult; a

hubbub.
HUDGE-MuDGE,aefo. clandestinely.
Hullion, s. a sloven.
Hummel-Bee, s. a drone bee.
To Hunker, v. n. to squat down

upon one*s hams.
Hurcheon, s. a hedgehog.
Hurdies, s. the buttocks.
To Hurdle, v. n. to crouch.
To Huekle, v. n. to draw the

body together.
Hurry-Scurry, s. an uproar.
Hy, s. haste.
JIyxder, s. hindrance.

I

Idleset, s. the state of being idle.
Ier-oe, s. a great-grandchild.

Ilk, Ilka, Ilke, adj. each ; every.

Ilka-Day, s a week-day.

Ill-Aff, adj. badly off.

Ill-Deedy, adj. mischievous.

Ill-Fard, adj. ill-looking.

Ill-Sae'd, adj. ill-served; badly
used.

Ill-Will^ Ill-Willit, adj. ill-
natured.

Immiok, s. an ant.

To Implement, v. a. to fulfil.

In-By, adv. the inner part of the
house.

Inch, s. an island ; a level plaiu.

Ingak, Ixgin, s. onion.

Ingle, Ingil, s. fire.

Ingle-Nook, s. the corner of the
fireside.

Inlying, s. childbearing.

Intill, prtt. into ; denoting en-
trance.

Irne, Airn, s. iron.

Isic ! Iskie ! intcrj. a word used in
calling a dog.

Itheb, pron. other.

Izie, Izbel, s. Isabella.

To Jag, v. a. to job.

Janet, s. Jess.

Janty, adj. cheerful.

Jap, Jawp, s. a spot of mud.

Japit, adj. bespattered with mud.

Jaw, J awe, 5. a wave; coarse
raillery.

Jeddaet, s. Jedburgh, a town of
Roxburghshire.

Jeddaet-Justice, s. a legal trial
after punishment has been in-
flicted on the accused.

To Jee, v. n. to move to one side.

To Jelouse, v. n. to suspect.

Jenny', s. Jess.

Jiffie, s- a moment.

Jillet, s. a giddy girl.

Jimp, s. neat, slender.

Jink, v. n. the act of one eluding
another.

Jo, Joe, s. a sweetheart.

GLOSSARY.

231

Jock, Jockie, s. John.
Jockteleg, s. a clasp knife; a

folding knife.
To Jogill, v. it. to jog; to move

from side to side.
Jog-Trot, s. to trot at a slow

rate on horseback; anything

done in a slow manner.
To Jouk, v. 11. to bend down the

body with a quick motion so as

either to elude the sight or a

blow.
Joukry-Pawkry, s. trickery ;

juggling.

JUGGS, JOUGS, JUGGES, S. pi. a

kind of pillory, used on the
Borders, whereby criminals
were fastened to a post on
the wall, with their necks en-
velopedin an iron collar.
Jupe, s. a kind of short mantle
for a female.

K

Kail, Kale, s. common colewort.

Kail-Bhose, s. raw meal placed
in a basin with boiling br tb
poured over it, and then stirred
all together.

Kail-Bunt, s. stem of colewort.

Kami, s. a comb.

Kar-Handed, adj. left-handed.

Kay, Ka, Kae, s. a jack-daw.

Kayme, Kame, s. honeycomb.

Kebbuck, Cabback, s. a cheese.

Kegie, adj. cheerful.

Keek, Keik, v. n. to look with a
prying eye.

Keek-Bo, s. bo-peep.

Keeking-Glass, s. a mirror.

Keeltvtne, 5. a blacklead pencil.

To Kekkil, Kekil, v. n. to cackle ;
to laugh aloud.

Kell, Kull, s. a dress for a wo-
man's head. A caul, the hinder-
part of a woman's cap.

Kelpie, Water-Kelpie, s. the
spirit of the waters, who, as is
vulgarly believed, gives warn-

ing of those who are to bo
drowned within the precincts
of bis boat. This i> indicated
by preternatural noi and

lights. He is supposed to ap-
pear in the form of a h
Many wonderful exploits are
attributed to the kelpie.

K i i :', s. a salmon that has just
i pawned ; a foul fish that has
not been in salt water.

Kemp, s. a champion.

Kempin, 5. the act of slrivii ,
the harvest field. f

To Kent, v. ii. to know.

Kenned, part. pa. of to know.

Kenspeckle, adj. having so re-
markable an appearance as to be
easily known.

Kep, Kepp, v. a. to intercept.

Kick, s. a novelty. Kicksha i
new piece of finery.

Kill, s. a kiln.

Kilt, s. a short petticoat extend-
ing from the belly to the knee,
used by the Highlanders of
Scotland instead of breeches.

To Kilt, v. a. to tuck up.

Kimmer, s. a young woman.

Kin, s. kindred.

Kink, s. a violent fit of coughing,
with suspension of breathing.

Kinkhost, Kingcough, s. the
hooping-cough.

Kinsch, s. a loop made on a string
or rope.

Kipper, s. a salmon split open,
salted, and dried.

Kirk, s. church; a body of Pi -
byterian Christians.

To Kirk, v. a. to carry to church
as a bride after being married.

Kirn, s. a churn.

To Kirn, v. a. to make a confused
mass of anything.

Kirn-Milk, s. butter-milk.

Kist, Kyst, s. a chest; a coffin.

Kisting, s. the act of placing a
corpse in a coffin.

Kit, s. the whole of a person's pro-
perty.

232

GLOSSARY.

Kitchen, Hitching, s. anything
taken to bread, as meat, cheese,
or butter.

Kith, s. acquaintances, friends.

Kitling, s. a kitten.

Kittie, Kittock, s. an immodest
female.

To Kittle, r. a. to litter ; to tickle ;
to puzzle : to perplex.

Kittlie, adj. itchy.

Kitty- Ween, s. the common wren.

Knackety, adj. self-conceited;
small ; trifling.

Knacky, adj. quick at a reply
or repartee.

Knappish, adj. snappish ; tart.

Knock, s. a clock.

Knoit, Noyt, 5. a sharp blow.

Know, Knowe, Now, s. a little
bill ; a hillock.

Knyfe, s. a hanger ; a dagger ; a
cutlass.

Kobil, s. a small boat.

Kowschot, Cushat, s. the ring-
dove.

To Kruyn, v. n. to murmur.

Kv, Kye, «. />'. cows.

K yle, s. a strait of the sea ; a sound.

Kyneik, s. a kingdom.

Kyte, s. the belly.

Kytie, s. fat; big-bellied.

Lab. s. a stroke ; a blow ; a lump.

To Labour, v. a. to plough.

Lachtek, s. the whole eggs laid
successively by a ben.

To Lack, v. a. to slight.

Lad, $. a sweetheart.

Laddie, s. a boy, or young man.

Lade, Laid, s. a load.

Lade, Lead, s. a mill course.

Lafe, Lave, s. the rest.

Laif, Laef, s. a loaf.

IiAiGH, Layxiie, adj. low; flat.

Laird, Larde, s. a person of su-
perior rank; a landholder, under
the degree of a knight or squire.

Lairdship, s. a landed estate.

Laith, adj. reluctant ; unwilling.

Laithfow, adj. bashful.

To Lamb, to yean.

Lammee, Lamber, s. amber.
Lammer beads and red thread.
when together, were supposed
to be a charm with power to
repel witchery in former times.

Lamper, s. a tall woman.

Lampet, Lempet, s. the limpet, a
testaceous shellfish which ad-
heres to rocks.

Land, s. a house consisting of
several stories, generally in-
cluding separate dwellings.

Land o' the Leal, state of the
blessed ; heaven.

Land-Louper, s. a person who
shifts frequently from one place
of the country to another.

Lane, adj. alone; lone.

Lanely, adj. lonely.

Lanesome, adj. lonesome.

To Lang, v. n. to long ; to weary;
to think long.

Lang-Nebit, adj. long-nosed or
long-billed.

Lang-Lin, adr. at length.

Langsum, adj. slow; tedious.

Langsyne, adv. long ago.

LANG-TONGUED, adj. babbling;
given to tell secrets.

Lap, pret. leaped.

Lappoeed, part. pa. coagulated.

Lake, Lere, s. learning.

To Lare, Lere, v. a. to teach; to
learn.

Larick, Lavrock, s. a lark.

Lass, s. a sweetheart ; a young
woman.

To Lat, v. a. to permit ; to suffer ;
to lat-be, to let alone.

Lawtn, Lawing, s. a tavern bill ;
money subscribed or paid for
drink.

Law, s. a conical hill.

Lea, .?. pasture land not ploughed.

Lea-Lang, adj. livelong ; tedious ;
long in passing.

To Leather, v. a. to lash ; to flog.

GLOSSARY.

233

Leddie, Leddy, s. lady.

Lee, adj. lonely ; fallow land.

Lee, s a lie.

Leesome, adj. pleasant.

Leeze-Me, Leese-Me, dear is to
me — expressive of strong affec-
tion or love.

To Leg, v. n. to run.

Leg-Bail, s. to run off.

Leglin, Laiglin, s. a milk-pail.

Leid, Lede, Luid, s. a song ; a lay.

Leif, adj. willing.

Leil, Leele, Lele, adj. lawful ;
right.

Leisch, s. a lash ; a thong.

Leister, Lister, s. a pronged
instrument for striking fish,
generally used by poachers.

To Len, v. a. to lend.

To Let-Be, v. n. to let alone.

Li'.rcir, Leugii, pret. laughed.

To Leue, Lu\te, i'. 7i. to court ; to
make love.

Levin, s, lightning.

Lew-Warme, adj. tepid.

Liaut, Lyakt, adj. having grey
bairs intermixed.

Lighter, Lichtare, part. pa. de-
livered of a child.

Lights, s. pi. the lungs.

To Ligk, v. a. to strike ; to beat.

Lift, Lyft, s. the atmosphere ;
the sky.

Liglad, s. a confused noise of
tongues ; a deal of idle or noisy
talk.

Likand, part, pleasing.

Like- Wake, s. the watching of a
dead body.

Ln/r, s. a cheerful air.

To Lilt, v. n. to sing cheerfully
and merrily ; lively music.

Lilt-Pi'pe, s. a musical instru-
ment, the upper part of which
was in the form of a flageolet,
terminating below in a kind of
trumpet-shaped mouth.

Limmak, Limmer, s. a scoundrel ;
a woman of loose manners.

Lin, Lyn, s. a cataract ; a water-
fall.

To Link, v. a. to trot or walk
smartly.

Links, s. pi. sandy barren ground.

LiNTlE, s. the grey linnet.

To Lippen, v. n. to expect; to
place confidence in.

LirpiE, s. the fourth part of a peck.

Lisk, Lkesk, s. the groin.

Lister, s. a fishing spear.

To Lithe, v. a. to thicken ; to
render mellow ; to soften.

Littleane, s. a child.

Loan, Lone, Loaning, s. an open-
ing between fields of corn ; lane ;
a narrow enclosed way.

Loch, Lough, 5. a lake.

Lock, Loake, s. a small quantity.

Logie, Killogie, s. a vacuity in
a kiln forproducing a draft of air.

Lome, Loom, (pronounced Lwne,~)
s. a utensil of any kind.

Loot, Lout, Lowt, v. a. to bow
down the body ; to make obei-
sance.

Losn! v. a. an exclamation of
wonder.

To Loue, Lowe, Luve, v. a. to
love.

Loux, Lown, Loon, s. a tricky,
worthless person ; a boy.

Loun's-Piece, .«. the first slice of
a loaf of bread.

Loun, Lowne, adj. sheltered ;
calm.

To Lounder, v. a. to beat severely.

Loundit, part. pa. beaten.

To Loup, v. n. to leap ; to spring.

Loupin-Ague, s. St. Vitus' dance.

Loupin-on-Stane, s. a large
stone, or flight of stejjs, for
assisting a person to leap on a
horse easily.

Low, s. a flame.

Lozen, s. a pane of glass.

Lucken, part. pa. shut up ; con-
tracted.

Luckie, Lucky, s. an elderly
woman ; a grandmother ; the
mistress of an alehouse.

Luck-Penny, ,s. a sum given tc#a
person who makes a bargain.

234

GLOSSARY.

Luesome, adj. lovely; worthy of
being loved ; attractive in man-
ner or appearance.

Lufe, Luif, Luffe, Loof, s. the
palm of the hand.

Lug, s. the ear.

Luggie, s. a small wooden dish
for holding meat or drink, made
of staves in the manner of a tub,
with one of them prolonged con-
siderably above the others.

Lum, Lumb, s. a chimney.

Lum-Head, s. the chimney-top.

Lunch, 5. a large piece of any-
thing, particularly applied to
something eatable.

Luke, s. the udder of a cow.

Lusty, adj. beautiful ; pleasant ;
of agreeable manners.

Lyart-Haffets, s. grey hairs on
the cheeks.

M

Ma, May, Mae, adj. more in num-
ber.

Maad, Mawd, s. a shepherd's
plaid.

"; mx:e, s. Magdalene.

To Mae, v. n. to bleat.

Maggs, s. a perquisite.

Mahoux, s. Mahomet ; the devil.

Maiden,*', an instrument formerly
used for beheading state pri-
soners, similar in its construc-
tion to the French guillotine.

Maik, s. a cant word for a half-
penny.

Mail, s. tribute. Black Mail, a
lax paid to freebooters by
heritors and tenants for the
security of their property.

Mailan, Mailing, Maling, s. a
farm.

Mail-Free, adj. without paying
rent.

Main, s. moan.

Maining, adj. moaning.

Mains, s. the chief farm of an

estate, generally that which is
attached to the mansion.

Maist, adj. most.

Maistee, s. a landlord ; a designa-
tion given to the eldest sou of a
baron.

Malison, s. a curse.

Majijiie, s. a childish term for
mother.

Man, s. a vassal; a husband; a
male servant.

Man, Maun, aux. v. must.

Mane, s. lamentation.

"Jangle, s. a calender.

To Mangle, v. a. to calender
linen or other clothes.

Manse, s. a parsonage house, the
house of a minister.

To Mansweih, Mensweie, v. to
perjure.

To Mant, Maunt, v. n. to stam-
mer.

Maeche, s. a landmark.

Mark, Mere, s, a pound of thirty-
two ounces.

Mark, Mirk, adj. dark.

Marrow, s. a companion; aniar-
ri id partner.

Majbrowless, adj. matchless.

Mart, Marte, Mairt, a-, a cow
or ox killed for winter's use.

To Mask, v. a. to catch in a net ;
to iufuse.

Mauk, s. a maggot.

Mai/kin, s. a hare.

Maumie, adj. mi 11 v.'.

Maucitless, Mauchtless, adj.
feeble ; inactive.

Maw, s. a sea-gull.

Mawkish, adj. spiritless ; action-
less ; slow.

Mawt, s. malt.

May, s. a maid ; a virgin.

Mede, 5. a meadow.

Meikle, Mekyl, Muckle, adj.
great.

Mell, s. a maul.

Melt, s. milt.

Mends, s. atonement.

To Mene, Means, Meyne, v. a. to
bemoan.

GLOSSARY.

235

Mensk, Mense, s. dignity of de-
meanour; discretion.

Menskful, adj. manly; moderate;
discreet ; mannerly.

Mere, s. a boundary ; a limit; the
sea.

Merk, s. an ancient Scottish silver
coin, value thirteen shillings
and fourpence Scotch money,
or thirteen pence and one-third
of a penny sterling.

Merle, s. a blackbird.

Merry-Begotten, s. an illegui-
mate child.

Merry-Dancers, s. the Aurora
Borealis.

Mes. s. mass. Mes or Mass Joint,
a name of derision for a parish
minister.

Messan, s a small mongrel dog.

Met, Mett, s. measure.

Me vis, s. a thrush.

Michtie, adj. of high rank; stately ;
haugh ty.

Mick, s. Michael.

Midden, s. a dunghill.

Milk-Syth, s. a milk strainer.

Mill, Mull, s. a snuff-box made
of a horn.

Mill-Lade, Mill-Lead, s. a mill-
course.

Mim, adj. prim; demure; prudish.

Mim-Mou'd, adj. soft of speech;
bashful.

To Mind, v. n. to remember; to
recollect.

Minnie, Minny, s. mother.

Mirk, Myrk, Mark, adj. dark.

Mirlygoes, s. pi. when persons
see indistinctly they are said to
be in the Mirlygoes.

Miscall, Misca', v. a. to call hard
names.

Mischantek, s. misfortune ; mis-
hap.

To Misken, v. n. not to recognise.

To Mistrow, v. a. to suspect; to
mistrust.

To Mistryst, v. a. to break an
engagement.

Mittens, s. pi. woollen gloves.

Mixtif.-Maxtie, adj. in a state of

confusion.
To Moderate, v. n. to preside in

an ecclesiastical court.
Moderator, s. lie who pr<

in an ecclesiast ical court.

MODYWART, MODEWORT,S.a mol ■.

Molligr ant, Molligrub*,. whin-
ing, complaining.
Mony', adj. many.

[ool, v. a. to crumble.

Morn, Morne, .<. to-morrow. The
morn, to-morrow.

To Mortify, v. a. to give in mort-
main.

Moss-TROorERS, s. banditti.

Motherwit, s. common sense.

Mow, s. the mouth.

To Muck, v. a. to carry out dung.

To Muddle, v. n. to bo busy
without making progress at a
trifling work.

To Mudge, v. n. to stir; to budge.

Muir, s. a heath.

Mulin, Mulock, s. a crumb.

Multure, Moutur, s. the fee for
grinding corn.

Munds, Muxs, s. the mouth.

Murrion, Murreon, s. a helmet.

Mutch, s. a cap for a female.

Mutchkin, s. an English pint.

My-Certe, by my faith.
i Myschancy, adj. unlucky.

Mysell, s. myself.

N

Na, Nae, a h. no ; not.

Na, Use, conj. neither; nor.

Naciiet, Nacket, s. an insi
cant person. A little nackt t, one
of very diminutive size.

Naig, 6-. a stallion; a riding horse.

Naiprie, s. table linen.

Nancy, Nannie, s. Agnes.

Nane, adj. no ; none.

Natiiing, Naething, s. nothing.

Naysay, s a refusal.

Nea r - G awn, Near - be - Gawn,
adj. niggardly.

236

GLOSSARY.

Nec, s. the bill of a fowl.

Neebors, s. neighbours.

Neer-do-weil, s. a never-do-
well. *

Neffit, s. a pigmy ; a very dimi-
nutive thing.

To Neiffer, Niffer, v. a. to ex-
change.

Neipce, s. a granddaughter.

Neirs, a. pi. the kidney-:.

Neist, Niest, adj. next ; nearest.

Neive, Neif, s. the fist.

Nevew, Nevo, Nevow, s. a
nephew.

Newfangled, fond of new things
or persons.

To Niciier, v. n. to neigb ; a loud
coarse laugh.

Nicht, s. night. The nicht, to-
night.

Niciitfa, s. twilight.

Nick-Nacic, s. a gim-crack ; small
wares.

Nip, s. a small bit of anything.

To Nip, v. a. to carry off cleverly ;
to pinch.

Nippit, adj. niggardly.

No, adv. not.

Nob, s. a knob.

Nocht, s. nothing.

Nult, Nout, s. black cattle ; a
stupid vulgar fellow.

Noo, 5. now ; at the present.

Nor, ennj. than.

Norlan, Norland, adj. belong-
ing to the north country.

Noryss, s. nurse.

N'< hjther, Nowtiiir, conj. neither.

Nunc, 5. the corner.

0

Oe, Oye, s. a grandson.

Oercome, Ourco.me, s. the over-
plus.

( >hon ! int rj. alas!

Omne-Gatherom, s. a miscella-
neous collection ; an incongruous
mass.

Oncomf, s. a fall of rain or snow.

Oxgoixgs, s. pi. procedure.

Oxkexd, part. adj. unknown.

Onstead, s. the building on a farm.

Oxv, adj. any.

Oo, s. wool.

Oorie, Ourie, Owrie, adj. chill ;

bleak ; having the sensation of

cold.
On, conj. lest ; than.
Or, adv. before, as Or this, before

this time; rather than, Or than,

before then.
Orrow, Ora, adj. unmatched;

not used.
Orrows, s. pi. supernumerary

articles.
Ostleir, Ostler, s. an innkeeper.
Otiiir, Otiiere, Odyr, adj. other.
Ouer, prej). over.
Oulk, Owi.k, s. a week.
Our, Oure, Ouer, Owre, prep.

over, beyond ; denoting excess.
Oorgae, Oubgang, v. a. to over-
run ; exceed ; to surpass.
Our-Raught, pi\t. overtook.
To Ourset, v. a. to overcome; to

overpower.
Ourtill, prep, above ; beyond.
Ousen, s. oxen.
I ii r-ABOUT, ado. out of doors.
Outbreaking, Outbrekct, s.

eruption of the skin.
Out- By, adv. out of doors ; abroad.
Outfall, s. a contention.
OuTGAIT, Outgate, s. a way of

egress ; escape from any kind of

hardship.
Outgane, part. pa. elapsed.
Outlay, s. expenditure.
Out-Our, Out-Owre, adv. over.
Odtshot, s. a projection.
Outspeckle, s. a laughing-stock.
Outspokex, s. free of speech ;

undisguised in conversation or

opinion.
Out.strikixg, s. an eruption.
Outwaile, Outwyle, s. the re-
fuse.
To Outwair, v. a. to expend.
Outwith, prep, without ; on the

GLOSSARY.

237

outer side or exterior; outwards ;

out from.
Overly, adj. carel.
Owkly, adj. weekly.
Oxtar, Oxter, s. the armpit.

Packman, s. a pedlar.

Paddo< k-Stool, s. a toad-stool;
agaricus in general.

Paffle, s. a small landed estate.

Paffler, s. a farmer of a small
estate.

To Paik, v. a. to beat ; to drub.

Paikeh, s. a causey-paih r, a street-
walker.

Pailtn, Pailtng, s. a fence of
stakes.

Taixciies, s. tripe.

Palaver, s. idle talk.

To Pale, v. a. to make an incision
in clieeso to try its quality.

Pallagh, s. a porpoise ; a lusty
person.

Pand, s. a pledge.

Pan-Kail, s. liroth made of cole-
worts, thickened with oatmeal.

Pannel, s. one brought to the bar
of a court for trial.

Pap-o'-the-Hass, s. uvula.

Pate, Paif, s. the pope.

Papejay, Papikgay, s. a parrot,

PARiTcn, Parrttch, s. hasty-pud-
ding ; oatmeal and water boiled
together.

Parrot- Coal, s. cannel coal
which burns clearly.

Tartan, s. the common edible
crab.

rAr.TicATF, s. a rood of land.

Partrick, Patrick, s. a partridge.

Pat, pret. of put.

To Patter, s. to mutter uninter-
ruptedly.

Pattlk, Pettle, s. a stick where-
with a ploughman clears away
the earth which adheres to his
plough.

Pauk, s. art : wile.

Pauky, adj. sly i artful.

Pawmie, .«. a stroke on the hand
with the ferula.

Pawn, s. a narrow curtain fixed to
lie- roof in- liul torn part of a bed.

Pay, ;?. a drubbing.

Pays-Eggs, s. />/. eggs boiled in
dye of various colours, and
given tochildren to amuse them-
selves during Easter.

Pearie, s. a pegtop in the shape
of a pear.

PeARLIN, s. a species of thread lace.

To PeCH, V. 11. to puff; to pant.

Peel, Peil, .«. a place of strength ;
a Border tower.

To Peexge, Tinge, v.n. to whine ;
to complain.

Peesweip, Peeweip, s. the lap-
wing.

Peg, s. a stroke.

To Peg off or away, v. n. to run
off quickly.

Pencil, Pexche, s. the belly.
/'' itches, tripe.

Penh, s. an archway.

Pendicle, s. a small piece of
ground.

Pennie-Bkydal, Penny- Wed-
ding, s. a wedding at which
those who attend pay money
for their entertainment.

Pennystane, s. a Hat stone used
as a quoit.

Pepe, Peep, s. the chirp of a bird.

Perjink, adj. precise.

Pernickitie, adj. precise in trifles.

To Pettle, s. to fondle.

To Pew, Peu, v. n. the mournful
sound emitted by bird-.

rniLiBEG, s. See Filibeg.

To Phrase, Praise, v n. to boast;
to wheedle.

Pibroch, s. a Highland air of a
martial character.

Pickle, Puckle, s. a grain of
seed ; a small quantity.

Pig, Pyg, s. an earthen vessel.

Pigs, Pygs, s. ]>1. earthenware.

Pik, Pick, s. pitch.

238

GLOSSARY.

Pile, v. a. to 'pilfer.

To Pingle, v. a. to labour with
assiduity.

To Pink, v. n. to glimmer with
the eyes half contracted.

Pinner, s. a female head-dress,
with long lappets pinned to
the temples and reaching to
the bosom, where they were
fastened.

Tirn, s. a reed or quill. To wind
him a pirn, to make him repent
of what he has done.

Pit and Gallows, s. an ancient
baronial privilege, by which
they had on their ground a pit
to drown women and a gallows
to hang men.

Plack, Plak, s. a small copper
coin formerly in use, the value
of the third part of a penny
sterling.

Plackless, adj. moneyless.

Plaid, s. an cuter covering, of an
oblong square shape, of differeut
coloured stripes, worn by the
Highlanders.

Plaiden, Plaidixg, g. coarse
tweeled woollen cloth.

ri.AixsTONES, s. pi. the pavement
or flags.

To Plash, v. u. to make a noise
by the clashing of water.

To Plat, Plet, v. a. to plait.

Playfair, s. a toy.

Pi.ey, Pleye, s. a debate; a quar-
rel.

To PLExrsn, Tlicnys, v. a. to fur-
nish a house.

Plenishing, s. pi. household fur-
niture.

Pleucii, Plelgii, s. a plough.

Pleugh-Gang, s. as much land as
can be tilled by means of a single
plough.

Pliskie, s. a mischievous trick.

Ploy, s. a harmless frolic.

To Plot, v. a. to scald.

Plouke, Plouk, s. a pimple.

Ploukie-Faced, adj. having a
pimpled face.

To Pi.outer, v. a. to make a noise

among water.
Pluffy, adj. flabby ; chubby.
Plu jib-Dames, s. a Damascene

plum.
Plump, adj. a heavy shower of

rain without wind.
Plunk, v. n. the sound made by a

stone or other substance thrown

into water.
Tly, s. a plait ; a fold.
Podlie, s. the fry of the coal fish.
To Poind, Poynd, v. a. to distrain.
Policy, Pollece, g. a demesne.
Poortith, s. poverty.
Porringer, s. a small round

earthenware jug with a handle.
Portioner, s. a person who pos-
sesses part of a property which

has been divided among co-
heirs.
Pose, Pois, Poise, s. hidden

treasure.
PoUECf, s. a small quantity of

anything liquid.
Pout, s. a young fowl.
To Pout, Pouten, v. n. to poke or

stir with a long pole or stick.
Pow, s. the head.
To Pree, v. a. to taste.
Pkeen-Cod, s. a pin-cushion.
TneiN, Prin, s. a pin.
Preserves, s.pl. spectacles which

magnify but little.
Pretty, adj. having a handsome

face.
Prickmadainty, s. a person who

is finical in dress or carriage,

particularly a small person.
Pridefow, adj. proud ; conceited.
To Prig, v. n. to haggle ; to beat

down in price.
To Prink, v. a. to deck ; to prick.
To Prinkle, v. n. to thrill; to tingle.
Procurator, s. a barrister or

advocate.
Prog, Progue, s. a sharp point.
Trop, s. an object placed up to be

aimed at.
To Propone, v. a. to propose.
Prospect, s. a telescope.

GLOSSARY.

239

Provost, s. the mayor of a royal

burgh.
Public-House, s. a tavern or inn.

PUDDEN FILLER, S. a glutton.

Puir, Pure, adj. poor.
Puirlie, adj. humbly ; unwell.
To Punch, v. a. to jog with the

elbow.
Purpose- like, adj. seemingly

well qualified for anything; well

clad.
To Put-Ufon, to impose upon;

to take advantage of another's

weakness.
To Put, r. n. to throw a heavy

stone with the hand raised over

the head.
Putting-Stone, s. a heavy stone

used in the game of putting.
Pvat, Pyot, s. a magpie.
Pygs, s.pl. crockery ware ; earth-
enware.

Q

Quaich, Queych, Quegii, s. a

small shallow drinking cup,

made of wood or silver, with

two ears.
Queet, Ci:te, s, the ankle.
Queint, Quent, adj. curious;

wonderful.
Q,ueht, Aquent, adj. acquainted ;

familial'.
Quey, s. a two-year-old cow.
Q,ueyn, Quean, Quine, s. a young

woman.
Quiiaip, Quiiaup, Wiiaap, s. a

curlew.
To Quiiemle, Whummil, v. a. to

turn upside down.
To Quiiid, Wiieeo, v. a. move

quickly.
Quiiilk, ]»'on. which ; who.
Quiiirr, v. n. to make a sound

like the wings of a partridge or

grouse in the act of flying.

QUHITRED, QuiIlTTRET. .■.'. aw

Quiiyne, Quhbne, Wheen,

a few.

B

Ra, Rae, s. a roe deer.

Rache, .?. a lurcher, or dog that

finds and pursues his prey by

the scent.
Rack, s. a shelved frame fixed to

the wall for holding plates.
Rackxe-Handed, adj. careless;

rash.
Rade, Raid, s. an invasion ; a

violent attack.
Rauc, s. a single carrying of a

thing from one place to another.
To Rail, v. ra. to jest.
Raip, s. a rope.

Raised, adj. excited ; maddened.
ll.vivEL, .9. a rail.

Ramfeezled, part. adj. ex-
hausted, fatigued.
Rammer, s. a ramrod.
To Rampage, v. ra. to pranco

about in a furious manner, as

exemplified in passion.
Ram-Stam, adj. forward; rash;

thoughtless.
Randy, Raxdie-Beggar, s. a beg-
gar who endeavours to obtain

alms by means of threats; a

female scold.
Randy, adj. quarrelsome.
Raxtle-Tree, s. a tall raw-boned

person.
Rapegyrne, s. the ancient name

given to the little figure made

of the last handful of grain in

the harvest-field, now called

the maiden.
Raplach, Raploch, s. coarse,

homespun, undyed woollen

cloth.
Rasch, Rash, s. a rush.
Rashy, adj. beset with rushes.
Rath, adj. strange or savage in

aspect.
Rattan, Rotten, .9. a rat.
Rauciian, s. a plaid w:orn by men,

formerly made of grey undyed

wool.
Raun, Rawn, s. roe of a fish.

240

GLOSSARY.

Eaucle, adj. rash.

To Rave, v. a. to plunder by vio-
lence.

Raw, adj. damp; chill.

Raw, s. a row or rank.

To Rax, v. n. to extend the limbs ;
to stretch them.

Ray, Ree, adj. mad ; wild.

Ream, Reyme, s. cream.

Reaming-Full, adj. full to the
lip or brim.

Reaver, s. robber.

Rkeai.d, s. a low contemptible
fellow.

To Rebut, v. a. to repulse.

Red, s. riddance.

To Red, Rede, v. a. to counsel ; to
disentangle.

Eeddin-Stkaik, s. the blow
which persons frequently re-
ceive on attempting to separate
those who are fighting.

To Red-Up, part. adj. to put in
order.

Red-Wud, adj. iu a violent pas-
siou ; furious.

Reek, Reik, s. smoke.

Reel, s. a Scottish dance gene-
rally performed by two males
and two females.

Reel-Rall, adj. topsy-turvy.

To Reese, v. a. to extol.

Eeif, Refe, s. the itch.

Reikie, adj. smoky.

To Reik-out, v. a. to fit out or
dress out.

To Heist, r. a. to dry by exposure
to the heat of the sun, or in a
chimney.

To Reng, Ring, v. n. to reign.

To Resett, v. a. to harbour ; to
receive stoleu goods.

To Rest, v. n. to be indebted.

Tii Retour, v. a. to return.

Ribble-Rabble, adj. disordered.

Rickle, Rickill, s. a heap. A
riclle o banes, a person who is
veiy meagre.

Rife, Ryfe, adv. plentiful.

Riff-Raff, s. the rabble.

To Rift, v. n. to belch.

Rigging, s. the ridge of a house.

Rin, v. n. run.

To Rind, Rynde, v. a. to melt fat
by the heat of the fire.

Ringe, s. a whisk made of heath.

Ringle-Ee'd, Ryngit, adj. hav-
ing a great quantity of white
seen round the irides of the eyes.

Rino, s. ready money.

7b Ripe, Rype, v. a. to search a
person.

To Ripple, v. a. to separate the
seed of flax from the statics.

Ripplin-Came, s. a flax-comb.

Rise, Ryss, s. a small twig.

Rive, s. rent ; tear.

Socklay, Rokely, 5. a short cloak
worn by females.

Roden, Rowen, s. the fruit of the
mountain ash.

Roden-Teee, Rowan-Tree, s.
the mountain ash.

Roid, Royd, adj. rude ; severe.

Rollociiin, adj. lively; free-
spoken.

To Roose, Ruse, v. a. to extol.

Roset, s. rosin.

Rosie, s. Rose — a Christian name.

Rosignell, s. a nightingale.

Roung, Rung, s. a cudgel.

Roup, Roop, s. hoarseness.

To Roup, to cry aloud ; to shout ;
to sell by auction.

Rousty, Roosty, adj. rusty.

To Rout, v. n. to bellow.

Routii, Rowtii, s. plenty.

To Row, v. a. to roll.

Royed, adj. wild.

Royster, s. a freebooter.

Ruck, s. a heap of corn.

Rude, adj. strong; stout.

To Rug, v. a. to tear.

Rullion, s. a shoe made of un-
tauned leather ; a coarse mascu-
line female.

Rum, adj. excellent.

Rumgumption, Rummilgump-
tion, s. common sense.

To Rummil, v. ii. to make a noise.

Rumple, Rumpill, s. the rump;
the tail.

GLOSSARY.

241

RUND, Eoon, s. a, bordor; a sel-
vage.

Runt, s. the stalk of colewort or
cabbage; term applied to au old
disagreeable woman.

Ruskie, s. a basket made of twigs.

S

Par, v. n. to sob.

Sad, adj. grave ; heavy.

Sae, adv. so.

Saelike, Salike, adj. of the same

kind, similar.
Saft, adj. soft.
Saftly, adv. lightly ; softly.
Sailye, s. assault.
Saip, s. soap.

Sair, adj. sore ; a sore; a wound.
To Saw., v. a. to satisfy ; to serve.
Saikheau, s. a headache.
Sairing, s. as much as satisfies

one.
Sairly, adv. sorely.
Sal, v. defective, shall.
Sand-Bund, acf/.being very short-
sighted, as is often the case with

people with very fair hair.
Randy, s. Alexander.
Sang, s. a song; also the past of

sing.
Sap, s. liquid of any kind taken

to solids.
SAPS, 5. bread soaked or boiled in

ale, or wine and water.
Sark, s. a shirt, frequently applied

to the shift of a female.
Saucii, Saugh, s. the willow

tree.
To SAueir, Soagii, v. 11. to emit a

rustling or whistling sound, like

the wind in a narrow piss.
Sail, Sawl, s. soul.
Saulless, adj. destitute of soul.
Saullie, Saulds, .v. a hired

mourner, such as go in front of

a hearse.
Saut, s. salt.
Saut-Foot, s. a salt-cellar.

VOL. XXIV.

To Saw, v. a. to sow.
ScAIL, s. a kind of tub.
Scant, s. 1 carce.
Scanty, s. scarcity.
Scantlings, s. pi. small pieces of

woi id tying the rafters together.
Scamp, s. a cheat.
Scape, .■>-. a bee-hive.
Scab, Scad:, Scaur, s. a bare

place on the side of a hill from

which the soil bas been washed

off.
To Scart, v. a. to scratch.
SCART, S. a scratch.
Schachled, adj. crooked ; un-
seemly.
Sciiank, s. the leg.
Sciiave, Sheave, Sheeve, s. a

slice of anything, such as bread,

etc.
Scilvw, ,?. a grove or thicket; a

shadowy place.
ScilEL, s. a shed for sheep.
To Schere, v. n. to divide.
Schill, adj. shrill.
Schoag, Shog, >: a. to move

backwards and forwards.
Sciioggle, v. a. to shake.
Sciione, Siiocne, s. 2>l- shoes.
Schule, StlUIL, Siiool, s. a

shovel.
To S chute, v. a. to push.
Sclaite, Sklait, s. slate.
Sclatch, s. a lubberly lazy fellow.
To Sclent, Sklent, v. n. to slope.
A sclent, adv. obliquely.
Scon, s. a flat cake, made of

barley meal or flour.
Screed, s. a harangue.
To Screed, Skreed. v. a. to rend

in pieces.

To SCREIGH, SkREIGH, V. 11. to

shriek.
Scrimp, adj. narrow; scanty.

ioff, Scruff, a thin crust.
Scrymmage, s. a skirmish.
To Scug, v. a. to shelter.
Sculdudry, has au illusion to a

breach of chastity.
Scull, s. a shallow basket.
Scum, s. a mean greedy fellow.

Q

242

GLOSSARY.

To Scunner, v. n. to loathe ; to

shudder in disgust.
To Scutle, v. a. to spill from

carelessness.
Seam, used in respect to any sort

of needlework.
Seath, Sytiie, s. the coal-fish.
Segg, s. the yellow flower-de-luce.
Sicker, Sicker, adj. firm.
Sempill, Sympill, adj. low-born.
Sen. conj. since ; seeing-.
Sensyne, since that time.
Serd, Saird, pret. served.
Serge, s. a sieve.
Session, s. the consislory, or paro-
chial eldership iu Scotland.
Session-House, s. a vestry.
To Set, v. a. to let; to become —

as, He sels his rank well.
SiiachledW/. crooked; unseemly.
Shackle-Bane, s. the wrist.
Shaft, s. a handle.
To Siiak-a-Fa', v. a. to wrestle.
Shake-Down, s. a temporary bed

made on the lloor.
To Shamble, v. n. to make a wry

mouth.
To Shank, v. a. to travel on foot.
Sharne, Sherne, s. the dung of

cattle.
Shaver, s. a wag.
Siiaws, s. pi. the foliage of escu-
lent roots.
Sheal, Smelling, s. a hut or

residence for shepherds or

fishermen.
To Sheal, v. a. to take the husks

off pule. etc.
Sheelins, s.])L the husks of grain.
To Shear, v. a. to reap; to cut

down corn.
Shearer, s. oue employed in

in ■• .- iii.
Shearin, a the act of cutting corn.
Sheltie, s. a very small horse.
Sheuch, s. a, farrow.
To Sheoch, v. to place plants

in the earth before they are

planted.
To Shevel, v. a. to distort.
Shilfa, s. the chaffinch.

Shilpie, Shilpit, adj. weak ; in-
sipid; sickl}1 looking: thin.

Shillings, Sheelins, s. pi. the
outermost husks of grain.

To Shimmer, v. n, to shine.

Shinty, s. a stick with a crooked
end, used as a club for playing
a game with a ball called
Shinty.

To Shoot, v. n. to push.

To Showl, v. n. to distort the
mouth or face.

To Shue, v. o. to drive away any
animals by making a noise.

Sib, adj. related by blood; con-
sanguineous.

SimiAN, s. a near relation.

Sibnes, s. propinquity; nearness
of relationship.

Sic, Sick, Sik, adj. such; in the
same manner.

Sicker, Sikher, adj. secure;
cautions.

Sn ken, adj. such kind of.

SlCKERLY, adv. firmly.

Srklike, adj. of the same kind.

Side, Syde, adj. a long low-
hanging dress.

Siih.tngs, Sideeins, adv. placed
side by side.

Silder, S ii. lei:, s. silver.

Silly, weak from ill health ; weak
iii mind.

Simmer, Symer, s. summer.

Simpell, Skmple, adj. low-born;
poor in circumstances.

Sind, Seen, Synd, v. a. the List
water used in washing clotl 3.

To Sinder, r. «. to sunder.

Sindry, adj. sundry; in a dis-
joined state.

Si no it- like, adj. miserable-look-
ing ; puny.

Sincesyne, ado. since that time.

To Sipe, Slip, v. n. to ooze.

To Sist, v. a. to delay or stop pro-
ceedings.

To Skail. Skale, v. a. to dismiss ;
to spill.

Skaith. s. hurt; damage.

To Skaude, v. a. to scalrl.

GLOSSARY.

2JB

Skeely, adj. skilful.

Skeich, Skeigji, adj. apt to be

startled; proud; shy. appl I

to females.
Skeil, Skeilt,, s. a small tub for

■washing, with a single handle.
Skelp., s a splinter.
Skelf, s. a shelf.
Skellie, S kelly, s. squint in the

eye.
7b Skellie, v. n. to squint.
To Skelloch, v. n. to utter a

shrill cry.
To Skelp, v. a. to beat ; to strike

with the open hand.
Skei/vE, s. a thin slice.
Scep, Scape, s. a bee-hive.
Skerry, s. a sunken rock in the

sea.
Ski ft, s. a flying- shower.
Skilly, Skeely, adj. skilful ; in-
telligent.
Skippare, Skipper, s. a master

of a sailing vessel.
To Skirl, v. n. to utter a shrill

cry.
To Skite, v. a. to eject an}' liquid

forcibly ; to squirt.
Sklait, s. slate.
To Sklice, v. a. to slice.
Skranky, adj. a lean, meagre

person.
S krunty, adj. raw-boned ; n i
Skug, Scu.g, s. a shade; i hi Iter.
Skule, Scule, s. a large collection

of individuals, as a flight of

crows.
Skull, s. a hollow basket of an

oval or semicircular form.
Skynk, v. a. to pour out liquor.
Slae, s. a sloe.
To Slaister, Sloyster, v. n. to

perform anything in a dirty

awkward manner.
Slap, s. a narrow pass between

two hills ; a breach in a wall or

hedge.

i KIT, adj. deceitful ; cunning.
Slogan, s. the war-cry or gather-
ing word of a Highland clan.
To Sloken, v. a. toquencb

To Slounge, v. n. to walk ah '
in a slovi iier.

Slump, by the
or in unbroken quantities.

Slump, adj. taken in gn i.

Sli ch, Sli tr, s. soft pi
ground; snow ill a state of
thawing.

Sma, adj. small.

Smatchet, s. a terra of conti
applii d to a man, but more
commonly to a child.

Smeddum, s. quickness of appre-
hension.

To Sme'ek, v. a. to smoke.

Smiddy, s. a smithery.

Smirikin, S>ieeeikin, s. a hearty
kiss.

To Smore, v. a. to smother; to
choke.

Smit, Smyt, v. a. to stain.

Snab, .>;. a shoi ■ leer.

Snac kie, y ; quirky.

Sxaw, .?. snow.

Snak, Snick, .?. the latch of a door.
hin, .?. snuff.

Sneeshin-Mill, s. a snuff-box.

Sneist, s. a taunt.

SNELL, adj. keen ; severe.

Snelly, adv. sharply ; quid

Snippy, adj. tart in speech.

Snisty, adj. given to saucy lan-
guage.

To Skite, v. a. to snuff, applied
to a candle.

Sxodded, i dj. lopped; pruned.
r, s. mucus from the no

Snood, Snude, s. a fillet \ icli
binds the hair

Sxaw-Flake, s. the suow bunt-
ing.

Sober, adj. poor.

Sodroux, Sothroun, s. an Eng-
lishman.

Sonse, Sonsy, adj. plump in ap-
: tnce ; in good condition of
hody.
.'.

Sootii, adj. tru ul.

So . ;r. a mixture of diff
qualitie ! ol f

244

GLOSSARY.

Soup, Sup, s. a spoonful.

Souk-Milk, s. buttermilk.

Sourock, Sourack, s. sorrel.

Soutar, Souter, a shoemaker.

Sow, Hay-Sow, s. a stack of hay
before it is ready to be removed
from the field.

Spae-Man, s. a soothsayer ; a for-
tune-teller.

Spak-Wife, s. a female fortune-
teller.

To Spain, Spean, adj. to wean.

Spait, Spate, s. a flood.

Spang, s. the act of spanning.

Spare, adj. lean; meagre.

Speere, s. a bole in the wall of
houses in former times, whereby
the family received and an-
swered inquiries from strangers.

To Speir, v. a. to ask.

To Spelder, v. a. to spread open.

To Spell, v. n. to climb.

Spicy, adj. proud; testy.

Spleuchan, s. a tobacco holder.

SprAich, s. a shriek.

Spreckled, adj. speckled.

Spree, adj. trim; gaudy; spruce.

Spring, s. a quick cheerful tune
on a musical instrument.

Spunk, s. a match; spirit; viva-
city.

Spunkie, s. Ignis Fatuus, or
Will-o'-the-Wisp.

Spunkie, adj. mettlesome ; spirited,

To Spunk-out, v. n. to be gradu-
ally discovered or brought to
light.

Staig, s. a horse not yet broken
in.

Stalwart, adj. brave ; strong ;
powerful.

Stammack, s. the stomach.

To Stamp, v. n. to go about
stoutly.

Stamrel, adj. half-witted.

Stane, s. a stone.

To Stang, v. a. to sting.

Stang, s. a long pole.

Stank, s. a ditch with a slow
running stream or stagnant
water.

To Stap, v. a. to stop ; to cram ;
to fill.

To Staw, v. n. to surfeit.

Stay, Stey, adj. step.

Stead, Steading, s. a farm house.

To Steek, v. a. to shut.

To Steer, Stir, v. a. to meddle
with.

Steeve, adj. firm, relating to a
bargain made; sometimes used
for obstinate.

To Steik, v. a. to stitch.

Stele-net, s. a net stretching a
considerable way into a river,
and sometimes across it.

To Stend, v. n. to spring ; rise to
an elevation.

To Stere, Steir, v. a. to stir.

Stere, Steir, s. commotion.

Stey, adj. steep.

To Stick, v. a. to bungle.

To Stilt, v. n. to go on crutches.

To Stint, v. n. to limit; to act
shabbily.

Stirk, s. a bullock or heifer be-
tween the age of one and two
years ; a stupid rude fellow.

Stob, s. a prickle.

Stuck an' horn, s. a musical in-
strument composed of a stock,
which is the thigh-bone of a
sheep, and the horn, the smaller
end of a cow's horn, and a reed.

Stoiter, the act of staggering.

Stolum, s. as much ink as a pen
will hold.

Stook, Stouk, s. a rick of corn
consisting of twelve sheaves.

Stoop, s. a post fastened in the
earth; a prop; a support.

Storm-sted, adj. stopped on a
journey in consequence of a
storm.

Stot, s. a young bull.

To Stot, v. n. to rebound from
the ground as a ball.

To Stound, v. n. to ache.

Stoup, s. a deep and narrow
vessel for holding or measuring
liquids.

Stourie, adj. dusty.

GLOSSARY.

245

To Stove, v. a. to stew.
Stows, Stowin, part. pa. stolen.
Stk.uk. Strake, s. a l.Iow.
S i i.am), .<.'. a rivulet; <a gutter.
Strapping, Strappan, part. adj.

tall and handsome.
Strath, s. a valley of consider-
able extent.
Strathspey, s. an air slower than

a reel.
Stravaig, v. n. to stroll about in

an idle manner.
Straucht, adj. straight.
Streamers, s. pi. the Aurora Bo-

realis.
To Streik, Streek, v. a. to stretch ;

lay out a dead body.
Strein, Streen, s. evening. The

Strein, yesternight.
Stridelegs, adc. astride.
Stroup, Stroop, s. the spout of a

tea-kettle or pump.
Study, Styddy, p. an anvil.
To Stump, v. n. to go about stoutly.
Sturdy, s. a vertigo; a disease to

■which black-cattle and sheep

are liable when young.
Sture, Stoor, adj. strong ; robust ;

rough ; hoarse.
Such, s. a whistling pound.
Sunkets, s.pl. provisions of any

description.
Sutiifast, adj. true.
To Swat, Swey, v. h. to incline

to one side ; to swiDg,
To Sweel, v. 11. to drink copiously.
Sweeties, s. pi. comfits ; sweet-
meats.
Sweir, SwEER,u.M.lazy; indolent.

To SWIDDER, SWITHER, V. II. to be

irresolute.
To Swirl, v. n. to whirl like a

vortex.
Syne, adv. afterwards; late as

opposed to soon.

T

Tabetless, Tapeti.ess, Tebbit-
less, adj. benumbed.

Tack, s. a slight hold, as a stitch
or two ; a lea e

et, *. a small nail with a
hi ad.

Ta< ksman, s. the holder of a
lease.

Tae, s. a toe.

Taid, .?. a toad.

Taile, Tailye, s. a covenant; an
i atail.

Tais, Tassie, s. a cup.

Taivees, Tatters, s. pi. Meat
which has been much over-
boiled is said to be boiled to
taivers.

Taiversum, adj. tiresome.

To Tak the Gate, v. n. to go off
on a journey.

To Tak-on, v. a. to buy on credit.

Tale-Pxet, s. a tale-bearer; a
tattler.

T am, Tammie,Tammas, s.Thomas.

Tangle, s. an icicle ; the largo
fuci or sea plant.

Tangs, Taisgs, s. tongs.

Tantrums, s. high airs; exhibit-
ing a proud and dignified
aspect.

To Tape, v. a. to use sparingly.

TAPP1E - TOORIE, S. anything
erected on a slight, tottering
foundation.

Tappit-Hen, s. a crested hen: a
quart measure of ale or beer
with a top of foam.

Tarry, s. delay.

Tarry-Fingered, adj. light-fin-
gered ; a thief.

Tartan, s. cloth chequered of
various colours, and originally
worn only in the Highlands,
every clan adopting its own
pi culiar tartan.

To Tash, v. a. totufflej to soil.

Tate, Tait, s. a very "small por-
tion of any dry substance.

Tatter-wallops, Tauter-wal-
lops, 6'. pi. rags fluttering in tho
wind.

Tatties, a'. pi. potatoes.

Tauld, adj. told.

246

GLOSSARY.

Taupie, Tawpie, s. an inactive,
silly, and slovenly woman.

Tawis, Tawes, s. a whip ; a lash ;
the ferula used by a school-
master.

Teazle, s. a severe brush ; an on-
set.

To Teet, v. n. to peer ; to look
with the eyes half shut.

Tehee, s. a loud laugh.

Teinds, s. pi. tithes.

To Tend, v. to guard.

Tenement, s. a house, sometimes
applied to one containing seve-
ral separate dwellings under one
roof.

Tent, s. care; attention.

To Tent, v. n. to attend.

To Text, v. «. to observe ; to re-
mark ; to put a value upon.

Tentless, adj. inattentive.

ER, s. a widow living upon
a terce.

Teuch, Teugii, adj. tough.

To Tetme, Tejie, Tume, v. a. to
empty.

Thack, Tiieik, s. thatch.

Thafts, s. pi. the benches of a
boat.

Thairanent, adv. concerning
that.

TnAir.ATTOUR, adv. concerning.

Thaikben, adv. in an inner apart-
ment of a house.

Thairm, s. the belly.

Than, adv. then ; at that til

Thane, Thayne, s. an an
Scottish title of honour, denot-
ing presidency in a county or
province.

Thee, They, s. thigh.

Thegithee, adv. together.

To Theik, v. a. to cover with
straw; to thatch.

Theivil, s. a porridge-stick, or
stick for stirring broth while
boiling.

Then, conj. than.

Thewless, Thouless, Thiev-
less, adj. unprofitable ; useless ;
feeble.

Thick, adj. intimate; familiar.

Thik, pron. pi. these.

Thirl, s. to bind ; to enslave.

Thirlwall, s. the name given to
the wall between England and
Scotland thrown up by Severus.

Tuo, adv. at that time.

To Thole, v. n. to bear ; to en-
dure ; to suffer.

Tiion, adv. yonder ; yon.

Thouell, 5. the nitch in which
the oars of a boat work.

Thought, Tiiougiity, s. a mo-
ment.

To Tnow, v. n. to thaw.

Thowless, adj. inactive.

To Thrapple, v. a. to throttle.

Thraw, s. a pang; an agony.

Tirr.AW-CRUK, s. an instrument
for twisting straw or hair ropes,

Thrawin, part. adj. distorted.^

To Threpe, v. n. to aver pertina-
ciously ; to argue ; to persist.

Thresum, adj. three together.

Threttt, adj. thirty.

Thrifpy, adj. industrious and
economical.

Thropill, Thrapill, s. the wind-
pipe.

Thud, s. a dull noise.

Thumbikins, s. an instrument of
torture applied as a screw to
the thumbs to force the sufferer
to confess or divulge a secret,
etc.

T 1 1 u .mblicking, s. an ancient mode
of confirming a bargain by the
parties licking their thumbs and
then placing them against each
other.

Tibbie, s. Elizabeth.

Tick, Ticker, s. a dot.

To Tick, v. n. to click as a clock
or watch.

Tid, s. humour.

To Tn>, v. n. To choose the proper
time.

Tift, s. the act of quarrelling ; a
hasty fit of ill humour.

To Tig, v. n. to touch lightly ; a
game played by children.

GLOSSARY.

24;

Tike, Tyke, s. a cur; a dog; a

rough bad-ti inp I How.
Til, Tiyl, prep. to.

Till, «c7i\ while ; during the time

that.
Time-About, adj. alternately.
TlMMER, s. timber.
Timmer-Tuned, adj. unmusical ;

destitute of ear.
TlNCHELL, TlNCHEL, s. a circle of

sportsmen, who, by surroun

an extensive space, gradually

closing, bring a number of

and game within a narrow

compass.
To Tine, Tyne, v. a. to lose.
Tint, pret. of To lo e.
To Tirl, s. to give
Tirless, Tirlass, s. a lattice; a

wicket.
Tiri.iewiet.t7-, s. a whirligig.
To TlRR, TlRLE, V. a. to tear; to

uncover.
Tirrivee, s. a fit of passion.
Tirwirr, Tirrwirring, adj. ha-
bitually growling.
Titty, s. a sister.
To, adv. shut. The door i s io,

i. c. shut.
Tociiei!, s. the dowry brought by

a wife.
Tocherless, adj. destitute of

portion.
Tod, s. a fox.
Todlk, Toddle, v. 11. to walk in a

tottering manner, or with short

unsteady steps.
Toddy, s. whisky, sugar, and

hot water.
Toddy-Ladle, s. a small ladle of

wood or silver used in filling a

glass from a tumbler in which

toddy is made.
Tofall, s. a building annexed to

the wall of a larger one.
Toit, Tout, s. a fit of illness; a

fit of bad humour.
Tokie, .'. the head-dress of an old

woman, resembling a monk's

cowl.
To -Name, s. a surname.

.!, Tome, adj. empty.
. Tout, s. the blast of a I
or le

Toothfo', .s. a 1 rate
of strong drink.

Toscii, Tosh, Tosiie, adj. neat ;
trim.

Tor. s. a term of endearment
used l > a child.

Tousle, Towsie, adj. disorde
shaggy ; rough.

To Tousle, v. a. to pull at; 1 1
put in diso'rdi r, a tearing
girl in sport 1 dalliance.

Tout, s. a copious draught.

Tow, s. a rope of any kind.

Towmoht, Towmond, s. a ye \

Toy, s. a woollen or linen head-
dress worn by women of the
lower orders, with the lower
part hanging down to the
shoulders.

To Toyte, Tot, v. n. to totter as
in childhood 1 r old aj .

Teaist, Tryste, s. an appointed
. ing.

Tram, s. the shaft of a cart or
c

To Tramp, v. a. to tread with
1 our; to walk, as opposed to
Ling.

Trance, s. a passage within a
house leading from one part to
another.

To Transmugkify, v. a. to trans-
form ; to transmute; to change
in appearance.

Trawart, adj. perverse.

Trews, s. pi. trowsers.

Trig, adj. neat.

To Trim, v. a to drub.

To Troke, v. a. to bargain in
the way of exchange; to barter.

Trotters, s. pi. sheep's feet.

To Trow, Trew, v. a. to believe.

Trowtii, s. truth ; belief.

True-Bli 1 ■-. s. an epithet applied
to rigid Presbyterians, in allu-
sion to the colour of the cockad
worn by the Covenanters.

Trumpii, s. the trump at cards.

248

GLOSSARY.

Trunscheoun, s. a plate; a

trencher.
Trysting-Place, s. a place of

meeting previously agreed on.
Tick, s. tuck of drum, beat of

drum.
Tuilyie, Toolyie, s. a quarrel ; a

broil.
To Tume, v. a. to empty.
Tup, ■«. a ram; a foolish, stupid

fellow.
Tuttie-Tuttie, intcrj. pshaw!
Twal, adj. twelve.
Twa-tiiree, s.pl. a few in num-
ber.
To Twin, Twtne, v. n. to separate.
Twopenny, s. small beer.
Tydy, Tydie, adj. neat; clean in

person or house.
Tyke-cap, s. a hat of tyre; part

of the dress of liruce at Ban-

nockburn.

U

Uncanny, adj. unsafe; as having

supernatural powers.
Unchancy, adj. unlucky.
Unco, adj. strange; unknown;

very much.
Uncoft, adj. unbought.
Ulie, s. oil.
Uman, pron. woman.
Umbre, s. shade.
Unreason, adj. disorder.
Unkycht, s. injustice; iniquity.
Unsickkir, Unsicker, adj. not

secure.
Textile, prep. unto.
UprisH, adj. aspiring; ambitious.
Uptak, s.uptaking; apprehension.

V

Yarlot, Verlot, s. an inferior
servant.

Vaunty, adj. boastful.

Vent, s. a chimney.

Yikle, s. a ferule.

Vogie, Vokie, adj. merry ; cheer-
ful.

Vout, s. a vault.

Yow, Wou ! intcrj. expressive of
admiration, somewhat equiva-
lent to Oh!

¥

To Vaig, v. n. to wander; to
roam.

Valises, s. pi. saddlebags.

Wa, Way, Wae, s. wo ; grief.

To Wachle, v. 11. to move back-
wards and forwards.

WaddS, s. pi. pledges used in
youthful amusement.

Wadsetter, s. one who holds the
property of another.

Waff, adj. worthless in conduct;
ill-dressed.

Waffie, s. a vagabond.

Wait, Weft, Woft, s. the woof
in a web.

Wagang, Waygang. s. a depar-
ture.

To Waigle, Weigle, v. n. to
waddle ; to waggle.

To Waik, v. a. to watch.

Wair, v. a. to spend.

Wakerife, adj. watchful.

Wald, v. aux. would.

To Wale, v. a. to select ; to pick ;
to choose.

To Wallop, v. n. to move quickly.

To Wallow, v. n. to be immersed
or rolling in anything.

Waxy! Wally! interj. expressive
of lamentation.

Wambe, Wame, s. the belly.

To Wamble, Waumble, v. n. to
move in an undulatory manner.

Wan, adj. black ; gloomy.

Wancouth, adj. uncouth.

Wanter, s. a widower or bachelor.

To Wap, v. a. to throw rapidly ;
to throw.

GLOSSARY.

249

Wapfin, Wappyn, s. a weapon.
War, Warr, adj. worse.
To War, d. a. to overcome.
Ware, s. sea-weed.
Wark, Warke, s. work.
Waukman, s. a labourer.
Warld, s. the world.
Warlock, s. a wizard.
'l'o Warsell, Wersiia, v. n. to

wrestle ; to strive.
Warwolf, Warwouf, 5. a person

supposed to be transformed into

a wolf.
Wasting, s. a consumption.
To Wat, v. n. to know.
Watergang, s. a mill-race.
To Wauble, v. n. to swing or reel.
Wate it- wraith, s. the spirit of

the waters.
To Waugiit, Waciit-out, v. n. to

quaff ; a large draught of any

liquid.
To Wauk, v. a. to full cloth ; to

shrink in consequence of being

beetled.
To Waw, Wawe, v. n. to cater-
waul.
Wean, Weane, s. a child.
To Wear-in, v. a. to gather in.
Weary, adj. feeble.
Webster, Wabster, s. a weaver.
Wee, adj. little.
Weem, s. a natural cavern.
Wket, s. rain ; wet.
Weft, s. woof.

WEILL-FARAND,WEEL-FARD,ar7/.

good-looking.

Weird, Weekd, s. fate; predic-
tion.

Weiruless, Wierdi.ess, adj. un-
prosperous ; worthless ; not
well-doing.

Welcome-IIame, s. repast pre-
sented to a bride on entering
the door of the bridegroom.

Wersh, adj. insipid; tasteless.

Whaap, s. the curlew.

Whang, s. a thong ; a large slice.

Wiieen, s. pi. a number ; a few.

Wiiii>, s. a lie.

Whinge, v. n. to whine.

Whisht! inter], hush! be silent.

Whistle, Whussel, s. the throat.

Whittle, s. a knife.

Whittrets, Whuttret, s. a
weasel.

To Whummtl, Whomel, v. a. to
turn upside down.

Whittle, s. whitlow; agathering
in the fingers.

Wiiyi.es, s. sometimes.

Widuie, Wuddy, s. the gallows.

Wife, Wyfe, s. a woman.

Wiffie, s. a little woman.

To Wile, Wyi.e, v. n. to entice.

To Wimple, Wympel, Womple,
v. ii. to meander as applied to a
stream.

To Win, Wyn, a. v. to dry corn.

Windock,Winnock, s. a window.

Winkers, s. the eye-lashes.

Winsome, adj. merry ; gay ; cheer-
ful.

To Wisen, Wyssin, v. n. to wither.

Wisiiy-Washy, s. pi. shuffling;
half-and-half.

To Wit, Witt, v. n. to know; /
wit na, I know not.

Wite, Wyte, s. blame.

To Wite, Wyte, v. n. to blame ;
to accuse.

Wittens, s. knowledge.

Wizen, s. the throat.

Wizzen, adj. dry; withered

Wob, s. a web.

Wod, Wode, adj. mad.

To Won, v. n. to dwell.

Woo, s. wool. v. To make love;
to court.

Wordy, Weirdy, adj. worthy.

Worlin, s. a feeble puny person.

To Worry, v. n. to choke ; to be
suffocated.

Worset, s. worsted.

To Wouff, v. n. to bark.

Wow! interj. expressive of ad-
miration.

Wraith, Wraithe, s.the appari-
tion of a pjerson seen before
death, or soon after it.

Wrak, Wrek, Wrack, s. any-
thing cast upon the sea-shore.

250

GLOSSARY.

YVrat, s. a wort.
Writer, s. an attorney.
Wynd, s. a narrow lane or alley.
Wyss-Likk, adj. having; a decent

appearance.
Wyteless, adj. blameless.

Y

To Yabble, r. n. to gabble.
Yad, s. an old woru-out mare.
Yald, Yauld, adj. sprightly;

alert.
To Yamer, Yammer, v. n. to

complain; continued whining;

to pet.
To Yamph. Yamf, v. n. to bark.
Yap, Yape, adj. having a keen

appetite ; very hungry.
Yard, s. a garden for flowers;

pot herbs.
Yare, s. a weir for catching

fish.
Yaud, s. an order given by a

shepherd to his dog ; far-yaud,

signifying drive the sheep to a

distance.
To Yaep, v. n. to yelp.
Yeald, adj. barren.
Yearn, Yerne, adj. eager; wish-
ful.
Yki.d, Yell, Eild, adj. a cow is

said to be eild when she is giv-
ing no milk.

Yeldring, Yeldrpn, s. a yellow-
hammer.

Yerd, Yertii, Yird, s. earth ;
soil.

To Yerd, v. a. to bury.

To Yerk, v. a. to beat ; to strike
smartly.

Yestreen, s. last night.

Yet, Yett, s. a gate.

Yiiull, Yule, 5. Christmas.

Yill, s. ale.

To Yirr, v. n. to snarl ; to growl.

To Yoke, v. 11. to engage with an-
other in dispute or in a quarrel.

Yont, prep, beyond.

Youden-Drift, s. snow driven
by tie wind.

To Yodf, Yi'FF, v. n. to bark.

Yoik, Yeuk, s. the itch.

To Youk, YuiiEj v. n. to itch; to
be itchy.

Youkt, adj. itchy ; metaphorically,
eager, anxious.

"UL, Youll, v. n. to howl;
to yell.

Yow, Yowe, s. a ewe.

Yule, s. the name given to Christ-
mas.

Yule-e'en, s. the night preced-
ing Christmas.

To Yyp.xe, v. to coagulate; to
curdle.

GENERAL INDEX.

Abduction, The, ix. 151.

Adopted Son, Tho, ii. 2

Age and Youth, Ballad of, xxiv.

107.
Ailie Faa, Ballad of, xxiv. G7.
Allcrley Hall, The Legend of,

xxiv. 52.
Amateur Bobbery, The, xxii. 182.
Amateur Lawyers, The, vii. 11G.
Ancient Bureau, The, xxii. 29.
Angler's Tale, The, xvi. 194.
Areliy Armstrong, v. 187.
Artist, The, viii. 133.
Assassin, The, xviii. 173.
Avenger; or. Legend of Mary Lee,

The, xix. 129.

Ballogie's Daughters, Ballad of,

xxiv. 141.
Barley Bannock, The, xx. 93.
Battle of Dryffe Sands, The, xv.

250.
Beggars' Camp, The, viii. 212.
Bereaved, The, xvii. 129.
Bewildered Student, The, x. 247.
Bell Stanley; or, a Sailor's Story,

v. 1.
Bell White, v. 98.
Bonny Mary Gibson, xvi. 80.
Bride, The, viii. 147.
Bride of Bell's Tower, The, xxi.

173.
Bride of Bramblehaugh, The,

xviii. 63.
Broken Heart, The, vii. 226.

Brownie of the West Bow, The,
xxiii. 44.

Burning of Mrs. Jam ph ray, Le-
gend of the, xxiv. 133.

Cairny Cave of Gavin Muir, Tho,

xvii. 80.
Caldermuir, Legend of, xvii. 237.
Caleb Crabbin, x. 196.
Case of Evidence, The, xv. 163.
Castle of Weir, The Bomaunt of

the, xxiv. 78.
Castle of Crail, The; or, David and

Queen Maude, x. 165.
Cateran of Lochloy, The, vii. 23:1.
Chance Question, The, xxi. 119.
Charles Gordon and Christina

Cunningham, Story of, xvii.

220.
Chatelard, ix. 243.
Chevalier do la Beaute", xxiii. 145.
Cherry Stone, The, viii. 115.
Christie of the Cleik, ix. 275.
Church of Abercromby, Legend cf

the, x. 183.
Clara Douglas, The Story of, iv.

191.
Clerical Murderer, The, xv. 281.
Condemned, The, xvii. 145.
Conscience Stricken, The, v. 33.
Contrast of Wives, The, xi. 33.
Convict, The, xxii. 148.
Convivialists, The, ii. 122.
Cottar's Daughter, The, xv. 146.
Countess of Cassilis, The, xvi. 97.

251

252

GENERAL INDEX.

Countess of Wistonburgh, The, i.

225.
Country Quarters, iv. 139.
Covenanter's March, The, xv. 104.
Covenanting Family, The, xiv. 1.
Cradle of Logie, The, xxiii. 109.
Craigullan, Legend of, xxiv. 113.
Cripple, The; or, Ebenezcr the

Disowned, ix. 1.
Crooked Comyn, The, x. 279.
Curate of Govan, The, xv. 66.
Cured Ingrate, The, ii. 188.
Curlers, The, xviii. 110.
Curse of Scotland, The, xix. 196.

David Lorimer, xxii. 114.

Death of James First, The, xv. 34.

Death of James Third, The, xvi.

33.
Diamond Eyes, The, xxii. 88.
Disasters of Johnny Armstrong,

The, i. 128.
Dissolved Pledge, The, xix. 67.
Diver and the Bell, The, Hi. 53.
Divinity Student, The, v. 270.
Doctor Dobie, xxi. 206.
Domestic Griefs of Gustavus Mac-

Iver, The, xix. 1.
Dominie's Class, The, xi. 1.
Dominie's Courtship, The, xiii.

162.
Dominie of St. Fillan's, The, xx. 1.
Donald Gorm, ii. 155.
Doom of Soulis, The, viii. 1.
Double-Bedded Room, The, v. 205.
Douglas Tragedy, 'J' he, xvi. 91.
Dowielee, Legend of, xxiv. 145.
Dream, The, xiii. 258.
Droich, The, vii. 19.
Duncan MArlhur, viii. 263.
Duncan Schulebred's Vision of

Judgment, v. 162.
Dura Den, ix. 106.

Early days of a Friend of the

Covenant, xxi. 84.
Early becollections of a Sou of the

Dills, iv. 66.
Edmund and Helen, xxiv. 5.
Ellen Arundel, ix. 'J s.
Enthusiast, The, xiv. 98.

J Eskdale Muir Story, The, xvi. 87.
Experimenter, The, iii. 198.

Faa's Revenge, The, i. 18.

Fair, The. iv. 207.

Fair Maid of Cellardykes, The, i.

172.
Fair Emergilde, Legend of the,

xxiv. 72.
Fair Helen of Eirkconnel, Legend

of, ix. 23.
Faithful Wife, The, xxiii. 250.
Family Incidents, vii. 148.
Fatal Mistake, The, xvi. 75.
Festival, The, xiv. 139.
First and Second Marriages, The,

xix. 35.
First Foot, The, x. 1.
Flosheud Inn, The, xiu. 98.
Forger, The, xii. 177.
Fortunes of William Wighton,

The, ii. 247.
Foundling at Sea, The, xviii. 159.
Fugitive, The, xviii. 33.

Geordie Willison and the Heiress

of Castlegower, vi. 93.
Ghost of Howdiecraigs, The, xi.

153.
Ghost of Gairyburn, The. xi. 185.
Girl Forger, The, xxiii. 224.
Glass Back, The, xii. 207.
Golden Counsel, Ballad of, xxiv.

164.
Good Man of Dry field, The, viii.

83.
Grandmother's Narrative, The, xv.

98.
Grace Cameron, xvi. 249.
Grizel Cochrane, xv. 227.
Guid Wife of Coldingham, The,

vi. 1.
Guilty or Not Guilty, vi. 149.
Gustavus Maclver, The Domestic

Griefs of, xix. 1.

Happy Conclusion, The, xvi. 113.
Harden's Revenge, viii. 19.
Hawick Spate, The, xix. 99.
Heir of Inshannock, The, xii. 130.
Helen Palmer, xvii. 72.

GENERAL INDEX.

253

Henpecked Man, The, viii. 1G2.

Hen Wife, The, viii. 122.

Hermit of the Hills, xxiv. 119.

Heroine, The, a Legend of the
Canongate, xx. G6.

Highland Boy, The, v. 225.

Highland Tradition, A, xvii. 125.

Hogmanay ; or, the Lady of Bal-
lochgray, xvii. 33.

Holyrood. Legend of, xiv. 157.

House in Bell's Wynd, The, xxi. 5.

Hume and the Governor of Ber-
wick, xvii. 260.

I canna be fashed ; or Willie

Grant's Confessions, x. 119.
Imprudent Marriage, The, x. 215.
Irish Reaper, The, xvi. 242.

James Renwiek, xviii. 05.

John Govan's Narrative, xx. 111.

John Square's Voyage to India,

vii. 253.
Johnny Armstrong, Disasters of,

i. 12*8.
Judith the Egyptian, vii. 1.

Kate Kennedy, i. 50.
Katheran, The, iv. 250.
Kinaldy, xix. 1G5.
Kirkyards, xiv. 110.

Lady Katharine, Legend of the,

xxiv. 57.
Lady Kae, xxii. G8.
Laidlcy Worm of Spindelston

Heugh, vi. 260.
Laird of Darnick Tower, Tlie, vii.

211.
Laird of Hermitage, The, xix.

155.
Laird of Luckv's Howe, ix. 110.
Laird Rorieson's Will, xviii. 276.
Last of the Pedlars, The, v. 30.
Last Scrap, The, xxiii. 72.
Leaves from the Life of Alexander

Hamilton, xix. 199.
Leaves from the Diary of an Aged

Spinster, vi. 80.
Leein' Jamie Murdieston, viii. 244.
Leveller, The, xvi. 1.

Linton Lairds, The; or, Exclu-

sives and Inclusives, iv. 123.
Lord Duric and Christie's Will,

ii. S3.
Lord Karnes's Puzzle, xxiii. 5.
Lost Heir of the House of Elphin-

stone, xx. 143.
Lottery Hall, xiii. 130.
Lykewake, The, vii. 51.
Maid Marion, Ballad of, xxiv. 151.
Maiden Feast of Caimkibbie, The,

iv. 34.
Man-oMYarsman, The, xvi. 1G2.
Mary Brown, The Story of, xxiii.

79.
Mary Lee, The Legend of, xxiv.

98.
Master Samuel Eamsay Thriven,

xvi. 130.
Matrimony, Ballad of, xxiv. 168.
May Darling, x. 117.
May, The Romance of the, x. 100.
Major Weir's Coach, v. 238.
Medal, The, x. 77.
Merchant's Daughter, The, xxi.

139.
Meeting of St. Boswell's, The, x.

85,
MidsideMae;a;ie; or, The Bannock

of Tollishill, i. 257.
Mike Maxwell and the Gretna

Green Lovers, xii. 34.
Miser of Newabbey, The, xx. 226.
Mistake Rectified, The, ix. 97.
Mistress Humphrey Greenwood's

Tea Party, ix. 217.
Monk of St. Anthony, The, iv.

159.
Monks of Dryburgh, The, iv. 282.
Monomaniac, The, xviii. 127.
Moi-tlake, a Legend of Merton,

viii. 180.
Moss Trooper, The, xii. 1G2.
Mountain Storm. The, i. 160.
My Black Coat, ii. 27G.
Mysio Craig, Story of, xxiii. 172.
Mysterious Disappearance, The,
xvi. 281.

Natural History of Idiots, The,
xiii. G6.

254

GENERAL INDEX.

Old Bluntie, xx. 120.
Old Isbel Kirk, xviii. 105.
Order of the Garter, The, xiv. 265.
Orphan, The, xxiii. 36.

Packman's Journey to London,
The, ix. 178.

Palantines, The, vi. 181.

Parsonage, The, vi. 213.

Peat-Casting Time, x. 66.

Peden's Farewell Sermon, xv. 114.

Pelican, Story of the, xxiii. 153.

Penny Wedding, The, vii. 83.

Persecution of the M 'Michaels,
The, xv. 122.

Perseverance ; or, The Autobio-
graphy of Pioderick Grey, xvi.
217.

Philips Grey, ii. 144.

Phcebe Fortune, iii. 117.

Physiognomist's Tale, The, viii.
51.

Polwarth on the Green, xiv. 125.

Poor Scholars, The, vii. 180.

Porter's Hole, xvii. 92.

Prescription; or, The 29th Septem-
ber, i. 193.

Prince of Scotland, The, xiv. 34.

Prisoner of War, The, xviii. 101.

Procrastinator, The, xxii. 213.

Prodigal Son, The, xxi. 39.

Rattling Roaring Willie, v. 65.

Recluse, The, xvii. 97.

~e of the Hebrides, The, ix.
230.

Recollections of Burns, ii. 65.

Recollections of Ferguson, i. 83.

Recollections of a Village Patri-
arch, xv. 1.

,' ball, The; or Berwick in
1296, xi. 281.

Restored Son, The, xiv. 184.

Rescue at Enterken, The, xvi. 65.

Retribution, xiv. 66.

Return, The, vii. 168.

Reuben Purves, xii. 66.

Rival Night-Caps, The, iii. 163.
n-y at Pittenweem, The, xvii.
194.

Roger Gol die's Narrative, xvii. 1.

Romance of the Siege of Perth,

The, x. 34.
Rosalie, Song of, xxiv. 171.
Roseallan Castle, Ballad of, xxiv.

158.
Roseallan's Daughter, xiii. 195.
Rothsay Fisherman, The, vi. 47.
Royal Bridal, The, iii. 134.
Royal Raid, The, iii. 160.
Ruinbollow, Ballad of, xxiv. 128.

Sabbath Wrecks, The, vi. 276.
St. Mary's Wynd, The Romaunt

of, xxiv. 87.
Salmon Fisher of Udoll, iv. 98.
hayings and Doings of Peter

Paterson, xx. 34.
School Fellows, The, xi. 250.
Scottish Veteran, The, xii. 243.
Sci ittish Hunters of Hudson's Bay,

The, xii. 1.

Fight, The. xix. 265.
Sea Skirmish, The, xx. 258.
Seeker, The, xxi. 235.
Seer's Cave, The, vi. 245.
Sergeant Wilson, xvii. 65.
Seven Years' Dearth, The, xiv. 233.
Sea Storm, The, xii. 98.
Shoes Reversed, The, xx. 132.
Siege, The, xxiv. 177.
Simple Man is theBeggar'sBrother,

The. xvii. 170.
Sir Patrick Hume, ix. 167.
Sir Peregrine and the Lady 1! 1 -

line, The Romaunt of, xxiv. 43.
Skean Dhu, The, xiv. 216.
Slave, The, iv. 218.
Smuggler, The, xi. 217.
Snow Storm of 1825, The, vi. 117.
Social Man, The, xi. 65.
Solitary of the Cave, iv. 1.
Somnambulist of Redcleugh, The,

vi. 22.
Sportsman of Outfield Haugh, The,

xix. 232.
Squire Beu, xv. 234.
Stone Breaker, The, xviii. 255.
Souter's Wedding, The, xiii. 180.
Suicide, The, xi. 121.
Suicide's Grave, The, iv. 87.
Surtout, The, xi. 106.

GENERAL INDEX.

255

Ten of Diamonds, The, xxii. 225.
Thomas Harkness of Lockerb n,

xx. 124.
Thomas of Ohartres, xviii. 1.
Tibbie Fowler, xxiii. 100.
Tournay, The, xxiv. L60.
Tom Duncan's Yarn, ix. 55.
Tom Bertram, Story of, xv.

130.
Three Letters, The, xii. 195.
Three Brethren, The, ix. 87.
Trees and Burns, xiv. 113.
Trials and Triumphs, xx. 194.
Trials of Menie Dempster, The,

xiii. 34.
Trials of the Bev. Samuel Austin,

The, xix. 174.
Twin Brothers. The, xxiii. 189.
Two Comrades, The, xi. 90.
Two Bed Slippers, The, xxiii.

242.
Two Sailors, The, xiii. 227.

Unbidden Guest, The, xvii. 110.
Unknown, The, xiii. 1.

Ups and Downs; or, David Stuart's
Account of His Pilgrimage,
xxii. 1.

Vacant Chair, The, i. 1.
Violated Coffin, The, xviii. 119.

Wager, The, xxi. 244.
Warning, The, xv. L95.
Wedding, The, xii. 30.
We'll have Another, xii. 227.
White Woman of Taras, xii. 273.
Whitsome Tragedy, The, iii. 20.
Widow's ae Sou, The, xxiii. L66.
Widow of Dunskaith, The, iii. 1.
Wife or the Wuddy, A, ii. 1.
Willie Sinilh, Autobiography of.

iii. 85.
Willie Wastle's Account of his

Wife, xviii. '223.
Woman with the White Mice, The,

xxi. 50.
World's Vanity, Ballad of the,

xxiv. 173.
Young Laird, The, iii. 230.

END OF VOLUME XXIV.

MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.

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